Mythborn: Rise of the Adepts (32 page)

“According to Sergeant Stemmer the honor goes to the Princess of EvenSea, my lord. She had the inspiration,” Ash said while motioning to Yetteje, who stood slumped against the back wall.

“Don’t call me that,” she stated.

“Princess?” asked Ash.

Yetteje looked up, her eyes angry. “Do you intend to mock me, sir?” she snapped. “I am nothing. I have no people, my home lies in ruins. My name is Tej, at least until I have set things right.”

An uncomfortable silence would have followed, but the firstmark stepped in. “Aye, you have the right of it. Maybe you’re not heir to anything, but if you snap at my armsmark again you’ll be over my knee like the child you’re acting.”

Dead silence. Then Yetteje’s face broke into a hesitant grin. “I guess I deserved that.”

The firstmark smiled too, coming over to clap the girl’s back lightly. “Yes, you did. Insolence is never a virtue, and sometimes even mules need to kick each other in the head. Still, I’ll be taking your advice. ‘Tej’ it is, until you say different.”

He gave her another clap, this one almost knocking Tej off her feet, then turned to take his place by his king’s side. He threw a sidelong glance at Yetteje and said, “But it’s still ‘Firstmark’ to you, Tej.”

Tej sketched a hasty bow and said, “Of course, Firstmark.”

The king smiled, shaking his head. Leave it to Jebida to talk sense into a stubborn girl thirty summers his junior. He then motioned to Ash and said, “Regardless of the plan’s origin, it still means death to those who volunteer.”

Ash nodded, “I know, but a small number of dead men instead of... what is our alternative?”

“Hmm.” The king looked at his firstmark, the question plain on his face. Who would go?

“You’ll ask for volunteers?” Niall asked, to no one in particular. The question hung in the air without answer.

Finally, the firstmark said, “And risk word getting back to the nomads? Spies may be about, or worse.” Jebida moved his large frame over to a water bowl and rinsed his hands. “I’d rather not risk that.”

“We don’t need to make a general announcement,” Ash suggested. “We know who could be useful, less than ten I’d trust. We call them together and ask if they wish to volunteer for something that may mean death, but may also win the lives of those behind these walls. And we pick from there.”

The king sighed. It always seemed to come down to choosing who should die and who should live. It didn’t matter that these men were “volunteering.” Sending his own men to their deaths was not Bernal’s desire, but the king understood his duty lay with the greater good. He looked at the armsmark and asked, “Who would you choose?”

Before Ash could answer, Yetteje spoke up. “I’m going.”

For a second time, there was silence caused by the princess. Bernal recovered first and said, “No, you are not.”

“This nomad had my father
impaled,”
Tej said, stepping forward. “He may have murdered my whole family. I am going.”

The entire room paused, thinking the princess mad, but the expression on her face showed her mind was set and nothing further was going to be said. Bernal had to remind himself it had only been two days since Yetteje had seen her father killed. The king knew it was unfair to expect the girl to act more mature. Still, he had to temper his advice in a way so Tej would listen. The king tried again in a mollified voice, “You will not endanger yourself. Part of being a ruler is caring for your people. How will you do that if you are dead?”

It took a moment for Yetteje to respond, but once she did, she spat out, “I have no people. The nomads took care of that. Who am I caring for, sir?”

The king was ready to throw something at the girl, but instead clamped down his frustration and said, “Tej, I grieve with you. We have both lost family, but you are all that is left of your noble house. How will I face my sister or your father in the afterlife if I don’t protect you now?”

Yetteje looked down, her father’s face in her thoughts, perhaps. When she looked up, there was determination in her gaze. She looked at the king and said, “If I am all that’s left, then the Tir name is dead and you protect nothing. Let me go, or I will find a way to go on my own.” A sudden silence filled the room as the young princess sought to match her will against the king.

The contest of wills was over before it began as the king snapped his fingers and Alyx came in with a guard. He kept his eyes on Yetteje but said, “Sergeant, you will find two more guards. Then you are to take Yetteje Tir to her room. You will place her inside and lock the door. Two of you will stay inside the room, the other two will stay outside. I will be there momentarily to speak with our... guest.”

