Mythborn (11 page)
Authors: V. Lakshman
“Great!” smiled the lore father, holding out his staff. “Take my runestaff and finish this for Edyn. I release it to you.”
Neither Thoth nor the dragon reacted to the offer. Each stood still, and in that stillness Giridian could sense trepidation.
Then Thoth smiled, though the smile did not seem to reflect what the Keeper felt inside. “I wish it were that easy, Lore Father. First, we don’t know where the Phoenix Stone is. You must keep your Adepts vigilant for any clues they may come across.”
Of course they didn’t know where it was. Then the fact that Thoth had avoided his gaze earlier raised its head again, asking for attention. A sinking feeling came over the bear-like lore father as he said, “I feel like I’m not going to like the second thing you’re going to say.”
Thoth shook his head. “No, I doubt you will. You can’t give away the runestaff, Lore Father. You were chosen and must be the one to command it until a new lore father is chosen.”
“What aren’t you telling me?”
Thoth looked around the chamber. He seemed upset, which worried Giridian more. Finally, he sighed and said, “The only way to command the Phoenix Stone is through sacrifice. The runestaff must be powered by intent and will, and there is no intent or will stronger than sacrifice freely given.”
He saw what Thoth meant, and now understood their hesitation in speaking. He should have known becoming Lore Father wouldn’t end in any good way for him. Giridian breathed in through his nose, which ended in an involuntary chuckle that burst forth, a sound that echoed the irony he felt within.
As if she understood what he laughed at, Sai’ken laid a gentle hand on Giridian’s arm and said, “The only way one canst command the Stone… is to die upon it.”
Success is not birthed from success,
it is the child of failure, catastrophe, and ruin.
And dies stillborn if not acted on lessons learned.
-
Duncan Illrys, Remembrances
T
he cavern walls were lit from beneath in an orange ruddy glow as magma flowed between sections of solid ground, creating crisscross patterns of rock and fire. Rai’stahn, dragon-knight of the Conclave, stepped forward and bowed to the empty air with his mailed fist to his chest.
“I obey thy summons,” he said in a deep voice that echoed throughout the chamber, making the place seem bigger than it truly was. He cast his sight about the enclosed space, his yellow eyes glowing in the dark like twin suns. He did not have to wait long for his call to be answered.
“What tithing dost thou bring before us, son of Edyn?” The voice rumbled like gravel on stone. Rai’stahn knew it well, like the sound of his own heartbeat. It was the voice of he who was father to all dragons, the mighty Rai’kesh, awakened upon the emergence of Lilyth. Rai’stahn watched impassively as the great dragon’s head took form, hovering in the air inches before his own, dwarfing him with its presence.
Slowly, the dragon-knight went to one knee and said, “Bara’cor is lost. The demon-queen uses it as a staging area for her forces. The battle will be thither.” Slowly, he extended a taloned hand and spread it upon the floor. “I beg thee, attend.” Then he closed his eyes, and the memories of everything that he had witnessed thus far became available for the Conclave to see.
Rai’stahn shared everything, as protocol demanded—his meeting with Themun and his agreement to convey Silbane and Arek, and their subsequent fight at the Far’anthi Tower. He shared his capture and oath bonding by the ancient archmage Scythe, whom they knew as Duncan Illrys, and his second fight with Silbane and the other adept, Kisan. Silbane had used his oath bond against him, escaping with Duncan into Bara’cor. That had led to the destruction of the nomad army by Lilyth as she enveloped Bara’cor in her phasing shield, proof against their interference.
When he was finished he leaned back, the only visible sign he was exhausted even though only a few heartbeats had passed. Breathing in deeply, he settled on his haunches and waited, still shaking from either the exertion of the mind sharing, or the anger at reliving his failure in the desert once again. He would accept whatever punishment the Conclave judged appropriate. Rais were not given the honorific for demonstrating failure, and losing the spawn of Valarius would be dealt with harshly, of that he was certain.
Sibilant whispers echoed throughout the cavern, perhaps condemning him even as he did. To have been bested twice by the same man was shame enough, but to have to share it with those gathered was a difficult thing to bear. Despite his acceptance, Rai’stahn’s anger grew.
“It is good thou didst not attempt the shield.”
Rai’stahn cocked his head and snarled, “Wherefore?”
The great dragon paused, it seemed surprised that the young knight would question him, but Rai’stahn no longer cared. At this point, one more transgression would not materially affect their decision, so he voiced his doubt. After a moment, it seemed Rai’kesh was willing to answer.
