Mythborn (62 page)
Authors: V. Lakshman
Over his shoulder he said, “If I stay, you die. If I go, you
may
die. Do us both a favor and kill that woman, Arek. Rescue me before it’s too late. You know how hospitable the Galadines can be.”
“No!” Arek surged forward but Kisan was there, blocking his way with blades poised. She stabbed twice but Arek rolled quickly and then faded back to a stance. Kisan seemed content to wait, moving backward slowly and covering the red mage’s retreat as Duncan and Ash made their way to the portal to Bara’cor.
Yetteje fired two arrows without hesitation, both of which were deflected by Kisan’s blades. The master looked at the princess and said, “Do not think yourself lucky. I spared you despite my instincts.” She then looked at the dwarven woman and said, “Take the princess and leave.” No doubt she looked at the weapon in Brianna’s hand, for when the dwarven woman caught that look she quickly holstered it and held up her hands.
“I think we’re staying,” the dwarven woman said softly.
Arek closed his eyes, knowing what his life had already cost. When he opened them Brianna’s look of concern told him she knew too. The patch on her neck was glowing green and pulsing steadily as she met his gaze with empathy. Then she glanced at Duncan as he neared the portal.
“Father, don’t!” he yelled. The need to act seized him and he looked around for any solution, his mind doing what it always did when facing real combat. Time slowed and his awareness expanded. Every minute detail became clear to him.
The firstmark’s grip tightened on his father’s arm, the man’s calloused hands making a scratching sound on the worn cotton of Duncan’s sanguine robe. Arek heard the sound of metal on leather and recognized it as Brianna’s weapon being drawn again. He could feel the air disturbed as Tej pulled back on Valor. He could feel Kisan’s indrawn breath in response to them all. He even saw the half-smile his father gave him, a look filled with regret and remorse. This is not happening again.
He would not let it. He would not lose another he loved to Kisan, no matter her rank or power. He stepped forward, his form illumed with argent power, and said, “I said, NO!”
Whitefire exploded in a conflagration around Arek that rivaled the sun itself. It caused everyone to fall back with arms raised to shield their eyes. Both Kisan and Ash took defensive stances, however their actions were not necessary. They expected Arek to act with anger, but he did not. Cold calculation ruled his mind, a gift from his dead master.
Those surrounding Arek blinked, clearing their eyes, then looked to each other first to see who had been the target of Arek’s fury. Yes, he’d often acted rashly in the past, but now some measure of his master, some part given had tempered him, like an alloy forged from different metals. Arek was no longer just Arek, but an instrument made, unmade, and remade by the greatest wielders of the Way, born of their shaping.
His focused blast incinerated Mikal where he’d fallen, burning up the blood that pooled and fed the portal. It disappeared, vaporized in the blink of an eye, and the shimmering curtain clouded over, closing the exit from Arcadia to Bara’cor.
When Kisan noticed what had happened, she cursed and exclaimed, “Are you crazy? You’ve sealed your own escape!”
Arek thought about what Piter had said, then looked directly at Kisan and said, “I closed that door because I’m not letting you get away. I am Arek Illrys, son of Duncan and Sonya Illrys, and a
true
Adept of the Way. For the murder of my master, Silbane, I sentence you, Kisan Talaris, to death.”
Diplomacy: the art of letting someone have your way.”
-
Argus Rillaran, The Power of Deceit
S
ai’ken moved quickly, angling upward at incredible speed. Tunnels sped by in a blur, but her destination was a room near the centerline of the peak, a place where she would make her final offer. She could sense the guardians moving toward her, their power displacing the Way as clearly as a thrown stone created ripples in water. It was not hard to follow their progress, nor feel a slight trepidation as they neared. After all, she was not a Rai and combat held no fascination for her.
She burst through the last set of corridors and into the wide open space she’d sensed before. The builders and adepts had served their purpose, getting her into the mountain before Sovereign acted in earnest. Now her skills as a Sai would be tested to their fullest.
She found a comfortable spot and curled up, tucking her nose under her hind leg, and waited. It was not long before four guardians, then eight appeared, hulking brutes standing as tall as her father in dragon form. They had rock skin, roughly hewn from the mountain and given life by Dawnlight. Their eyes burned yellow, like the molten fire of the earth.
A dark form appeared, slowly coalescing in the chamber. It moved forward, becoming more real as it stepped down a set of stones to come before her. Her dragonsight could see what a normal person could not, that the thing before it had grown into a man-shaped creature with a crown upon its head. She looked to the left and right and saw herself surrounded now by guardians, each a mirror copy of the one next to it. She watched them, knowing any move she made would only result in her death. Already the tunnel exits had closed. There was no escape unless she won it through diplomacy or guile.
The figure enrobed in black seemed to smile. “The Conclave sacrifices one of their own, a Sai no less. To what do I owe such generosity?”
Sai’ken transformed, becoming again the girl. She moved forward and knelt, bowing her head. “I greet thou, Sovereign, and bear a message from the stewards of Edyn.”
“A messenger with a message. How apt,” the dark figure said. “Speak, for I am curious as to what solicits such brazenness.”