He then addressed the young princess, “I will not allow you, in your grief, to end the Tir line. You can choose to be insolent, but you are still my ward. And within these walls, my decisions are final, for
I
am king.”

Yetteje looked ready to disagree, but then her shoulders slumped and she broke into sobs, barely stifled. She went to a knee with her hands over her face. The gentle hands of Alyx picked her up and began to guide her from the room.

“May I go with her?” Niall quickly asked. “She shouldn’t be alone.”

The king’s eyes were on Tej’s back, sorrow for his niece’s loss plain on his face. He nodded to his son without looking, not trusting himself to speak.

Niall fell into step with the sergeant, relieving her of her burden. His arm went around his cousin as they made their way from the tower down to Tej’s room. They couldn’t know that in just a few moments, everything they knew would be tested, and their lives from that point forward would never be the same.

C
ONFLICT

Do not negotiate from a weakened position.

Fear never grants reprieve unless threatened.

Be overly aggressive,

Dominate to within an inch of their life,

Then offer a morsel of hope.

—Tir Combat Academy, The Tactics of Victory

A
rek! Get up!” Silbane’s urgent voice broke through the light sleep that had stolen over the young apprentice.

He cracked an eye open and then asked, “Master? What...?”

“Quiet. Get up, we don’t have much time.”

Something in his master’s tone brought Arek to full alertness. He scrambled awake, scattering the last remnants of whatever dream he had been enjoying into the cold night air.

Snatching up Tempest, he quickly scanned the area. Master Silbane stood looking over his shoulder, as if expecting pursuit. When he looked back at Arek, the boy saw something he had never seen before: fear in his master’s eyes.

“What is it?”

Silbane looked at his apprentice as though not sure where to begin. “We are no longer safe here.”

“Why, because of the nomads?” Arek could see his master was upset, which worried him more than anything else did. “What happened?”

“I need your full attention. You will follow my instructions. Understood?”

Arek nodded, his eyes wide. A cold knot coiled in his belly and his palms became clammy. Something told him this was not going to be good.

Then, as he heard his master begin to speak, his vision tunneled and the scene froze in front of him. He looked around, but everything had stopped, even the wind was silent. His master stood in front of him mid-word, like a statue. The air was cloudy and Arek realized it was all the fine particles of sand, their motion frozen in place, which now made them visible.

“You’ll want to hear what your master has to say.”

Arek turned to see Piter casually walk out of thin air. Along with him came that feeling of malevolence, a barely contained hatred directed at him. “Piter! What’s happening?”

“The same thing as when we first spoke.” Piter looked at him with an expression that Arek could only interpret as pity. “Our conversation is between heartbeats.” Piter looked at Arek and added, “You know, he means to kill you.”

Arek closed his eyes, willing this nightfright to end. When he opened them, however, Piter was still there and nothing had changed. Arek stammered out the first thing that came to his mind. “Wh-what do you mean?”

“The dragon. This is no mission of information gathering, not after he comes back. Your life ends here, unless you escape.”

Arek found his inherent fear and unnerve fading faster than it had during the first encounter with the shade. It was as if he’d grown more accustomed to Piter’s presence. His voice came out stronger as he answered the shade’s accusation. “I don’t believe you. My master is here about a rift near Bara’cor.”

“You believe that?” the shade looked out over the moonlit night. He seemed to be listening for something, something Arek couldn’t hear. His gaze turned back upon his former classmate and in that moment, Arek felt his soul bared. “Yes! You must go to Bara’cor.” The statement surprised Arek, who had not yet seen the shade be anything but insulting to him.

“Bara’cor?” he asked.

“Do not believe what he says,” Piter said, pointing at the frozen Silbane.

Arek hesitated. How much of what he felt and saw had been challenged by the actions of the lore father, this “new” power, or the dragon’s scrutiny? Nothing seemed to fit.

Still, a part of him felt better as they neared the land and Bara’cor. He could feel something pulling at him, like a harmonious note that echoed just below his hearing. It spoke of power, of strength, of
destiny.

