Book Excerpt: Sanctum of the Archmage: Dawn of Chaos, by Tony Andarian

“This is it,” Kay said. “They’ll be on us in seconds.”

She took careful aim and loosed her bluesteel arrow at Ashrach’s left eye. It seemed to shudder in mid-flight, bending slightly from its path. It struck the demon’s face instead, leaving a long, ugly, gore-gushing gash.

Stefan turned abruptly to look at Randia. Her eyes had suddenly gone wide with surprise.

“What is it?” he demanded.

“I don’t know,” she said. Her voice had a preoccupied quality, as though she were listening to something. “A touch of magic. Something … familiar, and yet nothing I’ve ever felt before …”

Ashrach howled. It raised its hand again and gestured toward Kay. She stared at it as the remaining guards fell in around her, preparing for one, last, desperate stand. She looked into the monster’s small, bovine eyes, and smiled defiantly.

“For the Princess Bard!” she cried.

A bolt of silver fire stabbed down from above. Guards and demons alike blinked and covered their eyes against the flash.

When Randia recovered her sight, she saw the great bull-demon stumbling unsteadily. The weight of its great sword seemed suddenly to be pulling it off balance.

It took her a moment to realize why.

The monster’s left arm had been pointed toward them, about to kill Kay with a burst of demonic power. Now it was gone. All that remained was a smoldering scar cauterized at the creature’s shoulder.

She looked up. A figure sheathed in silver fire was descending toward the glade with impossible speed. It gestured as it fell, and a spray of magic streaked toward the demons.

“Guards! Fall back!” it cried in a thunderous voice.

The monsters barely had time to realize what was happening. A chorus of panicked shrieks rose from their ranks as they leaped wildly to evade the attack. Many were cut off as the fusillade struck, its targets consumed in bursts of blinding white flame. Randia looked on in wonder as a dozen of the demons simply died, burned to ash where they stood.

“Starfire,” she breathed.

There was a rush of wind as the figure landed. His boots struck the ground with a loud report, and the stone cracked at the force of their impact. His brown cloak billowed around him like a cape in a gale.

When the figure straightened, she saw it was a man. A living armor of silver fire sheathed his body, and his right hand held a familiar wand. In his left, Flamebane shone with a cold, white light.

“It’s the prince!” Kay cried. “Rally to Prince Gerard!”

Randia stared, wide-eyed, at her brother’s right hand. It wore a golden ring with a blue stone on the third finger. She could sense its power. It burned with an impossibly intense magic, unlike — and far stronger — than any she’d experienced before.

She was shocked to realize that she couldn’t just feel the ring’s magic. She could hear it as well. It was as though it were singing to her in her mind. There were no words, only song and music — like a coloratura voice backed by a full orchestra, ringing through a triumphant crescendo.

She shook her head, vision blurring with tears. The beauty of the song was overwhelming. Her heart reeled with love and relief — at seeing her brother, alive and safe and there to rescue them, arriving in the very nick of time …

That’s what the song is about, she realized. It’s the triumphant refrain of the beloved hero, arriving to save the day. How am I hearing that?

Gerard faced the demons. With cries of “To the prince!” the remaining guards rushed toward him. Hope returned to their eyes as they fell in at his side, weapons raised.

“Disperse, servants of evil,” his voice boomed. Randia had never heard her brother speak with such confidence and authority. For a moment, she thought she was listening to her father. “Flee, and you may live.”

The point of Ashrach’s great sword pressed into the ground. It leaned on the weapon to steady itself, and then, slowly, regained its balance. It turned its bull head to look at its left side, where its arm had been only moments before. Then it faced Gerard.

“The Horde of Borr does not fear death, princeling,” it said. “And it does not flee its prey. You may be powerful, but you cannot defeat us all.”

It yanked the point of its sword free from the stone and leveled it at him.

“We have two royals in our grasp, now,” it roared. “Glory awaits, and Gorath will have the soul of any Deman who balks at this fight. Take them!”