Mythborn (12 page)

The Forging of Mithras

Adversity can be overcome by most men,

but to test their character, give them power.

-
          
Jebida Naserith, Should I Fall

B
aalor appeared in a flash of blue and white within Lilyth’s demesne, his new builder’s body trembling with the anticipation of seeing his queen again. Plans were unfolding nicely, even leaving the king of Bara’cor alive. The balance had to be maintained, at least for a little while longer. Had Bernal died, there would have been one more ally to aid the cursed Highlord Valarius, something they could not afford. He frowned at the thought, knowing that much of their success depended on the exact execution of their campaign.

Lilyth sat at the open arched window, looking out over her city of Olympious. It was a spot he knew she went when in deep contemplation or doubt, as if the horizon pulled her thoughts into order. He did not gainsay it, for his queen had been planning her return to Edyn with meticulous care. His only concern was to not fail her.

“Did you provide sufficient resistance?” she asked, her eyes never leaving the lands spread out before her.

“Aye, my queen. The king of Bara’cor was beaten to within a fingers-length of death’s grasp. Malak intervened, though I know not how he found the Galadine pater. Whether he knew it or not, he could not have been more timely.”

She turned to him then, and he saw the worry in her ice-blue eyes. “He will aid the elves, then? It is imperative they gain the gate.” Her face softened. “We balance on the knife’s edge.”

He nodded, commiserating. “The king could not believe anything but his death would have come at my hands if the elves had not intervened. He will lead them to the gate. Do not doubt yourself now.”

She looked down, then gave a hesitant nod that seemed meant to both answer her second-in-command and reassure herself. Looking back up, she took a deep breath and asked, “The walls between our worlds grow thin. We have Bara’cor, and must soon turn our attention to Dawnlight.”

Baalor considered his response before speaking, then said, “This body gives me access to the mountain.”

“I know,” she said, laying a gentle hand on his forearm, “but the price is so dear to me. Securing Dawnlight must be done, but I can never think of you as expendable.”

“I offered the king Ascension.” He said this matter-of-factly, a truth he did not fear to tell.

Her only response was to shake her head and say, “And he refused. He knows not enough to value it, nor you. Had he accepted, he may have saved his people from what we must do, and we would’ve gained a valuable ally against Sovereign.” She looked at him and smiled. “Yet I would still have lost you.”

He put his hand over hers, pulling her from the window’s arch and back into the royal chamber. “You’re certain letting Valarius gain entry to Bara’cor is wise?”

She arched an eyebrow, letting herself be led by her commander. “You said I should not doubt myself.” She paused, then added, “Nothing we do can be called ‘wise.’ She looked up through the glass ceiling that opened above, seeing the red-orange light spread across the sky like a wash of dried blood.

“Aye. I only ask, why is it so important he gains the Gate?”

Lilyth sighed, pulling away from the demon commander and stepping up the dais. She turned and sat on the throne, her quiet dignity making her every action seem even more regal. She smiled thinly, as if trying to muster her courage, then said, “I cannot share every detail, for we know not who can sift memories and thoughts. Trust that I hold our victory most dear.” She paused, “But I will tell you this – men such as Valarius only value what they win by their own hand. He will not value Bara’cor lest it is won at great personal cost, and because of what he will believe was his own sheer ingenuity. Hubris is the key to his heart. It is often true of men.”

Baalor took a breath, thinking about what she said. Then he assured her, “We will make him pay for every inch he claws from our grasp.”

“I know,” she said, “but now that your sacrifice comes to the fore—” her expression grew wistful and sad—“I find myself unable to give the order.”

Baalor smiled and said, “No order is needed, my lady. I offer myself gladly, and would do so again willingly.”

“I know.” Her tone grew serious when she said, “Dawnlight must be taken out of the equation or the dwarves will align with Edyn. We cannot win against them and Sovereign, so I give what I love most.”

“You give so that your people can survive. Do not mourn me.” He smiled again. “I will do what must be done.”

She looked at him and nodded, brushing away a tear. “Dazra’s men will hunt you, and even if you evade him, you will perish within Arcadia.”

The Aeris Lord looked at her for a moment then said, “You will bring meaning to Sovereign’s mistake and show him pride is a lofty place from which to fall.”

Baalor was silent, looking at his queen. Then a thought crossed his mien and with it doubt, but he hesitated. When she raised an eyebrow at him, he knew he’d have to give voice to his other concern. “I do not presume to question, but the archmage Duncan Illrys… you decided he would not infiltrate the mountain. Why the change?”

Lilyth’s smile this time was genuine, causing her eyes to sparkle and dance after the tears that still wet her eyes. “I have found a better use for our cursed companion.”

It was Baalor’s turn to smile. “His command of the Old Lore is undiminished, even after all these years. Facing him again in Bara’cor brought back fond memories.”

“I’ve given Duncan a task suited for his delicate frame of mind,” she said, inspecting the tips of her nails. She looked up at him from the corner of her eyes and continued, “Kill Valarius.”

Baalor’s eyes widened at that, then he broke out into a smile. Duncan was a powerful archmage and his bonded companion was death itself. Still, that he could prevail against the elven Highlord was doubtful. Yet any distraction to the elven highlord would be welcome under their current circumstance. Why the archmage would even continue to help did not make sense until he recalled the man’s fixation on rescuing his wife and son.

“You offered him Sonya?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes. We cannot offer him what has been taken, but I offered him a lens and told him where Sonya could be found.”

“Avalyon.” Baalor nodded, considering Duncan’s objective carefully. He finally looked up and said, “His skill may yet unravel a way past Valarius’s blood magic.”

“I leave to him to sort out the hows and whys in whatever fashion suits his fractured mind. He need only get the lens within its walls, and his wife and son are his. Doing so will give us Avalyon’s position in phase.” She turned to him and smiled. “Once done, we must be ready to move quickly.”

