Zach Brenner's Arc

Chapter 26 of 86

The mineshaft spat them out onto a bare slope. Below lay a wide gray valley, and through it ran a river the color of ash. Nothing grew on its banks. Nothing moved on its water. The Dead River. Zach's heart sank. Malachar had a three-day lead. If he reached the far bank first, the ritual would begin, and Darkthorne would rise before Zach could swing his blade. "He's ahead of us," Garrok said. The barbarian shaded his eyes with one thick hand. His axe hung ready across his back. "Three days lost in the mountain. We won't catch a horse on foot." His jaw tightened. He had lost hunters to this chase. He would not lose the chase itself. "Wait." Lyra dropped to one knee and pressed both palms to the frozen ground. The elf's eyes closed. Her silver pendant swung against her chest, dark and useless since it drained underground. But her deeper gift needed no charge. "I feel him," she whispered. "He's below us. Close. He never passed us in the mountain. We passed under him." Zach followed her pointing hand. On the near bank, a lone figure moved along the water. A cloak. A staff crowned with a skull. Malachar had taken the long trail over the peaks while they cut through the stone. Their blind guess in the dark had saved them three days. "Down the slope," Zach said. "Now, before he starts." They ran. Loose rock slid under their boots. Raven reached the bottom first, dropping into a crouch, crossbow up. Ayla came behind with her staff raised, her white crystal already glowing to shield them. Malachar turned. He saw them and smiled through his scar. "You crawled out of the mountain," he said. "Too late all the same." He drove his staff into the wet ground. The river hissed. Black shapes stirred beneath its surface. Zach did not wait for the shapes to rise. He charged the sorcerer directly. The blade fought his grip, then went light as he stopped fighting its weight. Malachar lifted a hand to vanish. Raven's bolt pinned his sleeve to his own staff. He jerked, and the spell broke. Zach reached him. He swung. The enchanted edge caught the skull staff and split it clean. The skull shattered on the stones. Malachar screamed. The half-risen shapes in the river sank back and went still. The sorcerer clutched the broken shaft. His smile was gone. "You've only delayed it," he snarled. This time his shape blurred and thinned. Ayla's crystal flared, but he slipped through the light and was gone. Only the split staff lay in the mud. Zach stood over it, breathing hard. They had stopped the ritual at the river's edge. They had reached it first. But Malachar lived, and the Dead River still waited to raise Darkthorne. Lyra knelt where the sorcerer had stood and lifted something from the mud. A folded map. "He wasn't finished here," she said. "He was only preparing. The rest is written down."