Mythborn: Rise of the Adepts (31 page)

He knew that in reality, there was no such thing... but fighting against his own mind helped him learn what strikes should look like when unencumbered by the clash and din of battle. His body remaining loose until the point of impact, then tightening with the strength of steel to focus all the power into one small area. It was this point, this focus, which caused damage.

He spun, ducking under one imaginary opponent then striking with his open palm at another. It was times like this when he could practice alone that he felt most connected to the Way. It flowed through him like his breathing, connecting him at once to all that was around him.

When the link to Thera vanished he stumbled, his breath catching. Instantly he knew there was something seriously wrong. Without a thought, he skinned himself in power. His flameskin flashed a sublime purple once, as it hardened for defense, then became invisible to the naked eye. He then moved up the walkway leading from his training area to the outer hall.

Whatever was happening, he reasoned, must be near where he last felt Thera, to the north of the school. He meant to head in that direction and see if he could find out anything more. Slowly, he continued his way up and to the outer halls. As he moved, his form wavered, then vanished like smoke. No reason to let whatever it was, see him coming. Like a black panther, Dragor made his way out into the darkness.

* * * * *

Kisan remained motionless, then looked at her remaining doppelganger. She knew where they were, but needed a better distraction to accomplish what she wanted. She concentrated, reaching for the Way. As she did so, the form of her doppelganger changed. It morphed, becoming younger, leaner. In moments, an exact copy of Piter crouched next to her, ready to do her bidding.

The effort cost her dearly. It was one thing to create a duplicate of oneself. To create a full duplicate of another took immense concentration and an intimate familiarity with the subject. Piter, she thought sadly, you are the one I remember best. I need you to serve one last, noble purpose tonight.

She looked past the curve where the two assassins lay hidden, out of her line of sight. “On my command, you will run past the entrance. You will stop for nothing.”

The Piter look-alike nodded, then turned to stare straight ahead. Kisan continued to look at her creation, feeling her loss threaten to overcome her composure. It was unfair her boy did not get the chance the others did, the thought crawling in like worms through mud. Then her will snapped down, training taking hold. She would only get one chance at this and needed to focus.

She enhanced her vision to include heat and silenced the sounds of her footfalls and clothes. For this next part, she would need stealth and speed.

“Go!” she whispered, and her doppelganger shot off like an arrow.

Kisan followed at a slower pace, keeping her form hidden within the low grass. As her simulacrum rounded the corner and continued its sprint, she heard the sound of at least two darts fire at its retreating back. They were close, but their attention was on the fleeing “boy.”

Kisan knew they would have to make a choice soon and hoped they would make the one she knew they must. Less than a moment passed, then like a black streak, one of the assassins sped after the fleeing image of Piter.

She didn’t hesitate, but moved with blinding speed silently up and over the stone entryway. Her enhanced vision easily picked out the remaining man, who only now realized his peril. Before he could offer any defense, Kisan struck his sternum with an open palm, her hand vibrating in tune with the man’s bones.

A silent detonation occurred within the assassin’s body as Kisan’s focused strike shattered every bone in a circular pattern from the center of the man’s chest outward. His lungs liquefied and he convulsed, then vomited out a gout of black liquid and bone into the grass. The force of the blow knocked his body backward against the hard stone wall with a solid, wet smack, before he rebounded forward and fell into the waiting arms of the master.

His weight surprised Kisan the most, for it was at least three times what a normal person should have been. It took all her enhanced strength not to stumble under the sudden burden. She steadied herself, quickly pulling the dying man into the side bushes, then ripped the face cover off to look at the person beneath.

The face was square, younger than expected, a boy with blond hair and peach whiskers now speckled with his lifeblood. A whispered gasp escaped his lips and in that moment, his eyes focused on his killer.

