Mythborn (49 page)

Lilyth ignored her, and instead said to the group, “Valarius Galadine. The Highlord is responsible for spreading more misery and pain than you can know. Over two hundred years of persecution, hunting, and death can be laid at his feet.” She looked back at Kisan, waiting for the master to meet her gaze. “I offer you a chance to right that wrong. Kill him, and you will bring justice for your family’s death.” She walked back up and sat, then tossed the torc down the steps of her dais. It bounced with a metallic ring, its metal scintillating in the afternoon sun as it came to rest in a clattering swirl. For a moment, Arek thought Kisan would snatch it up and throw it at Lilyth herself, but the master seemed somehow subdued, as if the demon-queen’s question had created a small worm of doubt in her normally unshakable confidence.

Lilyth looked down at the assembled group and asked, “What would your Council order if you had the chance to stop a war before it started? You have that chance now. Valarius’s plans do not stop with the subjugation of Arcadia. Edyn will be next, and if you think the last two hundred years of persecution were terrible, wait until he’s your highlord. You cannot fathom such misery. You think Arek is being thankless? What, then, would you call your actions?”

Kisan surged forward but was intercepted by Silbane. “Easy!” He looked over his shoulder at the demon-queen and said, “We’ve travelled far, and this is a lot to take in. Can we have a moment?”

Lilyth inclined her head. “Of course.” She motioned to her guards, who stepped forward, “They will escort you all to someplace more private.”

Silbane pulled Kisan back, moving to the doors with the group.

Yetteje turned and addressed Lilyth. “I would like speak with you.”

Lilyth breathed out, then nodded. “Of course, stay and we can discuss whatever you wish.”

The princess looked at the group, her eyes finally coming to rest on Arek. “I’d like him to stay, too.” She then pitched her voice for Arek alone, “Will you?”

Arek nodded. He looked at Brianna and gestured that she should follow the others. The dwarven woman nodded back, descending to follow the two Watchers.

Lilyth looked back at the group, who by now had recovered some semblance of control. They followed the two guards, who made their way out the same doors through which Tempest had been taken. The last one out was Silbane, who looked back at Arek, his concern plainly written on his face.

Arek nodded to him, trying to reassure him he’d be okay. His master bowed once to Lilyth, then left as the giant double doors closed behind him.

A Morale Choice

The dead speak through our memories,

the living speak through our prejudices.

-
          
Argus Rillaran, The Power of Deceit

Y
etteje waited for the room to clear, watching as Arek’s master was clearly torn between his concern for his apprentice and keeping Kisan in check. She did not envy him balancing on that delicate knife’s edge. While she did not disagree with Kisan, other issues kept her from giving the female master her full support. Now she turned, facing the woman who could resolve at least one of her deeper fears.

She met the cool gaze of the demon-queen and said, “My father, is he… here?”

“Yes,” Lilyth acknowledged, “noble King Tir lives on in this realm. He was so loved by his people he has earned a new life.”

Yetteje surged forward. “Can I see him?” Her eagerness interrupted anything else Lilyth might have said, but she didn’t care.

The demon-queen gave her a soft smile, then gestured. Arek’s sudden gasp told Yetteje something was happening, but she dreaded seeing for herself. It would only confirm with irrefutable truth the simple, cold fact her father had indeed fallen.

Slowly, however, she felt herself turning, her body drawn to whatever lay behind her by the inexorable strings of her own heart. A figure stood there, tall and regal. Her eyes tracked up the mailed boots to the ornate armor engraved with the trident of EvenSea. It followed a strong shoulder bedecked with the aquamarine cloak edged in gold, to finally see the face of the man she knew all her life. A small sob escaped, then she ran down the dais and into Ben’thor Tir’s waiting arms.

Time seemed to stand still as she melted into his bear-like hug. He shushed her softly as her sobs came, now harder as the reality of his passing struck her like a physical blow. He was so real! She could feel the mail, smell the cinnamon flavored sap he liked to chew, even feel the gristle of his beard, still peppered black and white.

Then she looked up at him and he smiled, his amber eyes lighting with joy. She wiped her face, trying to clear her tears, and smiled back saying, “I wish you weren’t here.”

“At least you’re safe,” Ben’thor replied.

“Mother?” she asked, frantic at the thought of another apparition appearing and confirming the death of her entire family.

Her father shook his head. “Evacuated, along with the rest of the household, east to Morninglight.”

At that something inside Yetteje unclenched, and she sobbed and fell to her knees. A moment passed then Arek was beside her, pulling her up. He turned to Lilyth and asked, “How is it she can touch him? I was told our touch banishes shades.”

There was silence, then Lilyth replied, “Lesser shades are banished, such as those manifested from a person or family’s memory. Ben’thor is a legend to his people—magnanimous, noble, and loved. EvenSea prays for him and his family, and as such he has more substance here, at least for as long as we can survive.”

