Mythborn (3 page)

Baalor stepped forward and growled, “Join us, King Bernal Galadine. I claim you, and will add your strength to my own.” The Stormlord raised his mace, the white lightning increasing to a buzzing crescendo as it gathered at the tip of his weapon like a star. A feeling like thousands of ants crawled across Bernal’s skin. At least, he thought, the end will be quick.

Then a red flash erupted behind Baalor. An arch opened and out from it streamed blue-skinned figures, dangerous and fast. They slammed into Baalor’s ghost army, using long wicked spears and shields in interlocking groups of three, pushing the demons back.

Their discipline was obvious. Each set of three would form a triangle, two in the front and one in the rear. While the two forward shields slammed into the line of opponents, the third man stabbed into the fray with lethal effect. These small units would then lock together with others to form larger interlocking phalanxes where needed, pushing back the enemy and then stabbing through them with deadly efficiency before contracting back into a defensible shield wall.

Bernal had never seen close quarters combat so well synchronized. These clearly were highly trained and battle hardened men. But on closer inspection they were not men like he’d grown accustomed to. Each was blue skinned, with ram’s horns coming out of their foreheads. Yet the question remained—who did these horned creatures fight for?

The red gate snapped shut as fifty or so of these blue-skinned warriors continued their sweep into the forces of the Lord of Storms like a scythe through wheat. They stabbed and sliced with weapons that glowed an unearthly blue, much like their skin. They left nothing in their wake, for each Aeris they killed disappeared in a cloud of smoke and ether.

Baalor moved back from the new troops he seemed genuinely worried about and said, “Fall back! We will feast on elves tonight!”

The false bravado and strident orders had the desired effect. Baalor’s forces melted away, seeping into the cracks of the fortress like a living mist.

The Lord of Storms looked at whoever was the leader of the blue-skinned attackers and said, “Malak, your highlord revels in ruin and does not see the true enemy.”

The blue-skinned warrior he addressed replied, “You are the only ruin this world will achieve if it trusts your Lady’s word or deed.”

Baalor looked back at the king and said, “Do not trust elves. They are the children of lies and hubris.” A moment passed, a simple heartbeat that saw a tortured breath wash out from the king. Then Baalor said, “Even in death you cannot know you have traded worse for worst.” With that, he sank into the stone floor, disappearing near the entrance where Ash and his team had descended in search of Niall, a moment separated from now by what seemed like an eternity.

The blue-skinned creatures Baalor had called ‘elves’ moved into formation around the shattered king who could not raise himself past his one knee. One of them, no different looking than the rest and yet clearly their leader, crouched down and came eye to eye with Bernal. He laid a gentle hand on his shoulder and said, “I am Firstmark Malak. My men stand with you.”

Bernal looked at the blue warrior dumbly, a part of him registering the horns that curled up from his forehead and the glowing circular sigils tattooing his skin. Yet the pain and damage made it all but impossible to react to a race he had never seen before. His mind worked slowly, coming to the most obvious question like a man fumbling in a dark room for a lantern. Finally, a single word croaked out. “Who?”

Firstmark Malak looked at the king with what could only be sympathy. “My healer will see to you, King Galadine. Rest easy. We are succor and hope.” Even as the firstmark spoke, another warrior detached herself and came forward, crouching behind the king.

She assessed him expertly and then met Malak’s gaze and whispered something to him that the king could not hear. At his nod, her hands came up and touched Bernal’s back and shoulder. At a signal from her commander, a soft glow grew from under each palm, a blue light that seemed to soak into the king’s skin. A moment passed, then the king felt his breathing become easier and his mind begin to clear. She moved her hands to his face and mouth, still glowing, her light permeating his skin.

Malak turned his attention back to the king and said, “Sparrow says you came close, perhaps within a few heartbeats of making your son the new king.”

The off-hand comment caught Bernal’s attention, for it seemed out of place. Something in the back of his mind tickled a warning but it was too faint and the king too damaged and battle-weary to take more notice.

Instead, he looked about with the sight of a man given new life, seeing again for the first time these blue-skinned warriors who had saved him, arrayed now in a tight defensive formation. Except for the two that continued his ministrations the rest kept their attention outward holding vigil against any threats.

Many thoughts ran through the king’s head, but with his growing clarity he asked the one question most important to him at that moment: “Who sent you?”

Firstmark Malak took a moment before replying, “My men and I are at your disposal. We serve House Galadine.”

