Mythborn: Rise of the Adepts (19 page)

The engineers changed their targets. With a crack, the engines fired. The missiles arced high, carrying much of Bara’cor’s hopes. Their shots, however, went wide, burying stones in the soft desert sand.

Five more boulders smashed into Bara’cor’s already weakened wall. Ash coughed and spat sand and stone dust, praying for the engineers to find their targets. He watched as the great arm of their lead catapult pulled back with agonizing slowness. Secured, the crew filled the cup once again.

Ash closed his eyes and sent a fervent prayer to the Lady of Flame for this shot to be true. With another crack, the arm released and its contents arced across the desert sky. Ash followed the path of the loose jumble of stones, his lips still moving in prayer.

He almost cheered when one of the barbarian’s trebuchets splintered and broke apart, crushed beyond repair. The other catapult crews along the wall followed suit and soon the air filled with the sounds of winching and releasing. All missed, but then one trebuchet’s crew fell, decimated by Bara’cor’s deadly missile fire, as stones smashed through their ranks.

The nomads, seeing the fortress had found its range, pulled their trebuchets back, wisely not wanting to risk them this early in the siege. The remaining barbarians retreated, pulling their wounded after them, back to the main horde.

Though they had held, Ash knew it had been at great cost. The crack in the wall was now wide enough in some places for a man to stand in. Parts lay pulverized, creating huge rents in the stone. Large pieces now littered the area in front of the fortress, giving the nomads partial protection from the archers in the towers.

We cannot take much more and repairs are too slow, Ash thought.

He turned from the scene of carnage and moved to help those wounded nearby. His attempt was interrupted by Lieutenant Galin. The lieutenant held the body of Captain Durbin in his arms. Ash stopped, speechless. Hadn’t the man been standing next to him only a moment ago?

“It must’ve been a piece of stone,” Galin mumbled numbly. Ash could see the ragged wound in the captain’s neck and his armor soaked in more blood than it seemed one body could hold. Moving forward, he relieved the lieutenant of his burden before turning back to the outer edge of the wall, his eyes hard. The nomads were now out of arrow range, stretched into a ragged line. The faint sound of their cheers carried on the desert wind, stabbing into the armsmark’s heart like a cold iron spike.

Suddenly the weight of Captain Durbin’s body seemed inconsequential to the crushing weight of his responsibility to the soldiers of Bara’cor. Their chances were futile, of that he was certain. It would only be a matter of time before the nomads broke through their defenses. Then he felt a warm hand on his shoulder and turned to see the king standing beside him.

“His fate does not rest on your shoulders, Commander.”

You think not, my king? Ash thought. I should have foreseen the nomads and their trebuchets.

But Ash said nothing aloud. His gaze wandered across the peaceful features of his friend, now dead from a piece of shrapnel sent by the Lady’s hand.

A shudder passed through him and he turned away from his king, not able to face the trust in those eyes. In a hollow voice, he said, “Lieutenant Galin, select one of your men to take your place. You are now Captain of Third Company.”

A
FTERMATH

When facing the winds of a storm,

The whiplash tree bends to its force,

And sees tomorrow come with its roots intact.

—Kensei Shun, The Lens of Shields

I
think he’s coming around...”

Arek heard a voice through the blackness. Slowly he felt it give way to gray, then a blurry white. He started to reach for his face.

“Don’t move yet.” A gentle hand redirected his. “Here, sip this.”

A bitter brew tipped into Arek’s mouth. The acrid taste disappeared quickly, and in its wake he felt his head clearing. He squeezed his eyes shut until purple spots appeared, then opened them again, looking around.

He lay in the infirmary, with Silbane seated next to him. Behind his master stood the lore father, a disapproving look on his face. Arek could sense others in the room, but did not turn his head to look. “What happened?”

Silbane looked carefully at his apprentice, then at the lore father. It seemed like something unspoken flitted between the two. Then Silbane turned back to Arek and asked, “What’s the last thing you remember?”

Arek thought about it and recalled going to his master’s chambers to discuss the test he was not to take. He said that, adding, “Did I fall somewhere on the way back?”

Silbane paused, then answered, “No, Arek. Do you remember going to dinner?”