Yetteje faced her father again, his form blurring as she worked furiously to clear her eyes. “What did you mean, for as long as you survive?” she asked the demon-queen.

Lilyth tilted her head, then said, “The Aeris are at war with Valarius and Sovereign. If either wins, it means our death. Was this not clear?”

“Return him to me,” Yetteje demanded, not really listening or caring anymore. “He’s a good man and deserves another chance.”

“I agree,” Lilyth said, nodding slowly.

“You—” she looked at the demon-queen, confused, “What?”

“I agree,” Lilyth repeated. “Why should good men like your father not be given second chances?”

Arek shook his head, also clearly confused, and asked, “You can bring him back?”

“Ben’thor Tir can live again,” Lilyth said. “He need only claim a body from Edyn.”

Her simple statement rocked Yetteje to her core. Of course! Just like the mistfrights who took over Alyx, her father could take another’s place and live again! Then the moral implication struck her and she looked at her father. The man shook his head slowly and said “You know we can’t do that.”

“Why not?” inquired Lilyth. “Why not take a life less deserving than your own, King Tir?” Then she asked Arek, “Or offer a chance for your mother, Sonya? Why should she not have a chance to be with her son again?”

“We can bring them back?” Arek inquired softly.

Lilyth nodded. “As an Aeris, your mother could inhabit the body of someone who did not leave Edyn a better place with their existence. She could once again shed her wisdom upon her fellow men.”

Ben’thor held out his hands. “Less deserving? And who judges that?”

“You have,” answered Lilyth matter-of-factly. “Your prisons are filled with those deemed ill-fit for freedom. Some will die under the executioner’s blade… a shameful waste. Is not a greater good achieved by letting you lead your people again? Is my solution not far more humane?”

There was silence at that, and even Yetteje could feel her father considering Lilyth’s words. Her mind went numb with hope imagining her father alive again. After a first death, families could keep themselves whole. No more killing, simply changing bodies like a new shirt when one became elderly. What could they not achieve? The thought had never occurred to her, but now that it had she found it quickly consuming her mind.

Then Lilyth said, “If we are defeated, you will never have the option of bringing those you love back. Death will be true death. Think of that when you face Valarius, and do what justice and your heart demands.”

Yetteje looked at her father, unsure of what to say. Even he looked uncertain, but said, “I can’t go with you. I’m not strong enough yet, but my thoughts are on you and your mother. Tell her I love her.”

She nodded, tears welling even as she fought for control. It did not help when Lilyth said, “Perhaps you will tell her yourself, noble king.”

Ben’thor raised a hand and faded from view, leaving behind his daughter, who turned and clutched Arek. “I don’t know what to do.”

She could feel Arek look up at Lilyth, then turn back to face her. In a quiet but determined voice he said, “We’re going to bring our families back, Tej. No matter what, we’re going to save them all.”

A Dragon’s Quest

Work like a soldier,

create like a king,

command like a god.

-
          
Rai’kesh, The Lens of Leadership

D
ragor entered the tent indicated by the escorting guards with Jesyn right behind him. The assassin was there, strapped down to a board. The tent created a rectangular space big enough for six of Dazra’s men, a relatively enormous shelter when one had the comparatively diminutive size of the adepts. As they walked in they noticed Dazra and Tarin, along with two other dwarves who by clothing looked to be important.

The first introduced himself as Gedeon, and if one did not count Tarin’s unofficial rank as Dazra’s wife, he was the second-in-command of the dwarven forces here. Dragor nodded hello, feeling Gedeon’s cold appraisal wash over him. No doubt Dazra had already communicated his dislike to his second. Gedeon looked as if he’d rather be almost anywhere else except here in the same tent with Dragor.

The second was Naph, the embodiment of a dwarven axer brought to life. Armed and armored, the warrior gave the two adepts a cursory glance and then turned back to his leader, as if he’d seen everything he needed to in that brief look.

“You know what we face once inside the mountain,” Naph said.

Dazra nodded but held up a hand, as if asking to continue that part of their conversation later. “And what help can we expect from your brethren?” he asked Dragor.

Dragor took a slow breath, then answered, “We’d thought at least one more adept would join us, but he faced extreme danger and did not survive.”

Dazra looked at him, then his eyes flicked over to Jesyn. He must have noted the resolute look in her eyes, the restraint she’d placed over herself. For a moment, Dragor thought Dazra might speak with Jesyn directly, but the elder warrior somehow understood the fragile nature of Jesyn’s control and did not say a word.

Instead, he looked back at Dragor and said, “That is unfortunate, and I’m sorry for your loss.” He paused, then nodded to Tarin, who stepped forward to bring the two adepts up to speed.