Kisan concentrated, then touched the man’s forehead. Names and images flooded her mind. A stone fortress, set deep in the Dawnlight Mountains. A black sun surrounded by blue fire, standing like an open maw. A small cat, calico and mewing piteously. A dark cavern with hundreds of glass caskets filled with men like him.

The flood of life, of this boy’s life, gushed from his mind into Kisan’s like water bursting from a cut sack before slowing to a trickle and finally... nothing. The memories had transferred and the mindread was complete. The spell was taxing, however, and she would not be able to read much more from anyone else until these memories were purged. Still, she needed information, and one more thing.

She leaned back, looking at her handiwork, noticing the details. Small beginnings of a beard framed the boy’s face, and the eyes were pale blue, no longer glowing and still wide in the shock of death. Even as she watched, those pale blue irises were eaten up by the widening black of his pupils. His skin was tan, with a scar on his left cheek, a quick slash that spoke of a misstep against a sharp blade.

Kisan drank in the features, focusing, memorizing. She looked at the mask, the gloves, and the uniform. She inspected the shoes, the belt. She ran her hands over the man’s body, feeling the strength and size of the limbs. She had already spent a tremendous amount of energy tonight in creating her doppelgangers and sifting the assassin’s mind, but this one last spell had to be perfect. She looked inward, diving deep into the Way, and called upon the little power she had left.

She refocused herself and shaped the Way to do her bidding. A sparkle consumed her form, a quick flash of ethereal starlight vanishing before it even seemed to take substance. Then Kisan stood and moved back up to the entranceway.

As she did so, her form blurred and changed, becoming stronger, thicker, and taller. In moments, a dark-clothed assassin took watch, with features identical to the boy that lay hidden and dead, some feet away.
Tamlin,
the thought came to her.
My name is Tamlin
. With time, more of her victim’s memories would become available as the mindread assimilated the dead man’s memories.

Kisan, who was now Tamlin, scanned the direction the other assassin had run, watching with eyes glowing the same soft, deadly blue. The time for a reckoning would soon be at hand.

* * * * *

The leader of the team paused in the hallway, presumably leading from the main landing to the lore father’s chambers. He held up a hand and one of his men came forward with a small canister. They moved carefully up to the door, fanning out to both sides like black fingers. Another cross talisman was set against the door, negating the wards with its familiar flash, silent detonation, and sparkle. The man readied the canister, then waited for the signal.

The leader made a fist. The door was yanked open, then pushed shut as the man expertly tossed the canister through the small opening his team had made. The detonation of sound and light within was designed to disorient someone, interrupt any spellcasting, and blind those who did not protect their eyes.

Even as the canister exploded, the team yanked the doors back open, dart weapons ready. They quickly identified a man with a staff reeling forward from the blast and did not hesitate. Four darts hit their target, poison surging and locking muscles. The leader looked in and saw that the old man fit the description he had been given of the lore father. He moved into the room cautiously.

The figure of the lore father lay prone on the floor, choking. The leader moved up and stood where the lore father could see him. He waited until their eyes met.

“Themun Dreys, Sovereign commits you to stone and earth.” The leader pulled a sharp stiletto from his belt and kneeled next to the dying man.

In a quick motion, the leader stabbed the stiletto through the lore father’s eye and into his brain. The body convulsed once, a wet moan emanating from deep within. Then it went limp, except for a small tremor that ran down one leg.

The leader watched this impassively, then motioned to another man who came up and punched the cross shaped dagger into the older man’s chest. They had taken great risk to this point and had to be sure their target was dead. He then double-checked the leader’s work and nodded.

“Not as dangerous as we were led to believe,” whispered the leader to his team. “Bear witness.”

The team moved in, staring at the corpse through glowing blue eyes, memorizing and inscribing the details. As each was satisfied the target was dead, they whispered, “Witnessed.” The leader watched until all had spoken, then made his way for the door. An Archmage of the Way was dead, he mentally added with satisfaction. Now it was time to get out of here.

