Mythborn: Rise of the Adepts (35 page)

Rai’stahn countered. He had battled creatures great and small and his instincts were those of a true predator. He shifted imperceptibly to his right so Silbane’s attack went just over his shoulder, then struck with an armored fist to the master’s midsection.

The strike detonated against Silbane’s magical shielding, the impact a flash of pure yellow and white. Silbane was hurled backward, digging a long, straight furrow into the soft sand. The flameskin had taken the brunt of the blow, but the mage could feel pain where some of its power had bled through. He levered himself up, knowing he’d have to rise quickly and move if he was to survive.

* * * * *

Arek couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He could feel the dragon’s power as if it were a tangible thing. A strange hunger rose within him, a blackness that seemed to leak from his soul. He stood frozen, unable to move, but when the dragon spun and breathed fire at him, he reacted instantly. A wave of red-orange flame lit the night, painting the sand in front of the dragon yellow. It billowed forth, enveloping the young apprentice mage.

Arek crossed his arms and leaned into the fire, bringing Tempest to bear. The sword, still quiescent, did nothing. It stood dull and lifeless, yet the dragon’s fire parted before Arek. It washed around him like a stream around a rock. He leaned into the blast, hoping to withstand it, but the air around him detonated, and he felt himself thrown backward.

He rolled, scrambling on all fours to get back into a tactical position, unable to believe the flames had not touched him. He could feel hot breath on his neck, could almost sense the claws about to rend his throat and rip the flesh from his back. A mindless urgency filled him and without thinking, he spun and struck with Tempest, but his sword cut through empty air. The dragon was nowhere near him.

Confusion ran across his features, for he was sure the dragon had been right behind him, and he began to suspect something more was happening. He had never misjudged things in combat before. What power did the dragon use? Then he saw Rai’stahn, still some distance away, coming toward him.

The dragon-knight hunched forward like an animal stalking his prey. “Thou art outclassed in this contest, boy. Stop fighting and I will make thine end quick and painless.” On those words Rai’stahn moved in a blur, his fanged teeth bared.

Arek didn’t hesitate but moved quickly, his sword pointed at his opponent. He circled until the Far’anthi Stone lay behind him, some feet away. He would make his stand here, he thought, bolstering himself for the inevitable clash.

* * * * *

Silbane watched Arek circle and did not waste another moment. He leapt up and over the dragon, landing lightly between Rai’stahn and his apprentice. He struck twice, and could hear the resulting grunt of pain, but had no time to enjoy it.

The dragon swatted the mage with the edge of an outstretched wing, sweeping through him like an enormous black blade.

Again, Silbane’s flameskin saved him, flashing like sunlight with the force of the blow it turned. Silbane found himself on his back.
The power!
Even the small portion of what blasted through his protective spell damaged him greatly. He could feel his strength ebbing and tasted salty blood in his mouth. If this was Rai’stahn “weakened,” Silbane couldn’t imagine facing him at full strength.

Before he could rise, Silbane felt the dragon grab him by his head and pick him up. An armored fist struck his flameskin again, right in front of his face, and the force of the blow staggered him. His vision went gray, then slowly began to return, along with a ringing in his ears. He found himself sitting up some ten feet away and didn’t remember how he got there.

* * * * *

For his part, Arek could think of nothing but what the shade of Piter had said. He spun and snatched up a rock as Silbane fell. With a preternatural burst of speed, Arek ran the few steps left to the Far’anthi. He thought he heard laughter again, but focused completely on the Stone.

Before Rai’stahn or Silbane could intervene, Arek took the rock and swung it in a tight arc, striking the Stone. To his astonishment, it gonged like a bell and began to glow a soft blue. Piter had told the truth, he realized with dismay. He had also said that Arek must be first through the portal.

Its surface became smooth, lit from within like a blue-white star. Arek could see scenes shift beneath, those of a fortress in the desert, its black and gold pennons snapping from the castle walls in the breeze. Some of the images were of outer walls, others of what looked to be the interior of a chamber, dark and unoccupied. It was Bara’cor, and he knew this portal was their only hope.