“The shield phases Bara’cor between worlds. Its touch will siphon thy life force to Lilyth. We feared losing thee.”
Rai’stahn sighed, thinking about what he knew of this emergence, then said, “Yea anon she endues her Aeris through, for they can exist unbonded within the shield.”
The air around the great dragon coalesced into a cloud of red mist, a mist that seemed alive as it coiled itself into the form of a man. From that shape stepped forth another knight, his armor blood-red to Rai’stahn’s black. He smiled, laying a taloned claw on the kneeling knight’s shoulder, and said, “Rise.”
Rai’stahn looked up at his king in surprise. “I had thought thou wouldst—”
“Punish thee?” The great dragon laughed and then helped Rai’stahn up. “Mayhap we underestimated clear portends?” He nodded to the younger dragon-knight and said, “She hath always sought Edyn’s unification. Only her methods beg question.”
Rai’stahn didn’t know what to say. He had expected far worse, consoling himself only that his daughter was still safe upon Meridian Isle and would not share in his punishment. This reprieve had caught him off-guard and he hung his head, unable to meet his king’s gaze.
Rai’kesh nodded in understanding, then began walking slowly to an arch cut in the rock. As he neared, two dwarven figures stepped back, bowing deferentially. The king of dragons ignored them, instead talking over his shoulder to the younger knight who followed.
“Doth thou think thou’re the only dragon who hath suffered defeat at the hands of a mortal?” Rai’kesh let out another laugh and said, “Argus was to me what Silbane is to thee. Doth not despair. Mayhap thou wilt come to be stalwart cater-cousins, as I and my nemesis became.” He paused, then turned serious, saying, “Something lies below what thine eyes can plainly see. Lilyth exhausted herself in the Demon Wars and learned subjugation cannot lead to victory. Thou cannot kill what thou means to possess.”
“What then, is her plan?”
“We ask ourselves the same… wherefore destroy the other fortresses?”
Rai’stahn looked at his king and said, “The archmage revealed ’twas to fix the Gate to one place.”
Rai’kesh smiled, revealing row upon row of fangs glistening white and orange in the rock light. “Haply, but not for sake of her army. If invasion hath been her goal, several gates wouldst afford the greatest tactical advantage.”
They made their way through a tunnel hewn from the rock itself, emerging into another chamber. This one was larger and cooler, with stone arches along its perimeter creating a circular amphitheater. In each arch stood a motionless dwarven soldier, so still they could be mistaken as statues if not for the heat Rai’stahn saw emanating from their skin. The mystery of the disappearance of the dwarves was, for dragons, no mystery at all.
While many had vanished along with Dawnlight to exist in-between Edyn and Lilyth’s realm, those in the service of dragons had continued their pledge. Rai’kesh motioned to them and said, “They give us another chance.”
Rai’stahn nodded, “Yet they art not enough to withstand the Aeris within Bara’cor, who by anon wilt number in the thousands.”
“And what of Dawnlight?”
“The mountain is—” Rai’stahn stopped, then turned and faced his king, his golden eyes narrowing. “What dost thou mean?” A dozen thoughts flitted through the dragon’s keen mind until comprehension dawned. He breathed in, realizing if his king were correct, Lilyth pursued a plan far more cunning than he had ever given her credit for.
Rai’kesh saw it and he asked, “What would it take to anchor Dawnlight again?”
Rai’stahn did not answer, instead saying, “I need to journey in-between, to the phased mountain, and seek the dwarves.”
The great dragon shook his massive head. “We dispatched a Sai. Thou wilt prepare our forces for war. If I am wrong, Bara’cor will be the point of the spear.”
Rai’stahn looked around the chamber, thinking. If Lilyth could secure Dawnlight, anchor it to her realm, she could possess an entire mountain filled with builders. With their bodies, what could she not accomplish?
He turned to Rai’kesh and said, “Dost thou think she will lay-to the dwarves to take Edyn?”
Rai’kesh shook his head, “Nay, Edyn hath always been a mere step towards her ultimate goal.”
“Sovereign,” Rai’stahn said, meeting his king’s gaze. “But how wouldst she find Dawnlight? It hath evaded her grasp for centuries.”
“I wot not, but the new lore father hath dispatched two adepts to the north. Thou stood as sentinel while we slept, ranging Edyn far and wide. Is thither a danger?”