“It should come as no surprise—the assassin is still held and unconscious. What you may not know is that we both use
entats
.” She pulled aside his vest and exposed his chest, which was covered in different symbols: geometric in shape, clean lines leading to intersections that delineated a complex map of what looked to be almost armor-like sections. The group moved forward, inspecting the lines.

Finally Dragor said, “Your
entats
are somehow more…” he looked up at her, at a loss for the word.

“Organic,” replied Tarin. It was a word he’d not heard before, and to his raised eyebrow she replied, “Arising from natural processes or nature itself, like the edge of a leaf rather than that of a forged blade.”

That he understood, but what did the difference mean?

“We’ve noticed this before,” Tarin continued, “but we’ve never been able to capture one long enough to do any analysis. With your permission, I’d like to see what I can find out.”

Dragor nodded.

Tarin looked at them both, then moved forward and pulled back her sleeve. The whorls of
entats
on her forearm grew quickly up her wrist and hand like living vines, finally touching the tip of her finger. At that point it sparkled like a small star. She touched that light to the man’s forehead and closed her eyes.

Dragor watched as something akin to black ink seemed to seep into the man’s skin, tracing out his blood vessels before fading from view. To his right he heard Jesyn’s indrawn breath and looked over at her. Her eyes were fixated on what Tarin was doing.

“Our
entats
become inactive inside the mountain,” offered Dazra softly, watching his wife.

Dragor asked, “Inactive?”

The leader nodded. “We don’t know why, but it puts us at great risk in any rescue endeavor. We lose many of our powers, including our camouflage and speed. Worse, we are unable to transition into phase. It has spelled ruin for the many who went in before this day.”

The adept was confused, and asked, “I don’t understand how you’ve never captured one of their men. You captured us. It would seem particularly easy with a little planning.”

Gedeon stepped forward and said, “You’re right Daz, this one
is
full of himself.”

Dazra held up a hand, silencing the warrior. “It is easy to trap them,” he said, “but they kill themselves if captured. If we manage to knock them out, another team usually comes within a few
minits
and recovers the body, using our shared ability to move through rock.”

He wasn’t sure how long ‘
minits
’ were but he could clearly infer it was quick. “Why hasn’t someone come this time?”

The dwarven leader shrugged. “That is what we’re asking ourselves. Perhaps it’s something you did, maybe the way in which you immobilized him also blocked whatever calls his people?” He motioned to Tarin. “She’s trying to unravel it.”

It was then that Dragor remembered how many dwarves were stationed around the tent. Coming in he assumed they were awaiting word from Dazra, but now their vigilance and alertness spoke to a much more exigent reason, protection for their leader from any kind of surprise attack.

In a few more heartbeats Tarin fell back, a look of exhaustion on her face. She was caught and helped to a seat by Halp, the man who’d been assigned to watch Dragor as he’d convalesced. Halp had appeared from out of nowhere. It seemed the gruff old warrior just blended into the background. Likely a very useful trait in more than one circumstance.

Dazra made his way over and knelt, stroking his wife’s face. Her return smile made something unclench within Dragor, a knot of concern he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. After a few more moments, she sat up and took a drink of water, then looked at the group.

“I can’t read his thoughts, not the way these adepts can. However, I understand now why our
entats
fail.”

Gedeon moved to the other side of Dazra and said, “Sister, be careful what you say.” His warning was a blunt and open declaration of his mistrust of Dragor and Jesyn, certainly rude and only a hair’s breadth away from being openly hostile.

Tarin took his hand and squeezed it, then said, “You forget that the young one has already been accepted by the
centrees
. She has our gift within her, as Dazra commanded.” She gave her husband a look that Dragor could not decipher, but then her expression cleared and she said, “What use will it be if we do not share our knowledge?”

The look Gedeon gave Dragor made it clear nothing Tarin had just said had changed his mind. Then he looked down and said, “I’ll defer to your wisdom, Lady.”

Tarin nodded and then addressed the whole group. “Dawnlight is alive, every nook and cranny subject to Sovereign’s rule here in Edyn. We’ve seen this with the way in which the mountain rearranges its interior each time we reconnoiter it. For the same reason, our
entats
won’t work because we are not recognized by the mountain as family.”

“Family?” Dazra inquired softly. “But we are family, we live in Dawnlight.”

“Not
this
Dawnlight,” Tarin corrected. “Our mountain is wholly different from this one.” The dwarven woman thought for a moment, then added, “ ‘Family’ is the closest definition I can come up with.”

“So we go in without our
entats
,” declared Gedeon. “It won’t be the first time. At least we’ll have this latest map, and an idea of where important things might be.” He glared at Dragor, as if getting the map was the absolute least he could have done for them.

