Xariel.Beautiful,sinisterXariel.
Dmitri closed his eyes to the pain. Soft light reflecting off skin, panted breaths. Smiles. Laughter. The heart he’d forgotten he possessed ached.
His thoughts turned sour. “The Lady” so many worshipped would doom them in the end. He’d tried before to convince the people it wasn’t what it seemed and had been cursed for his efforts.
None of those people existed anymore. None escaped the creature’s callous disregard.
Except for Xariel, more cursed than Dmitri for betraying the one who’d possessed his body.
Power corrupted. With each destroyed realm, the creature gained more. If they didn’t fight, it would destroy this realm too.
But Dmitri and his ilk didn’t risk telling the truth. Once people made up their minds, there’d be no dissuading them, particularly about religion.
No, the people loved the Lady, who gave them their secret heart’s desires. They wouldn’t take the blinders off to see who—or what—she really was.
Dmitri fought on the frontlines to save the people who’d so easily turn against him. While Xariel would risk any and all other realms to restore their own, putting them on opposite sides of this fight.
Yes, Xariel had powerful magic. He’d been among the strongest of them seasons ago when Dmitri left and broke their mage bond to prevent Xariel from feeding on Dmitri’s magic.
Dmitri’s former love had seasons to grow stronger since, gathering energy his servants brought back from this world.
Was something of the man Dmitri remembered lurking beneath the surface?
And Xariel brought those other beings, using them as pawns. Before revenge consumed his every waking thought, he’d once been a good, caring man.
Dmitri’s caring man, who’d seen the worlds the creature destroyed; the lives laid to waste. World upon world, lives upon lives, sacrificed to a being who gave nothing in return.
There was no chance Xariel could defeat the Lady on his own, for the guardians had failed when they’d numbered in the thousands. And a smaller chance still for those who yet lived.
What if they combined forces?
With purpose, Dmitri strode to the bridge he’d once shown Martin. The lower city smoldered around him. Bodies lay where they fell, rich and poor alike. A well-dressed man died next to the woman he’d probably left the safety of his home to procure.
Death had no regard for rank or social standing and would not stop. These lost souls were beyond help. For the living, Dmitri must strike a bargain.
Stepping over the rough stones of the ancient bridge, he removed his glove and placed his bare hand on the runes. They glowed. Nothing happened. After so long a time, had the portal closed on this end? The demons came through quickly enough.
Xariel couldn’t have gotten through if the wards hadn’t fallen completely. Had someone sealed the entrance to keep Dmitri out?
One by one, he plodded through carnage to reach other runestones. The other guardians were out seeking demons, but he’d not heard their whistled signals.
Finally, on a crumbling piece of wall he remembered as having been freshly built, he pressed his palm to the runes. A rumbling reply from deep underground answered. The air above the fallen stones shimmered. Drawing in a deep breath, Dmitri stepped through.
He came out at a near replica of his old home, on a ridge overlooking the city. Or what once had been a city, now overgrown. Drifting by on a breeze, phantoms whose faces he dared not gaze upon.
Family, friends; he’d lost so many during the purge when his world ran out of magic. This had been such a beautiful place once. From this vantage point, he spied the cove in the distance where he’d once…
No! He’d lost his love. Lost his mage bond. Twisting discomfort squeezed at his heart. A coward, he hadn’t even told Martin the truth about the man he’d loved.
And lost. There were always two.
Seizing a gnarled stick from the ground, Dmitri waved a hand to remove any small branches. Apparently, he’d brought enough magic with him to strip the twigs and use the remainder as a walking stick.
The ground here sloped steeper than in E’Skaara, the city having worn away at the surrounding crags. No directions were needed. Finding the path took no effort at all.
He strode down what had once been streets, now covered over by grass, and paused, gazing at the spot where the Stone’s Throw stood in the other realm. In his own world, a robust woman served potions here, once upon a time, potions Dmitri’s mother purchased when Dmitri or his siblings fell ill.
His brothers. Eight brothers, all gone. Four sisters, gone. Mother gone. Father gone. No more chatter from nephews or nieces. Nothing remained to mark the grand estate where Dmitri had grown up except a twisted metal gate, long since rusted.