Rai’stahn thought about it. It was well known Sovereign had taken the mountain after the dwarves had escaped into the phase. The only way to find Dawnlight now was by the hand of the dwarven king, and he did not suffer outsiders. None were welcome, as he had found out so many years ago with Armun Dreys. But the enemy of an enemy…
He turned to his king and said, “Sovereign still captures the dwarven people with his own assassins. Mayhap they look kindly upon others so beset.”
“And tender them aid?” Rai’kesh looked away, plainly thinking through what it would mean should the dwarves make themselves known to these adepts. “We wilt know more ’ere choosing a path.”
“Thou sayeth a Sai hath been…” then the realization of just who had been sent hit him. “Thou placed payment for mine failure upon mine daughter’s feet?”
“Thou speaketh as if I can command her. She art a Sai, and as our future queen-mother, well beyond mine own purview.”
Rai’stahn clenched his jaws in frustration. He turned to his king and said, “Being a Sai matters not. She’s stubborn and bent upon her own path, a trait it seems all those I hold dear share.”
The king grasped Rai’stahn’s arm, holding him in place, and said, “Ask yourself, in what world will thy daughter live if Lilyth defeats Sovereign? He maintains the Rais and Sais, for we still follow the First Laws. Will Lilyth doth the same?”
When Rai’stahn didn’t answer, the king shook him and demanded again, “Will she?”
Rai’stahn fell back a step, still fearful for who they had sent. “She’s only a child.”
The king laughed. “She is a
Sai
, one of the rare few, and bears herself as proudly as her father! Yet how handily doth she play us to her own ends. Thou worries overly so for a daughter who hath proved her mettle.” He then clasped the dragon-knight’s shoulder in a friendlier embrace. “Ask yourself truly, what will happen should Sovereign fall?
Rai’stahn sighed and said, “Lilyth will not suffer our presence.”
“And so,” agreed his king, “we must be prepared to seize the day. Perhaps ’tis time for us to consider a greater sacrifice, something that will truly safeguard Edyn’s future.”
“What be her mission?” asked Rai’stahn uneasily. He knew he ought to be thinking of what greater sacrifice the king intended, but he could not stop worrying about Sai’ken. Worse, it was likely she’d volunteered, making his issue with her and not an order he could argue with his king. And dealing with Sai’ken was not a thought he relished.
“The adepts seek thine old companion, one thy daughter knows well enough, shouldst he still live.”
“Armun,” stated the dragon-knight matter-of-factly. “His hand may not remain so benevolent.”
Rai’kesh turned and faced Rai’stahn, “Then pray Sai’ken achieves her goal, finding and delivering him back to us ’ere Lilyth or these adepts. Armun may be the last piece in this game of kings we play for Edyn’s salvation.”
“Dost thou think so?” Rai’stahn said miserably, his gaze on an empty space one could imagine was the memory of his daughter.
“Sai’ken is the key to Edyn’s victory,” replied the dragon-king, his warm yellow gaze still upon the dark dragon-knight at his side. Rai’kesh paused, bringing his voice to bear in what sounded like a declaration of prophecy, “And our Oath is the only way to achieve victory.”
Rend, ring, ruin, rust…
I’ve heard giants say this is the arc of metal.
I wonder then—what path flesh follows…
-
Duncan Illrys, Remembrances
Y
ou must!” Sonya said, her voice pitched low, the urgent need clear in her white-knuckled grip.
Duncan looked at his wife, then his eyes flicked to the man atop the warhorse, bow in hand, the man they had once called friend. The spark of Lore jumped from Sonya to him, filling him with the promise of a new strength, but too slowly to affect the outcome here. Still, he had to do
something
to save them.
Something in his stance, a minute shift in weight must have betrayed his intention, for his wife grabbed him tighter. A deluge of images, feelings, a lifetime’s worth, came crashing into him through their mindspeak, the connection strengthened by their close proximity. It was her gift to him, but there was one last thing.
Time slowed to a crawl as his wife brought her will to bear. The
twang
of Valor echoed like a drawn-out groan. The arrow flew from the bow so slowly Duncan saw the shaft bend and flex as it left the king’s hand. He looked down and saw Sonya’s eyes widen in shock, just as a bloody point appeared out of her chest.
She pushed him away, and he could See the illusion of him still standing there, pierced by the same arrow, even as he was cloaked by her last spell. She looked at him, the arrow protruding from her chest, and slowly fell to her knees then pitched forward to her hands. Duncan could only let out a short sob of grief that clutched in his throat, powerless to change anything, watching the scene play itself out to its bitter end.