* * * * *

Silbane bolted forward, again into the dragon’s path. He struck out, his aim guided by years of experience. Though half blinded, he used the small nuances of position and breathing to target the vital areas on the armored body of the knight. His fist hit Rai’stahn’s chest, knocking him backward and up. Silbane vaulted quickly to his feet and leapt past the dragon, reaching for his apprentice.

“Arek, wait!”

The boy never looked back. He stood transfixed by the glowing blue orb, and before Silbane could do anything, Arek reached out with his gloved hand and touched it. In a black and blue flash, he disappeared. Silbane fell inches from where his apprentice had been, his hand closing on nothing but sand.

As Arek’s form vanished, the stone seemed to collapse in his passing. A black hole appeared within, spreading cracks of power. The ground shuddered, as if protesting something unnatural. Before either the dragon or the master could react, the stone imploded, drawing into itself and disintegrating into dust.

“Fool!” Rai’stahn roared. “Dost thee see his power now?”

Silbane ignored him and fumbled for the Finder around his neck, preparing to crush it.

The dragon knew what the master planned and moved with blurring speed. He billowed out fire to hide his attack, then emerged from the flames, catching Silbane with an armored foot to the head.

The kick overcame Silbane’s flameskin, which dissipated in a flash of sunfire. The force of the blow knocked him away from the dragon like a puppet. The Finder fell from his limp grasp.

His protection was gone, destroyed, having absorbed most of the dragon’s blow. It was the only reason Silbane still lived. The next strike would kill him and both he and Rai’stahn knew it.

“Thou art broken. Remove the locks on my
prana
and I will allow thee to live.” The dragon moved forward and stood over the prone master, within easy killing distance. Nothing Silbane did could stop the dragon now.

“And what of my apprentice? Do you still intend on killing him?” the mage spat, blood dripping from his nose and ears. If he could just clear his head, if he could just stand up...

“I will agree—”

The dragon stopped, his eyes widening in shock. Silbane looked up through bruised eyes to see the dragon-knight caught in mid-sentence, trying to say something.

The knight’s mouth moved, but only a strange gurgling sound issued forth. A trembling hand rose, picking at the air as if trying to grasp something from behind his massive head. He took a staggering step forward, then fell face down into the desert dune, next to the surprised master.

An arrow protruded from the base of the dragon-knight’s skull, its dark fletching and shaft almost invisible in the night. A pool of blood, almost black under the moonlight, began soaking into the sand below Rai’stahn’s head.

“This one’s alive,” a voice said in guttural Altanese.

Silbane turned to look in the direction of the voice. A booted foot smashed into his face, breaking his nose and burying his head halfway into the sand.

“The u’zar wants prisoners,” said another, without much interest. Silbane tried feebly to move, but the heel of that boot came down again, twice, and a third time. Each strike smashing into his face and head, breaking bone and cutting flesh.

The last thought Silbane had was that it wasn’t fair, a master of combat beaten to death, then his world went mercifully black.

I
NTO
B
ARA
’
COR

Know your weapon intimately:

The feel of the grip in your hands,

The press of the guard to your thumb,

The back of the blade to block,

The keen edge at the cut,

And the point that ends your opponent’s life.

—Kensei Tsao, The Lens of Blades

Y
etteje pulled away from Niall’s hand as they walked down the stairwell.

Fairly certain he knew what she was thinking, Niall said, “I know I can’t understand.”

“No, you can’t,” Yetteje cut him off. “Just drop it. I don’t feel like talking.”

“You can’t have been serious about going into the camp,” said Niall, ignoring his cousin’s request. “I mean, my father wouldn’t even let
me
serve on the wall.” This last part came out with a trace of annoyance.

Tej spun and shoved Niall against a wall. “Do you think playing soldier is what’s important? Is that what you really want to say right now?” She met his eyes with anger in her own. “Imagine your whole family dead.” She pushed him against the wall again and stepped back, shaking her head. “It’s my choice.”

Niall stood, stunned a bit by Yetteje’s response, but a part of him realized he must have sounded selfish talking about himself. He put up a hand to mollify her and said, “Going into that camp with Ash is certain death.”

