Mythborn: Rise of the Adepts (13 page)

Niall grabbed Yetteje. “Come on, let’s go inside!”

They ran around to the front of the Warriors Hall, pausing only to pull their boots off as custom dictated, before entering. They found, much to their disappointment, that they were not the only spectators.

The dozens of soldiers, watching as their captains took on the young armsmark, quickly dashed Niall’s hopes for a private lesson. Moving over to one side of the combat circle, he found a seat and pulled Yetteje next to him. “I think the armsmark should test for his Seventh.”

Yetteje looked at Niall, pursing her lips, “You don’t even know what that takes. By the Lady, you’ve only passed your Third and you’re talking like a master.”

“So what? I was just...” Niall began to say more, but a sudden flurry caused Yetteje to make shushing gestures, her attention plainly on the combatants. “. . . making an observation,” he finished quietly.

The armsmark had positioned himself to one side of the circle, and the three captains crouched in a semicircle in front of him, having retrieved their weapons. Then, with a shout, all three attacked together, clearly hoping to overwhelm their opponent.

Ash blocked the first’s overhead strike with his left sword and put his body close to the captain’s, using him as a shield. Spinning in place, he shoved the captain into the second attacker, who made the fatal mistake of trying to catch his friend. Two quick blows from Ash’s bohkir dispatched them even as he pivoted to block the third captain’s thrust at his stomach. Parrying it past him, he hooked his foot behind the man’s forward ankle and pulled, sweeping him to the floor. Ash placed his bohkir on the man’s throat, smiled, and said, “Durbin, you were always impatient. Yield?”

A slow smile broke out on Captain Durbin’s face, bringing new creases to an already sun-lined visage, and in a gruff voice he replied, “Yes, yes, you wet-behind-the-ears pup! I yield.”

The armsmark pulled his sword away and helped Durbin up, clapping him on the back. Around them, the crowd laughed as jokes flitted back and forth between the rival companies. Coins and extra duties changed hands as wagers were lost or won.

Turning to the other two captains, Ash bowed once, thanking them, then walked over to an earthen water bowl set to one side of the Warriors Hall. The three captains made their way out of the circle, meeting the good-natured jeering with smiles and comments of their own.

Niall could see the armsmark watching his men, and knew he looked for any hidden animosities. He often instructed Niall to do the same, to learn how to discern a person’s motivation. It was here, he said, that one could best measure the quality of their character. Apparently satisfied, the armsmark grabbed a wet towel and began to scrub his face and neck.

As he replaced his weapons on the rack, Niall and Yetteje approached. Niall saw his eyes linger on the hilt of his saber poking out from behind his right shoulder, and suddenly felt embarrassed wearing it in front of the seasoned veteran.

Ash greeted the pair with a smile. “It seems you are already preparing for tomorrow, my prince.” He then nodded to Yetteje and added, “Princess Tir.”

Niall grimaced, now feeling even more the child. “Father has assigned me to Captain Fenrith,” he said, dejectedly.

The armsmark nodded as if in understanding, but said, “An important position.”

“What position?” Niall spread his arms in exasperation.

Ash narrowed his ice blue eyes, nodding more slowly. He then held out a callused hand and asked, “Does this hurt?”

Niall yelped in surprise as the armsmark’s finger poked him in the chest, then he laughed. “No, of course not. It’s only your finger.”

Slowly Ash closed his fingers into a tight fist and then addressed Niall again. “And if I hit you with
this?”

“Wha—!” Niall backed up a step, then stopped. “I mean, no... That could hurt.” Actually, Ash’s finger
had
felt like an iron rod, and hurt quite a bit, but Niall didn’t want to admit that in front of Yetteje.

The armsmark straightened and asked, “Why?”

“That would hurt a lot more than your finger. Even that didn’t feel so good.” His hand had unconsciously begun rubbing the spot Ash had poked.

Ash spread the fingers of his hand in front of Niall. “Each of my fingers represents one facet of defending this fortress. No one part can succeed by itself.” The armsmark closed his fingers slowly. “Together, we form a fist the nomads cannot break.” He looked at the prince thoughtfully. “Do you understand?”

