Falcyn pulled back, ready for war, as the beast by his side rose to do battle. He stepped away from Medea, intending to change into his own dragon body to fight.
Blaise took his arm and fisted his hand in his sleeve to stop him. “Don’t! That’s Maddor.”
Those words froze him to the spot. His heart started racing at the sight of the largest dragon.
This was his son. Close enough to touch.
To hold.
The one creature he’d always wanted to meet.
And he was standing beside his grandson, who continued to hold on to him. For the first time in his life, he was with his children. Both of them. The magnitude of the moment overwhelmed him as he struggled with emotions he couldn’t even begin to define. Twisted pain. Heartache.
Inexplicable joy and pride.
Unbelievable love.
These were his boys. His own flesh and blood …
Feelings slammed into him and left him reeling until the entire lot of them settled down into a rage so profound that it was all he could do not to go straight back to Sanctuary and gut Max for what he’d done.
For what he’d unknowingly cost his children.
And yet—
“Maddor…” The name came out in an anguished breath as he stepped forward, wanting to embrace him.
Urian splayed his hand against Falcyn’s chest to stop him from approaching his child. “They have him pinned.” He jerked his chin toward the chain that held Maddor in place. “I’m betting if you free the dragons, it’ll kill him.”
It took Falcyn a moment to realize that Urian was right. The chain ran straight into Maddor’s chest and no doubt through his heart. That was the kind of cruelty Narishka and Morgen specialized in.
Damn the bitches for it.
And that wasn’t all. They had him muzzled, too.
That combination of cruelty made Maddor insane. Falcyn couldn’t blame him in the least. No dragon did well in captivity. Not even a mandrake. They were meant to roam free, not be bound in such a manner.
Stepping past Urian, Falcyn reached to touch his son’s scales. “Maddor, calm yourself. We’re here to help.”
With a fiery hiss, Maddor lunged at him so that Falcyn couldn’t make contact. Fuck you!
There was no missing that angry voice in Falcyn’s head. Maddor lashed at Blaise with his tail.
Falcyn barely pulled Blaise back before Maddor pierced him with a spike. “Stop! You don’t want to harm us.”
Of course I do. It’s your fault I’m here! I intend to kill you both!
Falcyn winced at a truth he couldn’t change. “I know, and I’m sorry for that.”
You’re about to be even sorrier those three seconds before I kill you!
Falcyn ground his teeth, needing some way to reason with an unreasonable temper. Why of all the things his son could have inherited from him did that have to be the primary one?
Then again, it could be worse.
He could have inherited his mother’s.
Yeah, Igraine’s temper had made a mockery of his own. And right now, that double dose of bad genetics was palatable.
Suddenly, the floor rumbled under their feet. Like a 6.0-magnitude earthquake …
Confused by the cause of it, he reached for Medea. But it was hard to remain standing. “Blaise? What the hell is going on here?”
“No idea. Flying hell-monkeys, maybe?”
They should be so lucky. Instead of dramonk demons being unleashed, the cracks in the stone widened and a greenish smoke spiraled out. It was as if the entire dungeon was alive and moving.
No, not moving.
Breathing. That was exactly what it felt like. Smelled like. The way the floor and walls moved was in time to someone’s intake of breath. In and out. Seismic. Rolling.
Jarring.
Urian sneered as he caught a whiff of some foul sulfuric stench. “Someone tell me these are vapors like the Delphian oracle used to get high on before she mumbled gibberish.”
Medea shook her head. “Sorry, little brother. I actually visited her once. This ain’t it.”
True to her prediction, the smoke coiled into fierce warriors, complete with armor.
And swords.
They had a lot of swords.
What the hell?
“Man!” Urian snapped. “We cannot catch a break.”
“Hey, I gave you an easy way out,” Falcyn reminded him. “You could be home right now, watching Survivor. But no, you chose to be here.”
“What can I say? I’m an idiot. I’d blame it on the fact that I come from a long line of them, but my mom and dad would kick my ass for the insult. So I’ll blame Stryker for raising me among them.” Urian used his powers to conjure a sword. “Anyone have a clue who and what these assholes are?”
“It’s the dungeon.”
They turned to stare at Brandor.
“What did he just say?” Urian’s tone was filled with disbelief.
