Page 152 of The Cruel Dawn
A screech fills the air and then louder and louder rumbling. An enormous ball of fire and black smoke careens from the east in a maze of red lightning. This ball is so bright in its blackness that the Crusaders turn their hateful gazes from me to watch its descent.
The earth shakes even before—
Zephar shouts, “Shields!”
The clank of catherite can barely be heard before—
This ball strikes the ground so hard that we all fall to our knees.Rocks and splintered trees rain down upon those shields.
This is no meteor. The man who emerges from the flames is taller than Zephar and all the Diminished, and not one patch of his skin is free of markings.
High Lord Izariel Megidrail wears crimson-and-orange robes, but beneath that fabric is the ink of a true warrior who can ascend no higher, whose smallest finger is covered with tales of the destruction he has wrought.
It seems that the world will never stop quaking as sixty—eighty—one hundred strong Mera land upon the flats of Devour. They wear bare chests or bandeaus, each bigger than Zephar and the Mera Crusaders who’d been punished and stripped of their stature.
My eyes cloud with grateful tears. Though I can barely see Zephar Itikin, I ask, “Did you have something you needed to say toIzariel?”
The Prince of Lissome Blades growls at me and glares at my father. “You dare—”
High Lord Megidrail slaps the air and strikes Zephar in the face with a burst of wind.
Zephar slams into the row of horrified Mera Crusaders behind him. The blow has ripped a gash across his cheek that spans from his temple to his top lip.
“That’s for betraying my daughter,” Father says, jabbing a finger at him.
He sends another blow at Zephar, who doubles over, clutching his stomach. “That’s for disrespecting her rank.” Father turns to Elyn. “Adjudicator!”
A cloak of fog billows outward, one that doesn’t come from the sea or the daystar and is unlike anything seen in Vallendor. Elyn Fynal guides the fog as she commands the Raqiel guards to keep the Crusaders from leaving this arena. Then she lifts Justice, and immediately, two Raqiel guards take up positions behind her. “I am Elyn Fynal. As Grand Adjudicator of Vallendor and the Nine Realms, Sentinel and Divine Mediator, with approval of the Council of High Orders, including Lord Izariel Megidrail, I sentence you, Zephar Itikin, former Commander and Defender of Vallendor, Lord of the Shielded Fount and Prince of Lissome Blades”—she glances at the company that stands behind him—“and all of you…to death.”
The Mera standing in formation behind me shout, “Yekaa!”
On the other side, the Crusaders reply, “Yekaa!” and race toward us.
The two sides meet as lightning flashes and whitecaps surge across the Sea of Devour.
I eye the setting daystar. Suddenly, with a loud clap, my shoulder is burning.
“Shit!” I shout, looking around for whoever threw this ball of flame at me.
Zephar!
I lob balls of fire back at him, each ball unerringly striking his chest. He falls back on his ass, his face twisted with shock.
All action around us stops as a ball of fire forms on Zephar’s upturned palm. He’s slowing the world to kill me, rather than using any extra time to reflect on what he’s done and change his course before it’s too late. No, he grins at that lovely, deadly fireball—
Shari lunges at him and bites that fiery hand.
Zephar shouts, “Ost!” and loses control of the realm’s spinning. He gawks at Shari in shock.
A Crusader shouts, “Bitch!” and kicks Shari in the snout.
Both Zephar and I instinctively hurl fire at the Diminished who kicked our wolf. This is our last mutual act.
Shari hasn’t forgotten her job, though, and she lunges again at Zephar, biting down on his hand.
I narrow my eyes at Zephar as he struggles in Shari’s ironclad hold. He pales from the pain of her teeth sinking deeper into his flesh.
“Release him, Shari,” I say.