Then the air next to her concussed and rippled, expanding outward, and a rift opened. A random thing neither of them could have anticipated. A blue-black portal that was included by happenstance in the same spell that cloaked him. He knew her intentions, but was still too stunned to act. His loss, a lifetime of memories of he and his wife, threatened to overwhelm him.
Then Sonya mindspoke, He cannot see us. Hurry, push me through!
His eyes widened in shock
, No!
You must, she replied calmly. You can still save us. Time flows differently there.
He knew the rift would not last long. Though they were hidden by her spell, should she be caught in transit, she would be cut in half by the closure. Yet she would surely die here, and her last illusion would not last long. He’d not yet assimilated his powers as the new lore father. Thoughts jumbled through his head, paralyzing him with over-analysis. He didn’t know what to do.
Now!
she screamed through the psychic link.
We have no time!
He saw the ghost of her on all fours, crawling for the rift, which could disappear at any second. Her hands clawed at the stone as she shuffled forward, the arrow still protruding out of her back and scraping on the stones below her. Each touch contorted her body in a rictus of pain. She could not move more than a few finger-lengths, and the rift began to flicker, a sure sign it would close soon.
Please, Duncan!
He stumbled forward and put his arms under her, pulling her upright and forward. Even as the illusion of Duncan and Sonya falling with one arrow through them both played for the king and his men, he pulled his wife forward and threw her through the rift, then prepared to jump himself.
No! Stay, or we cannot be saved.
She toppled into the rift, falling and turning to face him. She smiled as she fell, a hand raised in farewell, then the rift snapped shut with a
whump
of displaced air.
Duncan fell to his knees, stunned, the space before him a funeral stone with no marker except that of empty air. He had nothing left, and could again feel the weight of the moment threaten his composure. He took a shuddering breath, then looked behind him.
The king and his men turned to leave, their bloody work done. They plainly had not seen what had happened. Duncan, still shielded by his wife’s last illusion, fell on his face and lay there; the dirt, blood, and spell, acting as a makeshift bed and blanket of sorts. Then the tears came, wracking him with sobs that he quickly stifled for fear of being found. The illusion of their death would maintain itself for a while, but not forever. He needed to move, or he would die here next to those the Galadine king had slain.
Grimly, he rose. The strength of the stewardship that had been passed onto him began to take hold. He could feel it remaking him from the inside out. The power of the lore fathers would soon be his to command. His pale eyes looked in the direction of where the king and his men had gone. A fire of vengeance filled his heart, warming him like a small sun. He would see them killed before the night was finished.
“Will thou smite thine enemies anon?”
Duncan spun at the voice, his eyes wide with fear. He could not defend himself, not yet, and the king’s men would show no mercy. But the archaic language gave the speaker’s identity away.
“Stand steady, Archmage. None can hear us.”
“Sh-show yourself, my lord,” he stammered. His eyes searched the battlefield, peering around the mist and rain-soaked rock for any hint of the dragon-knight who owned that voice.
A figure, black and massive, stepped from the thin air, appearing before Duncan like a wraith from the mist. “We hath not anticipated thy king’s actions.”
Duncan fell back on his haunches and said, “Lord Rai’stahn.” He dropped his eyes, for the dragon-knights had pulled back after Valarius’s fall and, he had assumed, left the field. Were they here now, even as his wife and child were butchered? Then anger took over. “Where were you?”
The dragon-knight turned to the new lore father and said, “Thy king chose his path.”
“He killed everyone!” Duncan’s voice began to rise, but Rai’stahn’s presence now augmented Sonya’s spell, protecting them from both sight and sound. “What justifies this?”
One without a dragon’s eyes would see the gray sky and ground mist merging into a surreal pocket of isolation, the immediate area visible, but not much more. Occasional rifts popping open or closed could be heard like air being sucked in by a giant.
Duncan knew the dragon saw far better than he could. Rai’stahn looked around, his golden gaze easily piercing the mist that had grown to cover the volcano’s slopes. Then his gaze shifted and fell again upon the prostrate archmage. “A thousand suns pass for each day of a dragon’s life. By that measure, what matter is it to us whether thee and thine kill each other off?”
It was delivered acrimoniously, as if the great dragon were angry for being questioned at all. Duncan levered himself up, then stood, coming face to chest with the leader of the dragon forces. “My lord,” he said, “we must destroy the king and his men. They must pay for the lives of our people!” He pointed at the battlefield, his finger both denunciation and judgment.