Brandor nodded. “There are two sections to the chambers down here. La Mort à Jamais—the Eternal Death, where Morgen and Narishka place those they want to torture without fear of killing them. It’s enchanted to ensure their victims will live no matter what’s done to them. Once they’re finished with the torture, Morgen has the lifeless body taken and added to the catacombs. But the by-product of that cruelty and magick is that the dungeon absorbs the tortured soul and holds on to it forever. It makes the soul a part of it. After a time, l’âme en peine bonds with the others that are trapped here until they become one single entity.”
“Okay.” Falcyn glanced around at the forming warriors. “So they’re ghosts?”
He shook his head. “No. The nature and strength of the residual magick combines with the souls. Instead of making individual ghosts, they become one single beast. Lombrey de la Mort.”
Falcyn let out a tired breath at the words that meant Death Shadow. “Are you telling me that we’re facing Shadow’s evil twin?”
Brandor laughed. “His prince underling, actually. If Shadow were here, he could control Lombrey and force him into retreat. Or at least order him to stand down.”
Why did those words make him sick to his stomach?
“Without him?”
Glancing around at the numerous warriors the darkness was spawning, Brandor sighed. “We’re screwed. Lombrey’s a nasty bastard. Filled with the screams and righteous agony of a million innocent victims. They say it’s driven him mad and so he attacks everyone who comes into his domain. Indiscriminately.”
Medea scowled. “Then how does Shadow quell him?”
“Hell if I know. For that matter, no one knows for sure. Only that he goes without fear into wherever it is that Lombrey lives and emerges victorious.”
Falcyn growled in frustration. “Well that’s … fucking useless.” They had to find some way to get Maddor free without killing him. Awaken the dragons.
And stop Lombrey from attacking them.
Or killing them.
But how could anyone fight a shadow when they weren’t a shadow? When they couldn’t drag his soldiers out, make them solid, and beat the hell …
Wait a second.
Yeah, that was it!
Falcyn licked his lips in expectation of the fight to come. But as he prepared himself mentally, he had a radical idea.
Mad radical.
This was crazy, but just insane enough that it might work.
He glanced over to the women. “Um … Brogan? Can you do us a favor? Summon the Crom.”
Eyes wide, she turned to gape at Falcyn. “Beg pardon? Are you out of your mind?”
“All the time. But strangely, this isn’t total lunacy.” Well, total being the operative word. “It makes complete sense.” If one was insane.
Blaise cleared his throat. “I’m with Brogan. I think this is a profoundly bad idea.”
“Good thing I’m bad to the marrow of my bones.” Falcyn shot a fire blast at the spiraling shadows headed for them. “You might want to coo to the Crom, love … Sooner rather than later.”
Medea attempted to fight off an attacker, only to learn what he already knew.
It was an impossible task. They were too quick and noncorporeal. A bad combination in a fight.
Brogan’s voice echoed off the stone walls as a large shadow peeled itself away to approach them.
“Scream. Scream. Loud and clear.” His voice was haunting and raspy. “Anguish is the sound most dear.” He laughed. “Tell me now of every pain. Until no life here shall remain.”
“You’re a twisted bugger.” Falcyn shot a fireball at their new friend.
The light broke through the darkness to show an ethereally handsome face. At least one side of it. The other was concealed by a black hood. With haunting eyes of gold, Lombrey stared at him. His caramel skin glistened before he faded back into the recesses of the wall.
The floor buckled again as the ground continued its rhythmic pulsing.
“Hear me, Crom, I bid you ride,” Brogan breathed. “I need you now, by my side.”
Lombrey hissed at her chant. “What are you doing?”
She didn’t respond to him. “Of darkest sin and mighty power. Let your fiercest wrath reign and shower.”
“Stop that!” Lombrey growled.
It was too late. A swirling vortex twisted in the air, sending debris all over them, and scattering the shadow warriors Lombrey had conjured.
“What is this?” Medea asked.
“The Crom rising.” Falcyn jerked his chin toward the light that spiraled in dizzying circles. A horse neighed in the distance.
Then they felt him. That heavy, rhythmic thrumming of demonic hooves. They pounded in his chest like a second heartbeat.
Until the Black Crom and his horse leapt from the portal and reared before them.
Brogan shrank back with a shriek while Blaise ran to protect her.