Niall stood for a moment, dumbfounded. “I think so.”

“I hope so. Do not forget that we, who repel the attackers from the wall cannot do so without arrows, or survive the heat without water. There is no station beneath your respect, my prince. The men will be heartened to see the Prince of Bara’cor perform such menial duties for them. It is important and noble. It is the stuff of leaders.”

The armsmark looked thoughtfully at Niall, then his face broke into a grin, “It is one of the many things you will have to master if someday you wish to command these men. By your leave?”

As Niall nodded, the armsmark scooped up his shirt and made his way out of the Warriors Hall, into the cool night.

Yetteje came up behind Niall, who stood alone now, deep in thought. “Maybe
he’ll
promote you,” she said.

“Drop it, Tej. Seriously.”

C
OUNCIL
’
S
C
HOICE

If an opponent is frustrating you

By fighting well,

Consider adopting her strategy.

—Altan proverb

S
ilbane entered the council chamber and took his seat. Looking about, he saw the other adepts had already arrived, and an expectant murmur ran around the table as views were debated back and forth. He watched all this in silence, waiting for the lore father to make his appearance. He has played us well, like a master at the game of
Kings
. The thought came with more than a little anger and Silbane wondered if their opinions had ever really mattered.

A few moments later, Themun Dreys entered, took his place at the head of the chamber, and tapped his runestaff three times to call the council to order. Once everyone had been seated, he sat down and took a moment, mentally assessing each adept before speaking.

“The problem is simple. We have a fortress besieged, within which I sense a Gate opening. I believe the attackers are being helped by someone of power, and wish to send Silbane and his apprentice into the area to investigate. I would hear what counsel you have to offer.”

Kisan was the first to speak, stating, “It is simple, my opinion has not changed. Forget investigating Bara’cor, or sending Silbane’s apprentice. If the problem is the nomads, deal with it there. Let us take direct action.” Everyone understood by this she meant,
kill the nomad command.
This simple declaration had a palpable effect on the gathered adepts and the room itself seemed to hold its breath, waiting for the lore father’s reaction.

One adept could not contain herself any more, rebutting, “And what of our Oath?
Shield of the Weak,
as I recall, is still one of our duties. Is that so easily dismissed?” This was from Thera, who in the gathered silence chose to stand in answer to Kisan’s statement. “We cannot dismiss it just because it is convenient to do so, else we would be no better than those who first drove us from the land. I have felt that pain and do not wish to be the arbiter of justice.”

Giridian stood now, a deep rumble echoing from his throat. As the eyes of the council turned to him, he bowed to the lore father and said, “As Thera says, our very existence is based upon the nurturing of the land
and
its people. To assassinate them is not why I became an adept.”

He paused for a moment, casting his eyes at Kisan and said, “However, I can see merit in Master Kisan’s suggestion. What would our ancestors do if given the choice of killing a few to save our world? I think they would have taken it. Now we have the same choice. Do we do any less?”

Themun paused, then looked to Dragor and said, “I would hear Adept Dragor’s thoughts.”

The others turned to the dark-skinned adept, waiting. Dragor was known for being more quiet than most. These events, however, had driven him to near silence. Now he bowed his head and wiped the sweat from his face with a large hand. The firelight of the torches gleamed on his bald pate and hung sparkling from a gold earring he wore, but distress showed in his every move.

Slowly, he stood and addressed the council, his voice troubled. “You know I prefer a peaceful solution. Lore Father, is the Gate protected by wards of the Old Lords’ making?”

Themun shook his head, “Basic warding spells completed before they were cut down. As I said before, they had not expected to be butchered by their own king.”

Dragor nodded once, his expression hinting to the fact that he did not find this surprising. Much of the old lore about gates indicated that making and warding them was difficult work, requiring advanced skill and intense concentration. The fact that the First Council even had the wherewithal to raise any protective measures spoke of their incredible competence.

This fact surely didn’t make his next announcement any easier. “Then I have no choice but to agree with the lore father. If the Gate can be found, we must attempt it. We should come to Bara’cor’s aid.”