Sai’ken nodded, then said, “I can tender thou the king of the builders and his most trusted allies. In addition, two more Adepts of the Way. Together they are some of the last of those who might resist thou.
“I also tender our service again, provided thou agree it will continue after the world is remade.” That made the creature pause. A small smile flitted across her eyes.
The being tilted its head down, as if considering something, then it switched to the archaic tongue of the dragons and said, “And what doth thou ask for in return?”
“We want Armun Dreys released,” she said simply, without explanation.
There was silence at that, then the crowned specter said, “Wherefore?”
“He kens the lore of the Phoenix Stone, something—”
“I will need to remake the world,” the figure completed.
Sai’ken nodded. “It was lost in the Shattered Sea, but Armun couldst help us locate it.”
“And having done so, what will thou do with the Stone?” asked the dark specter.
“We will give it to thee.”
The dark figure grew, rising until it looked down upon her. It raised a single finger, “And thy king will take the Oath for all dragonkind?”
“He hath empowered me to do so, and I speak for them all.”
The being bent forward, as if inspecting her soul, then stood. “Thou will take the Oath, and tender yourself and thy brethren to mine service again?”
“Will thou give me Armun, and let him journey with me to recover the Stone?” Silence reigned as Sai’ken knelt before the dark being towering over her. She knew the risk being taken, but the dragonkind understood their duty was to Edyn first. Hopefully, Sovereign felt the same way.
Finally, the creature said, “Agreed.”
“Then I say to thou, by the hand of Sovereign, mine Maker, and in return for the giving of Armun Dreys, we bind all dragonkind to thou. Our Oath, we will cause no harm to befall thee, either through our actions or inaction.” Sai’ken reached down and sliced herself open with one nail against her palm, cupping the blood and offering it to Sovereign.
Sovereign leaned forward and said, “Mine Oath, in return for releasing Armun Dreys and pledging thee and thine to continue to serve the new world of mine making, the dragonkind will serve me faithfully from this day forth.” The creature held his hand forward and a black mist fell from his outstretched hand to fall upon the cupped blood of the dragon.
There was silence, then a blinding flash of yellow surrounded them, slowly fading as the Way bound Sai’ken and every dragon upon Edyn to the service of the Oath she’d just taken. When it was done, Sovereign looked down and said, “You ken breaking thy word will consign thee and thine to obliteration.”
Sai’ken nodded, but said nothing. Instead, she pulled out a single dwarven finger sliced cleanly from the hand and tossed it on the ground in front of her. “The blood carries the marker identifying those who hast infiltrated Dawnlight. We offer them as payment, along with our fidelity. We art yours to command, our Sovereign.”
There was silence at that, then Sovereign gestured and the floor parted. From that open space rose an illuminated glass tomb within which was a man suspended in a clear liquid. She rose and moved over to inspect the tomb and the man inside. He did not look alive, but Sai’ken knew better. She could hear his heart beating slowly. He looked young, the same age as when she’d seen him last. She took on her dragon form and hefted the tomb easily, then turned back to Sovereign. She closed her eyes and bowed. “I thank thee.”
Sovereign inclined his head to her, then gestured to the finger, which floated up into his waiting palm. The blood within it came out in a cloud of red, hanging motionless in the air. Then he looked at his guardians and said, “Take those who scurry below and bring them to me.”
He looked back at Sai’ken and said, “Thou and thy brethren will sit at mine right hand in the world remade. Rejoice! Thou hast done well, daughter of Edyn.” A hole opened in the ceiling, with clear blue skies visible high above.
The young dragon didn’t say anything, just bowed again and leapt up with the tomb in her arms. In a moment she was nothing more than a speck in the sky.
* * * * *
Dazra moved quickly, sometimes half inside or outside a wall as he followed his second. He’d thought Giridian would lead but the man seemed happy to be silent, taking a secondary role, deferring to either him or Gedeon. Perhaps he’d been too hard on the adept, he thought. They’d mostly stayed within the tunnels because of Dragor’s inability to phase. For the most part, it didn’t bother Dazra since they were acting as bait. He’d rather meet Sovereign’s forces in open air spaces than be encumbered with unknown powers they may wield when ensconced in rock.
Gedeon held up a hand and they all came to a stop. He looked around, tilting his head as if listening. Dazra put a hand on the wall and listened too. His eyes were drawn upward. Something big was coming.
“Defensive!” said Gedeon, sinking into the ground.
Though he had no love for him, Dazra didn’t want to leave the adept by himself, so he drew two short blades and moved closer. Naph turned and faced the way they’d come, a heavy short blade in one hand.
Gedeon flew out of the tunnel floor and hit the ceiling, falling down and bouncing painfully. He left behind a bloody print where his nose had smashed into the rock.
Wait, Dazra thought, why were they not phasing? He stretched out his hand and felt the firm and unyielding surface of stone. They’d been discovered! His
entats
weren’t working.
“We’ve got to pull back, they’ve found us!” he said.
Gedeon was pulling himself up when a meaty fist caught him in the chest and smashed him back up against the ceiling. His limp form fell, only to be encased in a globe of stone.