“You didn’t answer me, Malak,” the king rasped. Whatever the woman was doing eased his pain but he wasn’t fully healed yet. His jaw felt better, and a warmth was clearing his lungs. He coughed up a bit more blood and spit to one side, noting that even his teeth seemed to be restored. What sort of magic was this? He then rose unsteadily to his feet, but his voice came out firm. “Who sent you?”

Malak rose as well, and the look on his face was one the king knew intimately from years of campaigning. It was that of an officer given unpleasant information to convey to a superior. No matter the army, the look remained the same.

The king pursed his lips and ordered, “Out with it.”

The firstmark looked at the king, then produced something and handed it over saying, “Your forefather, Highlord Valarius Galadine, sir.”

The king turned to the blue-skinned commander, shock registering plainly on his face. Valarius? The man was a legend, and dead for over two hundred years! What mockery of his family was this?

Then the object in the firstmark’s hand caught his attention. It was a signet ring with the Galadine symbol and a House crest engraved upon it. Only those of the royal family had such a ring, but that was not the detail that shocked him most.

As if completing his thought, Firstmark Malak said, “I have been instructed to help you secure Bara’cor.” He hesitated again before adding, “Your cooperation is greatly appreciated.” With that, Malak handed Bernal the ring, then he and the woman he called Sparrow took a knee. The fifty or so remaining elven warriors banged their spears against their shields and shouted in unison and fealty, but did not break their vigil.

Despite their show of loyalty and service, the message was clear. His cooperation was expected, and their objective was to take Bara’cor. Whomever or whatever had sent Malak and his men made sure he understood his place, for while the ring showed the symbol of the Galadines, the crest was not of House Valarius.

Bernal knew the crest on this ring—it was identical to his own. The golden lion of Bara’cor stood rampant on its face, a sure sign it could have come from only one place. He held Niall’s ring in his hand, which meant these blue-skinned elves had his son.

Truesight

I find a penurious reflection of myself in life.

Perhaps in death, I shall find peace.

-
          
Jebida Naserith, Should I Fall

T
he party appeared amongst trees, the shock of transition fading slowly with a tingle, like ants crawling across their skin. Silbane was the first to look around, his gaze quickly taking in their surroundings. They had appeared in what seemed to be a clearing, with canopy above and enormous trunks twisting out of the earth around them like massive vines made of white wood. It was like being surrounded by a forest of entwining bones, bare and stripped of flesh as they reached upward greedily for the sunlight, only to explode at the top in bursts of green. It was both strange and fascinating at the same time.

“Seems calm enough,” commented Kisan, looking around, “though there’s no way of knowing.”

“We didn’t appear where the image showed,” added Silbane. He looked around again then said, “And the Gate is gone.”

“Of course,” Kisan offered, her voice flat. “Surprised?”

Silbane ignored her jibe, knowing how she thought, then asked, “Did you feel—?”

“Sideways,” Kisan interrupted, “like we shifted as we moved.”

“If that’s true, we could be anywhere,” said Yetteje, her eyes wide, drinking in the details around her. Her fear was plain on her face, now that the actual transition had happened. Saying you’re going to walk through a gate to a demon’s world is different once done. Silbane could sympathize with the sudden dash of cold reality.

“You stand in Arcadia, Lilyth’s realm.” The female voice came from the direction of Ash, who looked down in surprise at his belt.

Silbane stepped around the others and came face to face with Ash. “Tempest?”

“Yes,” she replied, with just a hint of laughter behind the voice.

The elder master’s eyes narrowed and he drew a breath. “And are there other overlords besides Lilyth?”

There was silence to that. Silbane turned to Ash, who in turn shrugged and said to the blade, “Please answer.”

There seemed to be almost a sigh before Tempest replied, “It has been centuries since I lived amongst my kind. I am called ‘Kinslayer’ for a reason.” She seemed ashamed at that, but then she said, “When I was here last, this world was much like your own, with fiefdoms and lands belonging to one lord or another. But things change as your beliefs wax and wane.”

Yetteje was the first to speak, asking, “
Our
beliefs?”

Tempest laughed, her hesitation and anger disappearing when addressing the princess. “Of course, little sister, the Aeris are your beliefs brought to life. In the last war, those who stood with Lilyth were called Furies. This land we stand upon is theirs, a place where they hope and pine for life again.”

“Then they’re not alive, not real?”