Arek thought about it, but his last clear memory was leaving his master’s quarters. “No, sir, I don’t.” The concerned look on everyone’s faces plus the fact that he was in the infirmary prompted another: “What happened?”

The lore father stepped forward and said, “It seems you had an altercation with Piter. Do you remember that?”

Arek swallowed, the intense look on his master’s and the lore father’s face causing him to pause. Still, no memory of a fight emerged. “Considering where I am, I hope I gave as well as I got.” The jest seemed to fall flat, as neither master smiled.

Giridian stepped forward into Arek’s view, looked squarely at the young apprentice, and said, “Arek, Piter is dead.”

Arek felt time slow, each heartbeat in his chest pounding out a physical blow. Dead? How could that be?

Silbane motioned for Giridian to step back then said to Arek, “We don’t know yet what happened. Tomas is injured, but will survive. Jesyn doesn’t have a clear memory either. We were hoping you’d know.”

Arek stammered, “I... I’ll try to remember.”

Silbane looked at his apprentice once more, then at the lore father. “We should let him rest. The
mhi’kra
he drank will bring sleep.”

Themun nodded and turned, only to be confronted by Kisan, who had just arrived. The master was clearly distraught and furious. “We will convene to discuss the punishment of Silbane’s apprentice, now.”

Silbane shook his head. “The boy does not remember what happened. For all we know, Tomas could have done something. They were the
only
two with serious injuries.”

“You’re going to shift the blame
Tomas?”
replied Kisan, incredulous. “Maybe dying doesn’t warrant the notice of ‘serious injury’ you so blithely offer to the survivors.” She accused Silbane with her stare and didn’t seem to care what came out of her mouth. Someone in this room had cost her young apprentice his life.

“You’d be wise to hold your tongue,” said Silbane with deadly intensity.

Themun laid a soft hand on Kisan and Silbane’s shoulders, pushing them apart. “Masters, please. For now, let the boy rest. We have one tragedy on our hands. I’d rather not rush to judgment on a second.”

Arek’s vision blurred, and a soft, warm feeling stole over his body. He had never felt so tired before. He was unable to fight the feeling of sleep that stole over him, but even as his eyes closed, he heard Master Kisan exclaim, “You’re not going to do anything! Lilyth, the Gate, the nomads, all deserve more than Piter!”

Arek thought it funny she would mention the demonlord... did his master tell them about Bara’cor? Another part of his mind, though, knew this was important to remember, something was not right.

But the effects of the
mhi’kra
dulled his senses and pushed him into a deep, healing sleep. Before he could commit anything to memory or answer his feeling of danger, he fell into darkness for the second time that day.

* * * * *

Themun looked at Silbane and Kisan and said, “You two, come to my chambers.” He then looked to Giridian and added, “Please continue with your search of the Vaults. Take Dragor if you need help.” Finally, to Thera: “You will administer to the boy and summon us whenever he reawakens.”

She nodded in agreement, but both she and Themun knew their argument from the previous day was not yet finished.

“If you hurry, you might be able to send Arek with Silbane before he wakes,” Thera could not help but add mockingly.

The sarcasm wasn’t lost on the lore father, who turned to confront the adept, but it was Silbane who now gently pushed
him
away. It took a moment, but Themun brought himself under control.

His eyes remained locked on Thera as he repeated, “Silbane, Kisan, my chambers, now.”

All bowed in acquiescence, with the two masters following Themun out the door. They made it out of the infirmary without further words to each other, though the clench of Kisan’s jaw and unflinching stare showed she was still seething inside.

Once there, Themun took a seat behind his oaken desk, ornately carved with scenes and depictions of the land they sought to protect. He put a hand to his head and said, “She is infuriating, always has been,” he said, referring to Thera, “but you two are worse! You dare threaten each other at a time like this?”

Silbane pulled up a chair and sat down, ignoring the lore father’s comment. The day had clearly taken its toll, as his weary stance and increasingly lined face could attest. None of them could imagine this, one apprentice killing another. It did not bode well, eroding the sense of security the Isle represented, accentuated by recent events and decisions.