“You think I care?” Tej asked in a small voice. She looked her cousin in the eye, then turned and continued down the stairwell.

Alyx moved forward and put a restraining hand on the prince’s shoulder. “Leave it. You won’t convince her of anything right now.”

The stairwell descended back into the fortress proper, away from the main walls and combat areas. As they made their way to the interior, they saw fewer and fewer people, the majority of Bara’cor shuttling between the inner wall and the forward stations.

This hallway led straight down into the lower halls, then a long walk over to the guest rooms. Between them and their destination lay an adjunct council chamber, used for meetings with lesser dignitaries.

Their hallway spilled out onto a large circular platform, with an octagonal opening to the council chamber on one side. On the other side was an opening in the floor, the stairwell that continued down to the lower halls.

Niall and Tej had just exited the hallway when a blue flash erupted from the council chamber. Because of the siege and with no council in session, this level was deserted, and suddenly they both realized just how empty this part of the castle was.

Alyx motioned for Tej and Niall to stop and made a silencing gesture. That flash had been intense and very real. She leaned in close to the guard behind her and told him to get help. A signal with her eyes gave the other guard his orders: flank left. She then met the prince and Tej’s wide-eyed stare and whispered, “Stay behind me.”

They nodded in answer, then silently, the remaining three drew their swords. The guard still with them moved around and to the left of the entrance.

Niall watched him, then began to do the same, his eyes wide. Cold fear made his grasp weak and his legs tremble. He couldn’t get a good grip on his blade. Then he could feel something coming toward the entrance they now surrounded.

They didn’t have long to wait. From inside the great octagonal doors poked a blond-haired head. The face was intense, with pale blue eyes that shone with intelligence. He was dressed in a dark, armored leather jerkin and breeches, functional without adding bulk. With a start, Niall realized this intruder was close to the same age as himself or Yetteje.

Alyx was the first to move. “Stay where you are,” she said, with her sword pointed directly at the boy’s face.

The boy’s eyes tracked the weapon for a moment, then drank in the rest of his surroundings as if dismissing her as a threat. That, Niall thought, was his first mistake. Emboldened by the sergeant’s courage, he moved into view and flanked the doorway, his weapon held low and in front of him.

“You’d be wise to listen... Who are you?” Niall asked.

“Intruder!” the guard flanking the door yelled.

Before the word had echoed up the hallway, the boy exploded into action. A liquid silver sword appeared in his hands and he moved with blurring speed. He crossed the distance to the guard before he could draw another breath.

The guard brought his weapon up, but the boy slapped it aside like an afterthought and slammed the pommel of his weapon into the man’s face. A heartbeat later he struck with an elbow followed by an open palm to the guard’s stomach. The air whooshed out of him and the guard sank unconscious to the floor. Niall had never seen anyone move so fast.

The sergeant was already in motion, moving quickly to counter any killing stroke the boy might level at the unconscious guard. She struck at the back of the boy’s head, her blade almost whistling as it cut through the air.

The boy ducked under the blade and punched her in the face, then spun and caught her in the forehead with the flat of his blade. The blade made a dull
thwack
and snapped Alyx’s head back. She staggered from the blow, her equilibrium gone.

As Niall watched, dumbfounded, the boy stepped in and took the sword out of the sergeant’s dazed grasp, then almost nonchalantly punched her in her helm with her own sword’s pommel.

Alyx dropped as if poleaxed and the boy tossed her own sword away from her unconscious body before turning to face Tej, who yelled back to Niall, “Attack at the same time!”

She launched herself at the intruder, attacking with a flurry of strikes aimed at his head and midsection. Tej had been well-trained; her strikes came out fast and true, a dance of steel that should have scored first blood more than once. To her detriment she attacked alone, as Niall stood by and watched, paralyzed.

To Niall’s amazement, the boy blocked everything thrown at him, his breathing even. On the last strike, he countered with a sharp knee to Yetteje’s stomach, then a ridge hand to her forehead. Before she could recover, the boy spun in place and kicked her with a booted heel to her jaw. Niall watched Tej knocked senseless. She fell like a ragdoll, her eyes rolling into the back of her head. Incredibly, her opponent had never even used his sword.