Yetteje looked at Silbane when she asked this, however it was Tempest who replied, “The Furies
are
real and very dangerous. They have bodies here, for they are a manifestation of pure faith. They are the vanguard of Lilyth’s forces and are fearsome to behold. If they gain a living body, they can move between worlds. You stood witness to this with Baalor.”

Tempest was quiet for a moment then added, “But even now our presence attracts the weaker ones, those who hunger for living flesh. You have seen the mistfrights, but there are much worse. When they possess you, you become a living extension of their will. The presence of Ascended will give them pause, but we must still make haste.”

Silbane held up a hand to stop Yetteje from asking another question, his eyes narrowing. “Ascended?”

The blade seemed reluctant to answer, if that was even possible, then simply replied, “Those who are one with the Way… you can hurt the Aeris.”

And then Duncan’s words came flooding back into mind, that only those gifted with the Way could combat these ghost-like wraiths. Yetteje whispered, “Like Alyx, her blade passed right through them and they took her.” She was speaking to herself, but Silbane didn’t miss the importance of what she’d just said.

He looked back at Ash and Tempest and said, “We have Furies and mistfrights to deal with. Anything else?” He looked at Ash meaningfully. “Anything that might not want to kill us?”

There was silence to that, which Ash finally broke by saying, “You’ll answer him because I wish it.” His words seemed in response to something Tempest had said but they could not hear. Clearly the firstmark was dealing with the sword’s acerbic personality in the best way he could, but his patience, it seemed, was wearing thin. Finally he exclaimed, “Now!”

There was silence at that, then the bitter voice of Tempest said, “Watchers. They are opposed to Lilyth but are few in number, if they have survived at all.”

Much was happening here, and care would have to be taken. Despite Tempest’s information, the blade quite likely had an agenda of its own. Something, some undercurrent of danger pricked Silbane’s senses whenever Tempest spoke. Regardless of her affection for Ash, this latest contest of wills did not reassure him the blade would always agree with the firstmark, and that thought became a point of concern when it came to their safety. Still, they needed to make some decisions.

He turned to Kisan and asked, “How would you prioritize?”

“Recovering Arek is our highest priority—” Both Yetteje and Ash stepped forward at that, but Kisan stopped them with a glare and continued, “We did not separate during transition. For that reason I think Niall will be with Arek… but I’ll not forget about Piter.” This last remark was added for the group’s benefit, acting to underscore their feelings.

Silbane nodded, not surprised at Kisan’s admission. He dropped his head, deep in thought. How would they know the right direction? He’d been so sure before they arrived, though perhaps blinded by the need to do
something
to recover Arek. He knew they had few choices, but wandering a land infested with demons held little appeal. Then an idea jumped into his head and he looked out across the rolling hills surrounding them, opening his dragon-given gift of Sight.

Then the whole world was more vivid, sharpening into focus. Details became clearer, lines more distinct. It was as if his vision had magnified in both clarity and scope, yet also remained the same. At first he did not see the yellow particles that made everything up, as before at the Far’anthi Tower. Everything here looked the same, but if he concentrated he could see those particles lining the edge of everything, like a tiny aura. So much! His mind found it hard to conceive that the Way could be so concentrated that it took on real solidity, the same way that substance did in his world. It was humbling.

When Silbane turned back to the group, he got his second shock. His eyes fell upon Kisan, who stood closest. His eyes slowly drifted up, taking in the sight. “You…”

She tilted her head to one side, and the massive being superimposed on her with black armor edged with crimson did the same, as if it
was
her.

“You what? What do you see?” The image of the winged angel over Kisan followed her every movement, like the massive ghost of her true self.

Tempest laughed. “He sees the truth.”

Silbane looked, only to find the blade made out of the shape of a diminutive woman. Her head and eyes made up the pommel, her arms the cross guard, and her legs the blade. It was not an actual woman, but the distinct ghost of a woman superimposed on the blade. Her alabaster skin and silver hair gave the impression of fine argentium, almost as hard to forge as ebonite. His eyes were drawn to the emerald eyes, shining with life and light, like the gem on the pommel of the blade. Those eyes grew hard as Tempest returned his inspection with a glare and said, “Do not let your gaze linger too long, miscreant.”

Silbane shook his head, unable to explain why Tempest seemed to hate him so much. Still, he looked away, trying to respect the blade’s wishes. He saw nothing else superimposed over Ash, but when he turned his attention to Yetteje, a ghostly form, feline and somehow deadly in its own way, shimmered around her. It did not look as massive or as solid as Kisan’s angel, but the figure was definitely there. And there was something else.

“Remove your bow, Tej,” Silbane said softly.