Naph moved forward with a scream and struck the fist but his blade skittered and sparked off its knuckles. The tunnel they were in widened, as if pulled apart by hands until it was a semicircular opening. Standing before them were two guardians, one holding Gedeon in the stone globe, the other coming for Naph.
The warrior dodged a swipe from the creature and tried to strike it again, but the blade did the same thing, sparking off the obsidian skin without even marring its surface. Then a fist caught Naph and he went down in a tumble, unconscious or dead, Dazra couldn’t tell.
The dwarven leader backed up and looked at Dragor. The man just stood there, looking slack-jawed and useless.
“Get out of here!” he screamed, even as he rolled out of the way of a hammer fist of granite that sent pulverized stone dust into the air.
The adept just looked at him until a fist caught Dragor’s body. Dazra was sure there would be nothing but pulp left, but when the guardian’s fist touched the adept he disappeared in a flash, as if he’d never been there at all.
All tailors in Westbay know that before a sweater
is finished, one must tie up the loose ends.
-
Alain the Farflung, A Guide to Westbay
L
ilyth’s eyes glistened with tears as she watched the sparkle of fire. Avalyon burned like an orange star, like an ember trailing black smoke across the dusk sky. She knew her forces were busy pushing Valarius’s elite through the portal to Bara’cor while cutting most of the city off from the highlord. Pandemonium must have reigned, and the sight took her breath away.
“Good news I take it,” muttered Thoth, squinting into the sky alongside her.
Lilyth turned to him and said, “The portal to Bara’cor is closed.”
Thoth’s eyes widened, “How do you know?”
Lilyth regarded him for a moment before saying, “I’m waiting for word on the fate of Valarius.” She hugged herself, hoping against all hope the highlord was dead. She thought about reaching out to Alion, but the undead magehunter had a specific task and interrupting her now would not help.
The double doors to her throne room opened and in strode Mithras, wreathed in the holy sunfire that was his to control. He went to a knee, putting Tempest point down and pulling the flames in so that only his skin shone golden. It was as if the sun never set on him.
“You succeeded?”
“I do not like retreating,” the once Altan warlord who was now a Fury said, “but I drove the curs mewling like kittens to the portal. Did they open it?”
“They did,” Lilyth said, “and sent reinforcements to hold against your fearsome return.”
“Valarius’s chosen warriors?” asked Mithras.
Lilyth smiled, her eyes alight with pleasure. “His very best.”
“Then we have succeeded,” concluded Mithras with a smile. “You have the cunning mind of a wife I once cherished.”
“And because I’m so happy, I will not kill you for that remark,” replied Lilyth. She walked past him as he put his head to the floor in apology.
“And neither will I, beloved,” muttered Tempest.
“What are you planning?” asked Thoth.
“Valarius and Avalyon are only part of our problem, Keeper,” replied Lilyth. She made a small gesture and Mithras got up and moved to stand at the lowest step of her dais. “Defeating Valarius doesn’t free us to act.”
“What then, is left?” questioned the older man. He leaned on his staff and said, “I’m impressed with the way in which you’ve orchestrated the downfall of Avalyon.”
Lilyth nodded in thanks, then said, “We must escape Arcadia.”
Thoth’s countenance reflected his confusion. “Escape?”
“Arek’s minions have expanded beyond my ability to contain. Our only hope is to flee.”
“But you said you had them controlled! We cannot survive there, not without bodies,” exclaimed the Keeper.
“With Arcadia consumed, the Way will be much more powerful in Edyn. Our people can survive, walk the world again. There will be bodies aplenty to be had, and our worlds will be unified.” She nodded to Mithras, then said, “Life amongst those who worship us has always been the final outcome. I cannot have the Conclave oppose me, nor know of our plans. Will you help us negotiate a peace?”
Thoth looked down, thoughtful. “I think that will be diff—”
Tempest emerged from his chest, driven in by Mithras, who had come up behind the Keeper. The blade said, “Sleep, old one, the Lady reclaims your role. Your services are no longer needed.”
Thoth looked down, his eyes glazing over, then back up at Lilyth, “Why?”
“Why not?” she replied. “What need has the world for you, when I am the light of lore?”
The Keeper gasped, his mouth working as though he wanted to say more. No sounds came out, and Mithras aped him, opening and closing his mouth in time with the Keeper’s own as he pulled out the blade. The old man staggered forward a few steps, walking in no specific direction, then fell to his knees. Mithras fell next to him, still pantomiming his slow death for the amusement of those gathered.
Lilyth let out a delicate laugh, watching the Keeper to die, then she turned to Mithras. “Prepare for transition. Once we are in place, you will hunt down the elves. There’s still no margin for error, but we wait for Baalor’s signal.”
“At once, Lady,” the Aeris Lord regained his feet and bowed.
“He tasted delicious,” said Tempest in a husky voice, “much better than I remember.”
Lilyth smiled and said, “And there will be more to feast upon as we forge a new world, sister—a world free of Sovereign, the Conclave, dwarves, elves, and the accursed dragons.”