“You forget that without our
entats
we can’t phase through rock. We will be at the mercy of their blacknights… and worse,” the dwarven healer said, clearly tired.

Dazra sighed and said, “Then there’s no way to find our people.”

“Not exactly,” replied Tarin. “I’ve extracted some of this blacknight’s markers, things in his
entats
that are unique to him versus us.”

Dazra leaned back, concern in his eyes. “What are you suggesting?”

A moment passed, then two. Finally Tarin said, “I release the unique markers into my bloodstream. It will mask me, making the mountain think I’m part of Sovereign’s family.”

“You’re joking,” he replied. “What if it kills you, or erases your memory, or makes you into one of them?” He put a hand on her shoulder. “What if we have to kill you?” He searched her eyes, then stood up suddenly and cursed.

Dragor looked down, not understanding. “He’s right Tarin, you don’t have to do this.” There was silence, into which Tarin gave Dragor a soft, sympathetic smile.

It was Dazra who finally turned and said, “She’s already done it, Adept.” His jaws flexed as he ground his teeth in frustration.

“What?” exclaimed Dragor. He looked back at Tarin and asked, “Why?”

“He would have just said no.” She looked up at Gedeon and Dazra and said, “For what it’s worth, it’s working. I can feel myself realigning to the mountain’s energies.”

“And what if Sovereign can track us wherever we go within the mountain?” replied Dazra, his fear erupting at her. “Worse, what if he can kill you with a thought?” He stepped back again, shaking his head, “You’re willful and stubborn and I accept that, but this is too much.”

“Don’t you think I took precautions?” Tarin said. “I analyzed the markers and correctly integrated them into my
entats
. I
am
the only doctor here,” she added as if that last bit justified her skill. “You’ll just have to trust me, something I know you hate doing with anyone.”

When neither of them spoke, it was Jesyn who finally stepped into the silence. She looked at the assembled dwarves, her appearance drawn and haggard. “I lost a friend, someone I loved.” Her face fell and her head bent forward. “I’d like to bring meaning to his death. Finding out what brought these assassins to our home, why with his dying breath our lore father named his brother… it’s the only reason I’m here.” To Dazra she said, “Don’t waste time being angry at someone you love. You may not get another chance.” Then the young adept excused herself and walked out into the cool night.

An uncomfortable silence followed in her wake. Finally Dazra cleared his throat and said, “Well… I,” he stuttered at Tarin. “You know I’m only angry because of the chance you’re taking.”

“We don’t have much choice, and so far I don’t feel any ill effects,” Tarin replied. “I can tell it’s working, and can transfer the marker to the rest of us quickly.”

Dazra nodded, but Gedeon coughed, looking pained. He looked from his leader to Tarin, then finally he said, “It would be better if you transferred the marker to a few spread out amongst us… just in case.”

Tarin looked confused for a moment, then understanding dawned and she simply nodded.

Dragor realized the warrior was trying to limit the casualties should Sovereign be able to retaliate against those with the marker, just as he’d worried would happen to her. The dwarven leader said to Gedeon, “Assemble everyone.”

The man saluted, fist to chest and left. It was the first time Dragor had seen anyone do anything remotely militaristic, and it seemed somehow out of place in the tent.

After Gedeon left, Dazra turned to Dragor and said, “Is Jesyn able to accompany us?”

Dragor thought about it, then replied, “Probably better she does. It will take her mind off of her loss, and we need her strength.”

He began to move to the tent exit when Dazra put a meaty hand on his chest and said, “My concern over Sovereign taking the life of one marked is not without precedent.”

Dragor looked at the man, not sure where he was going with this, so he remained silent.

Dazra continued, “We haven’t trusted outsiders in a very long time. Precautions were taken to insure your compliance.”

The adept realized this was no idle banter. Dazra was saying something vitally important and his mind quickly jumped through various possibilities. Then it hit him, the word “compliance.”

“You gave Jesyn an
entat
,” he said softly, his eyes searching Dazra’s own.

“And though it will pain me greatly now that I know her heart, I will end her life if you show the slightest hint of betrayal.”

Dragor surged forward in a flash of amethyst, knocking the dwarven leader down and climbing onto his chest, his fingers stiffened for a strike. “Release her!”

Two guards had already leapt to Dazra’s defense, pulling the adept off and throwing him back. Dragor let them, and rolled lightly to his feet. A dim part of his mind knew he threatened Jesyn’s life with even this small action.

Tarin stepped between them and with upraised hands said, “If you truly mean us no harm, then Jesyn is safe. I swear it, Adept.”

“Swear it? We trusted you,” replied Dragor, quenching his flameskin with effort.

“And we trusted you. Believe me, this is not unique to only Jesyn. Dazra can end any of our lives if he so chooses,” Tarin offered.