“The noble-born Galadines, who enacted laws that killed mothers and fathers and hunted innocent children?” Kisan retorted, looking at Dragor. “Shall we help them, too?”

“You advocated killing the nomad command. That also helps Bara’cor. Can we not first determine what is necessary? You seem bent on killing,” said Dragor, icily. “What harm comes in letting Silbane investigate?”

Themun cleared his throat, then raised a hand. “I understand Kisan’s point, for she seeks to avoid sending an apprentice. Unfortunately, we do not have an option. The Gate, if found, cannot be allowed to open. We cannot leave it for the nomads to find and we cannot ignore it.” He looked at Giridian and continued, “Despite your confidence, we have not the means in our Vaults to destroy it.”

Giridian paused, about to retort, but then nodded hesitantly. “Yes, but none of us have that kind of power either. The Old Lords and their knowledge would be necessary.”

Thera jumped in before the lore father could answer Giridian and said, “How do you know the Gate is even at Bara’cor?”

This was not really a question and the lore father knew it. Thera was cunning and sought to create doubt, when there was none in his heart. He could not afford to let her influence the others.

Themun said, “With the other three fortresses now laying in ruin, I
know
it is there. I have no way of proving it to
you,
but I know the Gate has awakened somewhere in Bara’cor.” He looked at the council and said, “Let us focus on what I said last, these other fortresses. These nomads are being helped by someone of power.”

Kisan nodded. “Investigating the fortress or killing the nomad command is still easily accomplished.”

Themun shook his head. “Not without revealing yourselves. Until we know who they are, they are a danger to us and potentially anyone living on the Isle.”

“King Galadine rescinded the laws against magic some years back,” said Giridian. “What danger?”

“They’ve hunted us for close to two hundred years. The law has little to do with our safety, if you act outside it. Do you truly believe the Magehunters are gone, just because they stand outlawed? We cannot risk knowledge of us coming to light until we know who is behind the strength of the nomads.” Themun looked pointedly at Silbane. “We need to hide our presence during this mission.”

Giridian shook his head. “You are asking the impossible. We cannot hide our life auras. The Magehunters used that fact to hunt us quite effectively.”

Themun looked at Silbane, then said simply, “Tell them about Arek.”

From the moment the lore father had spoken with him privately, Silbane knew it would come to this. Still, he had to try to dissuade him, and with a matter-of-factness that belied his anguish he said, “He would never survive.”

Themun’s eyes did not waver. “You don’t know that. He’s not helpless, and you must think of the benefit of the people of Edyn over the needs of one boy.”

Silbane shook his head. “It cannot have come to this.” He knew the lore father meant what he had said. One look into his friend’s eyes showed him a man who would stand by this course of action because he believed in it. He
would
send Arek with Kisan and Silbane felt his heart grow heavy, the burden of their planning now exacting its own personal debt.

Then he drew a deep breath, calming himself, centering his thoughts, purging the fear. He took another, then another, each bringing with it the calm needed to explain to the others what the lore father requested of him. His ability to think was crucial to this council acting with alacrity, and for Arek’s survival.

Slowly, he turned and addressed the assembled adepts, his voice heavy but measured. “As many of you know, I apprenticed Arek at a very young age, much earlier than normal. As you’ve seen from his performance in your classes, while he is quite accomplished in many of the physical arts, his ability to command the Way is... limited.”

Kisan scoffed, “That is being generous.”

“Nonetheless,” Silbane continued, “all of you know why. His ability to disrupt magic is unique, and none of us has yet understood how he does it. Conveyed by touch, it causes those who are further along in their mastery of the Way more danger. However, Arek has another ability, one the lore father and I think is an offshoot of this magical disruption.”

Silbane paused, gathering his thoughts, then said, “The lore father can sense magical potential, even at far distances.” He looked at Thera. “I believe Themun when he says he can sense the Gate come to life. He has saved many of us in much the same way.”

He turned back to the adepts and went on, “I, too, have this ability, though to a much lesser degree. When Arek first came to the Isle, we noted two things were very peculiar about him. One was the magical disruption his touch causes. We are all familiar with this. The other trait is when anyone of magical potential stood within close proximity to Arek, they
faded
from our awareness.”