Falcyn smiled. “Brogan? Tell him Morgen, Narishka, and Mordred.”
Her eyes widened. “Pardon?”
“He wants the names of victims. I can’t think of any better. Or more deserving of his wrath.”
A slow smile curved her lips as she finally understood what he was asking her to do. With a tilt of her chin and a wink, she let out a small laugh.
“Master of life and silent death. I call upon you with my sacred breath. Hear these names and so pursue. Morgen, Mordred, Narishka are the ones meant for you.”
The Black Crom shot his skull whip toward Brogan so that it could open its mouth as if catching those names, and laugh at her. To them all I will ride. And never spare them my homicide.
Suddenly, Medea began to chant in a language Falcyn couldn’t identify.
As she did that, he began his own incantation. It was something he hadn’t done in a long while. Something he’d once been real good at.
The air around him sizzled as he called on his arcane powers. The kind that only a god could command. Every hair on his body stood to attention.
Goose bumps ran from his neck, down his back, and across his arms. The aether whispered in his ears. The voices of a billion people and those of his parents and those of other pantheons.
He heard the lifeblood of the world. The universe. Even the stars whispered in his ears. Power rose up inside him. Crackling. Snapping. Sizzling.
Without being told, Falcyn knew his eyes had turned a serpentine yellow. Something confirmed as Medea looked at him and gasped.
Falcyn ignored her as he came to the most dangerous part. Should he lose focus now, Maddor would die. It took a lot of care to remove a soul from a body, especially against the will of the owner. Most couldn’t even begin to do this, as all souls had to be given and gently coerced.
But he was older than those laws. Back in the day, his father had commanded the souls of all humanity. He’d bartered and sold them like a child with a set of Pokémon cards.
Lombrey froze.
As did his warriors.
It’s working.…
Any moment now, his son would have a new home. Maddor might hate him for it, but at least it would get him away from Morgen’s clutches.
Falcyn whispered faster.
Louder.
The Black Crom screamed. Lombrey cursed and writhed as he fell to his knees.
Something dark and cold passed through Falcyn. It rose up like a wave and came crashing down. Electricity roiled through his body, making his hair fly up and out. For a full minute, no one moved.
No one breathed.
No one dared.
Falcyn turned toward Lombrey, expecting to see Maddor.
The shadow warriors faded into the walls of the dungeon, where they hung as motionless shadows. “What have you done?” Lombrey asked.
“I freed you from Morgen.”
Lombrey laughed. “I was never enslaved by that bitch.”
Confused, Falcyn turned toward Blaise for an explanation. “I thought Morgen owned all the mandrakes.”
“She does.”
His brow arched in question, he turned back toward Lombrey, who stared at him with a frown of utter bewilderment.
“What do mandrakes have to do with me?”
A bad feeling went through Falcyn. He’d pulled Maddor’s soul out of his body. He’d felt it. There was no mistaking that sensation. Granted, it’d been a while since he’d last done such, but still …
He returned to the “dragon” Maddor’s side.
The dragon who for all intents and purposes appeared to be Maddor could no longer speak. He glanced about the room as if every bit as disoriented and confused as Falcyn felt.
That bad feeling deepened inside him. Please tell me I didn’t.…
With a knot in his stomach, he glanced around at his companions. Yet no one seemed to be different.
Who the hell had his son’s soul?
“Maddor?”
Brandor took a step back. “Why are you looking at me?”
He pinned an inquisitive stare on Brogan.
“What?” she asked.
“Urian?”
“Yeah?”
Ah, God, please tell me it’s not …
Falcyn swallowed hard as fear gripped him with an icy hand. “Medea?”
“Yes?”
Relief poured through him so fast that he saw stars from it.
Okay, everyone seemed to be the same.
And that was not helpful. He still had no idea what had happened to his child.
If Maddor wasn’t Maddor, and everyone else was who they were supposed to be, what could have happened to his …
His thought trailed off as the one and only answer dawned on him.
Fuck me.
Stunned and more fearful than he’d have ever thought possible, he turned toward the only rational explanation.
Dear gods no …
And yet, there was no other option.
Maddor was the Black Crom.
Demonic laughter echoed around them. “Took you long enough to figure it out, dragon. Thank you for the upgrade.”