The girl moved to obey, and Silbane watched in awe as the feline creature moved with her, like a second skin. When the bow was removed and held, it glowed yellow, an aura of particles that looked like a small halo of power, but that was not all. He could See a second aura and asked Tempest, “What is it?”

“Who placed a second enchantment?” she replied simply. Though she did not qualify her question in any way, she implied “dullard” somehow by her tone alone.

Silbane ignored the jibe, looking back at the bow, his eyes widening. Duncan! He was seeing the enchantment placed by the insane archmage. He moved a bit closer and asked, “Will you hold the bow up?”

Yetteje complied, holding the bow lightly in an archer’s stance, without drawing the string. As she did so, the bow seemed to hum with power, but the aura did not change.

“Valor is just a simple tool,” Tempest added, her tone this time filled with derision. “It’s only redeeming trait is its yearning to kill.”

For most, Tempest’s attitude would have meant very little. Yet the older master had been a strategist for his entire life and the blade did not seem to mince words. His thoughts narrowed along with his vision and the intent of the archmage became clear. “A finder?”

“Perhaps,” dismissed Tempest. “It is the most you can expect from the insane.”

Having a blade echo his fears about Duncan did not put Silbane at ease, but he still replied, “So Bernal could find his son?”

“Or a son could find his father,” the blade said this plainly, and then added with a tone of boredom, “It is useless here. Do you truly care?”

“Yes.” Silbane uttered, looking at the group. “Why useless?”

When Tempest didn’t answer right away, Silbane carefully pressed, “Why would it be useless here?”

Kisan’s voice piped in from behind. “Because Niall doesn’t have the bow. Whatever Duncan did linked the king’s weapons together. At best if the king survived, he could find the bow, which is with us.” The younger master paused for a moment then added, “Perhaps Duncan thought better of Bernal’s chances than we gave him credit for.”

Silbane chewed his lip, surprised but knowing better. It had been an oversight on his part not to see the connection between the weapons and the enchantment of the archmage. Duncan had almost said as much when he remarked he’d wished someone had done the same for him. Knowing his obsession with recovering his wife, Silbane had overlooked the obvious, but Kisan hadn’t. His protégé was not one to be underestimated.

As if echoing his thoughts, Tempest added, “Dull is forever.”

“Indeed?” offered Kisan with a small laugh, her eyes filled with mirth. She seemed to understand the blade was insulting Silbane, and covered the smile on her mouth. Then looking out over the landscape she said, “I didn’t particularly like that comment—” she looked at Silbane with a teasing eye, drawing out the moment—“about, ‘hunger for living flesh.’ ”

Silbane searched his memory, piecing it together. He knew there was no point in wandering about, but if the bow was as useless as Tempest said, how to find Arek? He’d told the group that he would find his apprentice, and now they relied on him. The master began to doubt his own words, until something caught his eye.

A motion, a ripple just below his vision. It was as if the world
shimmered
, if that was even the right term. Although the Way permeated everything, there was a flow to it, like the effect of wind on snowfall. Something acted like a distant lodestone, drawing the Way toward it. What could cause that? It was familiar somehow, then Silbane remembered where he’d seen this before.

Arek. The thought snapped into his mind, including all that had been said with Rai’stahn at the tower. He had Seen this before, hadn’t he? Rai’stahn had claimed his apprentice absorbed these particles of the Way, and now these same particles flowed toward some distant place. Could Arek be the cause? Silbane breathed in, his mind quickly calculating odds.

Then he turned to the group and motioned them to gather. When they had formed a loose circle, he took a breath and then said softly, “Rai’stahn gave me a gift, a type of vision. With it, I may be able to track Arek and the king’s son.” He left out the part about Arek creating a flow like this back at the Far’anthi Tower and the dragon’s claim that his apprentice devoured the Way.

Kisan started to say something but paused. Her eyes flicked back and forth as if mentally weighing her words, then she asked, “If you fall, how will we continue?”

Pragmatism, the most enduring of Kisan’s traits and the one that irked Silbane the most, now came to bear. “I’d try and spare you the inconvenience of my death.”

Kisan, oblivious to his tone, replied, “Be that as it may, we still need a contingency.”

Being annoyed wasn’t Silbane’s style, but he couldn’t help being angered by Kisan’s bluntness. Still, he conceded she had a point. “I can see a flow in the Way… it goes there.” Silbane pointed at
aV
made by the peaks of two hills. “I believe the Way flows toward Arek.”