The pieces of the destroyed canister could not stay. No evidence could be left behind that could lead anyone back to Sovereign. He motioned to his men and they stowed their weapons and retrieved any detritus. Their expertise showed in the thoroughness with which they quickly accomplished their tasks. Then, they made their way out of the chamber and to the edge of the banister that looked down into the spiral well created by the tower’s stairs.

Looking down over the edge they again did not hesitate, leaping over the banister and down the hole of the central stairwell. They jumped headfirst like swimmers for water. Halfway down, they tucked and flipped so their feet pointed at the ground.

All four landed in a crouch, their light exhalation at impact belying the distance from which they had just fallen. The door to the outside stood slightly ajar, just as they had left it. All four moved silently through it and into the night.

* * * * *

Dragor took a deep breath of the night air, trying to sense anything that might be wrong. He sensed someone tapping into the Way not far from him, and by its feel, he knew it was Kisan. Would it make sense for him to mindspeak her now, or wait until he knew the nature of their attackers?

The fact that no other adept had broken mental silence demanded he remain cautious. Furthermore, he couldn’t afford to expend the energy right now. Mindspeak, though efficient, could deplete him before he knew what they faced. Waiting would be most prudent, he decided, especially in light of losing contact with Thera. Anyone who could silence her could potentially tap the Way.

He moved quickly from the training hall to the main courtyard. They gathered here for the seasons’ festivals, and to relax between classes and training. Tables and lamps adorned the circular forum, creating a natural theater for the island inhabitants. He stayed away from the brightly lit central area, instead flitting from shadow to shadow. Regardless of his cloak of invisibility, Dragor was taking no chances.

As he neared the Hall of Adepts, he stopped, motionless. Ahead was the point where he had sensed Kisan. Though the flash of power was gone, the residue lingered like a scent. She was still about and Dragor felt the need to be even more cautious. He moved quickly up to the wall, taking advantage of the terrain and shadows.

That they were under attack was a certainty in his bones. He did not remember when he came to believe this true, only that every sense told him a mistake now would be deadly. He moved around the wall until he could see the front entrance, then he crouched and waited.

At first, nothing happened. His skin crawled in the cool night air as if at any moment lightning would strike and the battle would be joined. The tension grew and Dragor knew something was about to snap.

Then a single black streak came from the woods to one side of the Hall of Adepts, joining up with another crouching on the stairs, motionless as he was. Those two were soon joined by four more emerging from inside the hall like living shadows. That made six against one. As that thought flitted through his mind he felt a sudden change, like a shifting breeze that brought a sudden chill. Dragor knew his cloak of invisibility did not hide him any longer, and he had been seen.

He didn’t hesitate, dropping it to conserve energy. Then he stepped out from the wall, his form lined in power, his flameskin flashing purple as it flared into existence at his command.

He could see all six fan out to take positions around him and nodded in satisfaction. This would be no training
kata.
This was real and his life would balance on the keen, deadly edge of his Talent against theirs. He took a deep breath and cleared his mind. He knew he was ready.

The breeze shifted, bringing with it the scent of jasmine, and they attacked.

H
OPE

Focus on killing your opponent now.

Tomorrow, it will make today

A good memory.

Today, it will make tomorrow,

A promise of glory.

—Kensei Tsao, The Lens of Blades

I
think it will work.” Ash stood facing his commander and the King of Bara’cor in a small room high atop one of the castle towers. Behind him were Niall and Yetteje. “It may be the key to ending this conflict quickly.”

“It’s a death sentence,” answered the king, looking at his young commander. Still, he had to admit the plan was daring: A small team of handpicked men steal into the nomad camp and assassinate their leader. It would throw the nomads into confusion. If Bara’cor attacked at that time, it would cause significant losses to the nomad army, perhaps even break the siege. Though he doubted being reinforced by Haven, any plan that disrupted the nomad command bought them time, and with time came life. Yes, thought Bernal, impressive.