At first he thought it linked to the blade, Tempest. That hope had been quickly dashed as his failed experiment touching the blade could attest. However, the feeling of destiny, of his importance hadn’t gone away, instead growing deeper and more intrinsic to this place, perhaps to Bara’cor.

He wanted to believe it but his master felt danger here, and he trusted that, too. Master Silbane was the closest thing he had to a father, yet the doubt continued to gnaw at him.

Arek shook his head. “I won’t listen to you.” But it came out with less conviction than he wanted. He knew the masters were not telling him the whole truth, and he had seen it in the lore father’s eyes. Now this shade was picking apart the fragile peace he had created within his mind.

“He will sacrifice you for the good of this world,” Piter said, “if he believes it.”

Arek grew exasperated and shouted, “What do you
want?”

Piter arched an eyebrow. “Mercy... but you’re too late to grant that. I’m cursed as a lackey to a dimwitted fool.”

What could Arek do? He felt guilt, even remorse for Piter’s death. He knew he was to blame. Now it seemed that either Piter’s soul was trapped in some horrible servitude, or he was slowly going mad. Perhaps that was it. Was he losing his mind?

Then another part of him, the part that strove to be best, the part that fought to gain respect despite his inability with the Way, remembered something he almost missed...
lackey.

It made sense now. Piter had made a mistake, tiny, but still a mistake. A small smile escaped Arek’s lips, his confidence returning as he unraveled the specter’s web of lies. His thoughts sharpened and as they did, he noticed a change, a hesitancy. It was almost missed but a caution, a trepidation on the ghost’s part became obvious, as if Piter were facing his own...
master.

Arek looked at Piter and said, “You belong to me.” His voice brooked no argument. It was strong, for he knew it was true. This shade, for all its malevolence, had no power over him. Instead, it was quite the opposite. His dreams of power suddenly came back to him, the feeling of twisting the blade and killing his opponent. This was the same. This creature’s mockery and anger were designed to make Arek frightened. No longer! He would cower to this pathetic creature no more.

“What do you think—?”

“Silence!” Arek stepped forward. “You will answer me.”

Piter’s shade looked sidelong, an obsequious grin on his face, and slowly the ghost knelt.
“That
didn’t take very long...”

Arek ignored him, looking about. “What’s happening right now? Has time actually stopped?”

“No. We stand within the blink of an eye. When it ends, you will be right where we first started.” A sly grin appeared on Piter’s face and he added, “Of course, I’ll still be dead.”

“I don’t remember killing you, Piter. I don’t even know if you’re telling the truth about any of this.”

“I made this up? Then I appeared to you in the desert? How stupid are you?”

Arek sat down in the sand, trying to piece together what to do. His logical mind took over where his conscious thoughts had given up. “You said earlier the dragon means to kill me... why?”

Piter’s shade moved over in front of the young apprentice, his form and his demeanor subservient. “Let me prove my worth. I will tell you a truth only your masters know.” The shade looked at Arek conspiratorially and said, “You have a great destiny ahead. You can
feel
it. The dragon sees a lie, he sees an end, but he is wrong. He does not see truth, and believes the lie.”

“What is my master’s mission?” he asked again, his patience wearing thin with the roundabout way the shade answered.

“The fact you mask the scent of magic is useful, but not the reason you were sent here. Your particular Talent for destroying enchantments is not a side effect.” Piter trailed off, waiting for something.

“Piter, I’m losing my patience,” Arek said. “Answer me!”

Then the shade smiled, and in that smile Arek could see true evil. It seemed to relish having this information. Slowly, like a snake unwinding, Piter whispered, “Sacrifice.”

Arek stood up, shocked. “What do you mean?”

“They would need someone,” smiled the shade, “whose touch disrupts magic.” Piter stood and paced around the apprentice, his arms folded within his dark uniform. “Ask yourself, what happens to this person?”

Then, with perfect clarity, Master Silbane’s words came to mind, Your Talent to disrupt magic makes you important for this mission. I wish it were different, but you and I are the best choice to go.

Arek shook his head and said weakly, “I don’t believe you.”