“Who leads then?”

Lilyth paused, then said, “Deft.”

Baalor laughed. “You set the pieces on the board nicely, my queen. There’s no better whip to drive this particular horse.” He waited, then asked carefully, “I understand about the wife, but his son?” Baalor thought for a moment. “If he realizes we don’t have him, you will not compel his hand.”

“True, but by then it will change nothing.”

Baalor cocked his head at that. “Why?”

“You truly don’t understand people, my Lord of Storms?”

“Of course I do… they’re children—curious, petty, and vile,” answered Baalor, feeling like he may have missed something obvious. Though his queen was right, he seldom cared to understand the things the people of Edyn scurried about praying for, so long as they remembered
him
in their prayers. His own aloofness had made him a favored deity for those who believed the gods were capricious, seldom intervening on behalf of mortals.

The demon-queen put a hand on Baalor’s arm and said, “Love. He cannot resist going to Avalyon now that he thinks Sonya may be there. He will risk anything.”

Baalor considered that. Love was a siren’s call, a type of madness he understood, though in the archmage’s case it had turned to something darker. No wonder Sonya survived. If survival hinged upon Duncan’s blind faith, she would live forever in Arcadia. Baalor knew one thing without doubt: Duncan would find only misery and heartbreak should he venture to the magical isle of the elves. He looked at his queen and simply said, “It will be difficult for him.”

“His sanity hangs by the barest of threads. So lost was he that the merest wisp of clarity is almost more than he can bear. It is painful to watch,” she agreed. One hand slowly came up to rest delicately under her chin. “What will he do when faced with Valarius, a man who has taken the only thing that ever mattered to him?”

The Stormlord chewed on his lip, and he could not help that a hint of sadness crept through to his features. “It will break him. He will be unpredictable at best, a maelstrom of carnage at worst.”

“And at that moment, I will use the lens to anchor Avalyon, and send our forces through.”

Lilyth looked away from her second-in-command. “The archmage will serve our needs. Choice is nothing but an illusion, a warm blanket for those who believe they have control over their insignificant lives. Duncan has only one purpose in life or death and that’s to spread ruin. Let that ruin be far from us.”

Baalor bowed, fist to chest, and took a half step back. “As you wish, my lady. May your blessings be upon us all.” She gave him a smile in answer, to which he bowed his head in reverence. Then he offered, “I hope this one proves a worthy replacement.”

Lilyth looked at him for a moment before saying, “You cannot be replaced, but I hope he proves worthy of life.” She waited until Baalor acknowledge her with a nod, then commanded, “Come before me,” to the empty room.

The air in front of the dais shimmered and sparkled, materializing into a kneeling man of massive proportions. When he’d fully coalesced, the figure stood and breathed out a long exhaled groan, his head still hung with his chin to his chest. At the second breath, he raised his head and opened his eyes, now shining blue with the power of the Aeris queen suffusing him.

It was a temporary reprieve, Baalor knew. Whether this man lived again or not would depend very much on what he did next. His queen appraised him as one did livestock, her expression one of careful consideration. Perhaps, thought Baalor, he might indeed be worthy of the honor to continue the assault on Bara’cor. First, he would be tested, and would have to prove his mettle.

The demon-queen’s lips parted and she said softly, “You once worshipped the sun.” It was not a question.

The man shrugged without looking away.
“If ‘worship’ is the best choice of words.”
His deep voice spoke in Altanese, the guttural language of the desert-born. Baalor smiled, the man’s language no barrier for the Aeris.

As if underscoring his thoughts, Lilyth smiled and shrugged, then said back in the same language as if it was her mother tongue,
“The light you worshipped is the god, Mithras, and his benevolence shone upon you and your people for eons. His warmth held your people up, kept you fed and unharmed, as the multitudes upon the world of Edyn grew.”

She looked directly at him and asked, “Tell me, have you felt his touch? Have you felt the Sunlord amongst you?”

The man looked up, his expression narrowing. He stood there, silent and massive, like a statue made of living flesh. Then he looked down and said,
“No, not as others say they have.”

Baalor smiled as Lilyth glanced quickly at him, for the man had passed his first test.

“You speak truly, for Mithras fell on the battlefield of the last war, long before you were birthed. His spirit lives on, but there has been no flesh that could withstand his purity and might.”

The man looked up at that.
“And this flesh?”
he asked, stabbing his chest with a meaty finger.

Lilyth shrugged again. “Worth is found in deed. You failed before, even with the help of the red mage.”

“I was betrayed,”
was all the man said.

“Excuse is the armor worn by fools and cowards,”
replied Lilyth, looking down at the man. Here came the second test.

For a moment, he thought the man would attack. His fists clenched and muscles rippled up his forearms to his shoulders, threatening violence. Baalor prepared to strike him down at the first sign of action against his queen. Yet something besides Lilyth’s power stayed his hand, a strength to bear the truth, even when delivered as an insult. He nodded, but said nothing.

This was Lilyth’s test, to see if the man could be led, a test his queen used to separate the mindless brutes from those who had the ability to think. Many had strength of arms, few had the ability to control themselves. Had the man acted rashly, Baalor knew he would have watched him die again and fade into oblivion.

Instead, the massive figure slowly fell back to his knees, then placed gnarled fists on the ground. He bowed, touching his forehead to the dais, and said in the common tradespeech of Edyn, “One chance at life, and I will destroy Bara’cor and all who live within her. I will follow wherever fate leads me.”

Lilyth did the same, switching languages with the ease of drawing a breath, “You may perish, obliterated by the pure light of the morning sun. Mithras is the Dawnbreaker, and I cannot rescind that which is freely given by you.”