Rai’stahn tilted his massive head. “What difference doth the few paltry lives of these vermin make? Thou art a pestilence upon Edyn.”
“What?” Duncan exclaimed. “You cannot mean to dismiss those who fought and died here against Lilyth. Do they not deserve a hero’s welcome?”
The dragon closed his eyes, and to Duncan it felt as if the sun had disappeared. He had not realized how much Rai’stahn’s golden gaze held the bleakness at bay. Then the archmage heard the dragon say, “As I said, we doth not intervene unless the need is dire, as with Valarius. Thy king dost not threaten the Way, nor change Edyn’s path. Until either of these be true, we forebear.”
This time, the dragon’s tone implied the creature tried to make Duncan understand, but he would have none of it. He clenched his jaws, his gaze becoming dark. Anger bled up through him like steam, a cauldron of hate without release. “You would let him get away with murder, when you can exact justice?”
“We act when our actions hast the most effect, Archmage,” Rai’stahn chastised, then looked upon Duncan with what might have been pity. “I saw thee push thy mate through. How shall she be saved, if thou fall whilst seeking vengeance?”
The words hit the new lore father like a physical blow. He put a hand to his head, his mind racing. Much had been learned about these gates between Lilyth’s realm and theirs. It was possible to travel between, but one had to be living, or possessed. The Aeris demons could not leave Lilyth’s realm without a body.
“You’ll help me… find a gate so I can go through,” he said, and it came out half plea and half demand. “I will bring them back.”
Rai’stahn looked through the mist at something the lore father could not see, then said, “With Lilyth defeated, these rifts will lessen. Finding a way wilt prove most difficult, mortal.” The dragon-knight’s gaze shifted and he said, “Thy king and his men return, likely to clear the dead.” He looked back at the lore father, who felt the heat of those eyes fall upon him again. “I will convey thee to safety, but that is the last burden I will bear for this war.” The dragon’s head sank. “Mine hands, too, art stained with innocent blood.”
A small gate popped open, taunting Duncan with its existence and semi-permanence. Duncan couldn’t ignore it and was tempted to jump through.
“Thy wife was correct. Thou wilt remain hither to parley her release,”
Duncan was speechless for a moment. Then he gathered his courage, fed by anger, and said, “You’ll leave vengeance to me?” He shook his head, closing his eyes to the sight of the motionless dragon-knight.
When Duncan uttered his next words, they sounded as much an accusation as a promise, “Then I shall become death, and justice shall be delivered by my hand.” Something changed then, a feeling of purpose, as if something else wrapped around him in its protective arms. A presence surrounded him in a halo of comfort and strength.
The dragon-knight looked up, his eyes widening at whatever he saw, and then at the small gate dissipating in a shimmer. When he looked back at Duncan, it was with an intensity that caused the lore father to step back. Rai’stahn said, “Be warned, Lore Father. Desire can shape things in ways thou cannot imagine.”
Duncan spat on the ground and turned away. “You’re ill-timed, selfish, and leave me to my own means. Very well, I’ll rescue my wife from Lilyth’s realm.” He met the dragon’s golden eyes and finished, “Or I’ll bury myself there, next to her.”
Rai’stahn paused, an indrawn breath the only sign he was still there. When he released it Duncan could smell sulfur, like the volcano belching forth hot gas. “Very well, Lore Father. We wish thee well.”
Duncan never looked back as the dragon-knight took a step and faded from view. He looked around the blasted landscape, taking a deep breath of the cool mist that had gathered around him. He could hear the king’s men now, the jingle of mail, the clink of spurs on rock. A laugh floated from the mist to an unheard joke. It filled him with a white-hot rage.
The Way had begun to manifest itself already and his body felt stronger than before, attuning itself to his newfound powers as archmage. He was not at full strength yet. That would take several days, but he had enough to do what he wished to do now. He gathered his strength and cast a simple spell, one that continued to shield him from view and sound. Then he drew a knife from his belt, curved and wickedly sharp. It has been a gift from King Mikal Galadine, a man who would come to understand the word
grief
.
Laughter floated in again from out of the mist and Duncan crouched, orienting himself even as his form faded. One did not have to see the rocks move to know his path took him toward the nearest of those sounds.
At the end of that day, not a single man dispatched to the volcano’s slopes returned alive. The ground was called cursed, the death bed of the last mages of the land, and the men refused to go back. Little did they know that death would soon cut down every man, woman, and child who had a hand in the king’s justice, like a scythe harvesting souls for the murder of a woman and her unborn child.