Kisan remained standing, her frustration easy for all to see. As soon as the lore father looked up she blurted, “I see how this will end. Arek is sped off the Isle, the
mission
taking precedence. My apprentice lies dead, and for necessity’s sake we will look the other way.” She challenged the lore father to contradict her.

Themun sighed then leaned back in his chair. He looked at Silbane, who ran his fingers through his short hair. “What do you think we should do?” Though Themun looked at Silbane, the question hung in the air for either to answer.

Kisan grabbed a chair and pulled it over, sitting down with an expletive and a sigh. “Piter was a hard case, and at times a bully, but he did not deserve this.” Her gaze met Silbane’s own and in a whisper she said, “He was no different than the rest of us, just looking for a family, a place to be safe. Did he know what would await him at the end of his glittering path?”

Silbane leaned forward and laid a hand on Kisan’s shoulder. “You know how sorry I am.” He then looked at the lore father and asked, “Is it true neither Tomas nor Jesyn remember anything?”

“When asked what happened by a scullery maid, Jesyn uttered a single word before collapsing. That word was ‘Arek’,” said the lore father.

Kisan’s fist tightened, but she said nothing. She had spent years with Piter, training him, teaching him. Because these children came to the Isle orphaned or abandoned, the adepts adopted them. The servants and the other apprentices became their families. Today, they had lost a brother... and Kisan had lost what had become a son.

“Even brothers quarrel, but seldom wish death upon each other.” Silbane looked at the younger master and said, “I know you want Piter’s death to have meaning. Let’s find it together.”

Kisan looked up and Themun could see tears in her eyes. She turned to the lore father and said in a choking voice, “I will not interfere with your decision. Silbane is right, and regardless, this mission is already a death sentence.” She lowered her gaze, as though her misery centered in her chest, but when she raised her eyes again, they flashed with power. “But I promise you this: Should Arek return alive, I will see him brought to justice for my apprentice’s death.” Kisan stood, looking at both the lore father and Silbane, before turning and walking out the door.

The chamber remained silent until Silbane broke it, saying, “You’ll not let her carry through on that threat, will you?”

“And how would I stop her? Frankly, how would I stop
you
if you got it in your head to kill someone? My hope is that with time, her anger cools and reason returns.”

“I won’t let Kisan hurt Arek. If any harm befalls him, she will answer to me.”

Themun knew civil war now threatened his tiny council. One wrong look, one wrong word, and the masters would face each other, crippling their ability to fight the real enemy. He could not allow that.

Still, though he would not have wished it, these circumstances gave him the freedom to push his agenda. “Perhaps Kisan offers a better incentive than any I can to take Arek off this Isle,” Themun offered.

Silbane shook his head with disgust. “You’ll use this too? Is there nothing beneath you?”

“That would imply the luxury of choice. I serve the land. The question is, do you?”

Silbane stood, his fist pounded the table and a crack appeared in the ornate surface under the force of his blow. “You let her near Arek and you’ll see what power is.”

Themun didn’t move. “I will keep this simple, before you destroy any more of my furniture.” He rose slowly and said, “It is best you and Arek left as soon as possible.”

Silbane didn’t seem to know what to say. Themun had not deigned to say it out loud, but the threat of sending Arek with Kisan was now a veritable death sentence, just as leaving him here on the Isle without Silbane’s protection would be, and they both knew it. He came to the only decision he could.

“The
mhi’kra
should accelerate Arek’s healing. If we gathered things and made ready, I could leave at sunrise, provided there’s nothing wrong with him we haven’t already seen,” Silbane said.

Themun watched the master, knowing the decision he must come to. Then, with a nod and a wave of his hand he said, “Make your plans. I have reached out to Rai’stahn and explained your coming.”

“Already?” When the lore father didn’t answer, Silbane continued, “And his response?”

“He did not seem surprised that I sought him out.”

“Do you think he knows of the Gate?” asked Silbane. “What do I tell him?”

“I would say as little as possible and stay truthful. It is not in Rai’stahn’s interest to see the demonkind set loose upon this world, and in that you have a powerful ally.” The lore father was unconcerned by Silbane’s apparent need to convince the dragon to help and instead asked, “Have you given any thought to whether the dragon can fly if Arek touches him?”