Dreadgod (Cradle Book 11) (25)

Now, the entire sky was black with clouds, and rain pelted everything in sight—except Northstrider—in a constant deluge. The city shimmered in a rainbow hue, its protective constructs engaged.

As dragons of living madra rained from the sky.

The Weeping Dragon’s Striker techniques fell in the millions, tiny serpentine dragons of crackling blue-gold storm madra. They writhed like worms as they reached the ground, shooting off to seek the nearest target with spiritual power. As they fed, they would blight the countryside like a swarm of locusts.

Northstrider looked up to a bright nine-colored star that shone through the clouds. He flew up to join Sha Miara, blasting through the living techniques with his body. The tiny dragons broke when they hit his skin, and he paid them no heed.

The youngest Monarch was shrouded in bright madra that shimmered in every color, shrouding her from even his eyes. The disguise was shaped into the general outline of a woman, meant to deceive people into thinking that Miara’s mother—Sha Leiala—was still alive.

In the last few months, the Sha family had begun to seed the rumor that Leiala was about to abdicate her rule to her daughter. They must have felt that Miara had grown enough to handle the public burden.

If she survived the coming conflict, she would be worthy of her throne. And Northstrider would make his judgment on the matter clear.

He couldn’t see her real face without stripping her disguise away, but he knew what she would be watching, so he arranged himself to watch the same direction.

A serpent’s coils broke the ocean of clouds. The sapphire scales shimmered with their own internal light, and though the Dreadgod was hundreds of miles away, it still appeared titanic.

Northstrider rolled his neck before his body could tense up. The Weeping Dragon had struck him a great blow, enough that most of the world had thought him dead for many years. He could still feel the lightning scorching him as it fed, trying to tear his soul out from his body.

It was the closest he had come to a true death since reaching Monarch.

“How long can the city defenses hold?” he asked Sha Miara.

“A few weeks.” The disguise covered her voice as well, but he heard the quiver of uncertainty in her tone. “Less, if it attacks in earnest. Would you…ahem. We would be eternally grateful for your assistance in this matter. You would be handsomely rewarded.”

Northstrider didn’t have to focus on his perception to feel the Dreadgod’s power, which rolled through the storm, dominating the entire country at once.

“I am not its opponent anymore,” he said. There was no shame in that. The prisoner in the labyrinth, Subject One, had died. Its power had been distributed among the other Dreadgods.

Not long ago, a Monarch might have been able to kill a Dreadgod. It still would have been a legendary feat, but within the realm of possibility. What stopped it from happening was the cooperation between the Dreadgods…and the knowledge that while one remained dead, the others shared its power.

Sha Miara shuddered at his words, though she must have expected his answer. She had the memories of her ancestors. “I will petition the others, then.”

“The others,” Northstrider repeated. The only reason he was free was because he had no territory to defend. “If not for Emriss Silentborn’s power and preparations, the Everwood continent would bow to the Silent King before moonrise tonight. The Bleeding Phoenix flies for Iceflower, while the Wandering Titan remains on Ashwind. The only continent not facing invasion is Rosegold, and you have a better chance of asking the moon for help than Reigan Shen.”

Miara sighed, and through the technique altering her voice, it came out as a musical whisper. “What other choice do I have, Northstrider?” The weariness in that statement made her sound older than her mother had ever been.

“I will help you hold out as long as I can. This situation is not without hope.” It was not like Northstrider to reassure anyone, and he still would not do so without basis. His oracle codex fed him information, especially predictions and simulations of the Dreadgods and what actions they would likely take.

“The Dreadgods’ ability to travel through space makes them more dangerous to the world as a whole,” he continued. “As does their intelligence. However, at their core, they have the same motivations. If you can make your city too difficult to consume, the Dragon should move on to easier prey.”

“If it can travel the Way, then we will always be under siege.”

Without his centuries of experience and the aid of his oracle codex, Northstrider might have thought so as well. “Their existence weighs too heavily upon the world. They cannot ascend, and they cannot travel freely, but they are still more mobile than they have been since the Dread War. Thus the Dragon is more likely to give up your city for another.”

“Maybe it will,” she said hopefully. “Though it seems wrong to hope that a Dreadgod will—”

Space cracked in half.

From the sky down through the clouds, a dark fissure appeared in the world. For one dark moment, Northstrider felt his fear return. He manifested his codex, terrified that it might display the same message it had before: “A destroyer has come.”

To his relief, there was no such message. But when he heard what the codex actually predicted, his eyes widened in shock.

A moment later, armies poured out from the crack.

At their head flew a beautiful woman with wings of golden lightning. She was followed by eighteen golden sparks—her famous flying blades—and dozens of her disciples. Like copies of her in miniature, they ranged from Archlord down to Underlord.