Rebelmind Rising

Dragon of Nevermore

Black stone gargoyles accented the gothic architecture of Nevermore. The vaulted antechamber ceiling and flying buttresses awed the many visitors to the castle each day. And underneath the imposing edifice, a labyrinth carved into the solid stone housed all her enemies. Five round towers of varying heights rose above the buttresses and defiantly faced down the southern storms that flung their fury on Nevermore. Footsteps in precise tattoo clicked their way across the vaulted and colonnaded antechamber's green marble floor. Hardly pausing to notice the trophies of conquered lands at intervals along the corridor, Hermione swept toward the spacious throne. Obsidian and quartz speared from around it, forming the back of the throne as well as a defense measure. The carved arms ended in dragon claws on the marble steps, and on the wall above it, a dragon stretched its painted wings across the stones. Hermione, an imposingly beautiful woman, wore a black satin dress and cape. The practicality of the garment suited her station as queen and general. Ruthless and calculating, she'd formed an empire where previously had stood a faltering state. A necklace of crystal matched her crown and scepter, both of which featured wrought iron, quartz, and obsidian.

"No audiences today." She turned to Lukas, her second in command. "I need to think."

"Yes, your highness."

"Come with me, captain."

She swept toward the stairs leading up the outside of the tower to the lofty war room in the north tower, overlooking the sea and the city below. Here, a topic relief map showed the garrisons and troop positions of Nevermore and the rival tribes and kingdoms within and beyond their borders.

"What do you think, Lukas?" Hermione questioned, motioning to the board.

"It looks set for checkmate, your highness." Lukas removed his iron armor, setting it down with a 'chink' against the wall. Dressed only in dark trousers, he reclined on the lavish divan, hands behind his head. "You are truly a genius, m'lady."

Hermione glanced at him, a frown darkening her face. She tossed a token at him, which he casually caught with one hand before sitting up and inspecting it closer.

"There's a wildcard somewhere."

"What sort of wild card?"

"I'm not sure yet, but there always is one somewhere in the plan."

Lukas loosened his belt. "But the spell should be foolproof, right?"

Dark magic always had its price. "Foolproof, yes, but priceless, no. And sometimes that price comes by unseen opposition."

"Does Regulus know that you used his soul stone for the spell?"

Hermione shook her head, eyes distant. "No one must ever know the price of my power. Especially Regulus. He will never know he has a soul stone, never know anything other than that he is inseparable from the country, and his fate is its fate. I've paid the price and cast the spell, Lukas. Power is mine and the goal is within reach. Seal the door and never let anyone go beneath the dungeons again. And speak of this to no one."

"Yes, your highness." Lukas ran fingers through his dark hair. The woman leaning against the table before him, lost in thought, need never question his loyalty. He would protect her to his last breath and squander his last drop of blood to purchase whatever victory she desired. He would willingly stand behind her throne, no matter how great or humble. Even if no one else did.

*****

Beside a little cottage overlooking the sea, a weather-beaten old man tipped his chair against the storm-worn boards and smiled to himself. Not many others would have or could have caught the shift in the chords deep in the earth. As the curse radiated outward from Nevermore, its spell bunching the cords together into spirals of control.

"A heart poison curse," the Sage mumbled to himself, grinning despite the new tug on his own chord. "The most dangerous of all spells to cast."

He glanced northward at the shadowy summit of the North Mountain looming on the horizon. Eternal snows capped its slopes and deep within its heart, the chords of each person came together and formed one sacred strand. Dark magic sent along the chords from any of the anchor points (of which Nevermore was one), eventually found its way to the mountain. And light equal to the dark would rise from a chord the mountain chose.