Mythborn: Rise of the Adepts (68 page)

Flameskins erupted from both, a detonation of power covering them in protective auras. Orange and yellow, they shone like two stars, bending the dragon fire harmlessly around them. They quickly separated, giving the great dragon and Scythe two targets instead of one.

Kisan knew they had little chance against Rai’stahn in dragon form. She moved quickly toward Scythe, her focus now on keeping herself alive, angling to keep him between her and the dragon’s breath. She dodged left, then right, then leapt at the mage, so fast she was no more than a blur. Pivoting in the air, she snapped out a lethal kick targeting the man’s head.

Scythe raised a hand and a web of lightning arced out, surrounding the young master. Kisan’s orange flameskin flashed multiple times in response as it tried to protect her from the many lethal daggers of energy striking at her from all directions.

It was mostly successful, in that it kept her alive, but Kisan’s body still convulsed as lightning bled through her barrier, locking her muscles tight. She tumbled from her leap and landed to one side, small sparks of electricity arcing about her skin. Then she slowly stood, hunched, her form still smoking.

Silbane had also moved in coordination with Kisan, still keeping his eyes on Scythe. Rai’stahn’s tail caught him in mid-stride, slapping into him like a tree trunk. His flameskin erupted, a yellow-white flash in response to the massive strike, absorbing most of the blow. He fell, landing near Kisan, who was just rising from Scythe’s attack.

"This is useless," Scythe said, "you cannot prevail."

"A simpler version of your spell from the Isle," Silbane whispered to Kisan, knowing her heightened senses included hearing.

They could not afford to have Scythe listen in on their mental communication again. The ease in which he had done so the first time still unnerved Kisan. It had never crossed her mind that she would find herself in a situation where the spoken word would be more secure than mindspeak.

Kisan immediately knew he meant a variation of the spell she had used against the assassins on the Isle. Scythe would know nothing about this, having never shared Kisan’s thoughts. She needed to distract Scythe and Rai’stahn if Silbane’s plan were to work.

She concentrated, reached for the Way, and could feel Silbane do the same. They didn’t want to create simulacrums of the same detail and independent capability as she had before. It was too energy consuming and complex. What they needed were more targets, and lots of them.

As the spell completed, the clearing created by the dragon fire erupted with hundreds of copies of Silbane and Kisan, all flashing into being from thin air! These were simple copies, yet the two masters created enough to confuse both the dragon and the red-robed mage. The copies looked at their makers and smiled, then burst into action. They jumped and twisted, moving quickly at their attackers, dodging and wheeling in unison.

Rai’stahn drew his fanged head back, then struck Silbane as he jumped into the air on the attack. A taloned claw crushed a figure beneath it in a yellow-white flash, smashing it to the desert floor. Another ducked under the attack and struck at the armored side of the dragon, but to no effect. It too disappeared in a flash when struck by the dragon, but still hundreds more came, attacking any who stood in their way. Soon the clearing was a maelstrom of confusion with nomads fighting these copies, who when injured disappeared instantly. However, their purpose was not to win but to confuse, and they were achieving this quite well.

Kisan used the confusion to her advantage, leaping into the heart of the melee, her ridge hand striking with a crack into a nomad’s throat and breaking his neck. She sped past him, ducking under a blade then spinning and facing the counter strike. As the sword came whistling in, she clapped her hands together and caught the blade between her palms, her timing perfect. Continuing her motion, she snapped the steel halfway up its length.

Even as the nomad tried to bring the shattered remnant of his half weapon up in defense, Kisan flipped herself half over and thrust her broken half through her attacker’s chest. She was past him before he hit the ground dead.

Scythe looked about, then spread his hands and a volley of flaming darts shot out, catching half a dozen Silbanes and Kisans full in the chest. They burnt to cinders and flashed into nothingness. Still more versions came zigzagging through the carnage, weaving in between copies of each other.

Kisan parried another blade with her palm, the edge guided away from her expertly. She struck then with open fingers through her opponent’s eyes. Grabbing the blinded nomad’s skull through his eye sockets, she hurled him into a knot of enemies, then advanced on them wreathed in orange flames like an angel of death.

One of the Silbanes punched the ground and it erupted into a wave of sand that sped at Scythe like a wall of water. Scythe fell back a step and put his hands together, slicing through the onrushing wall with a blade of lightning that parted the sand wave around him, leaving behind tiny shards of melted glass.

Only the real Silbane could have done that, and Scythe must have known it, but before he could target the correct Silbane, he was lost amongst a hundred others. In frustration Scythe clenched his fist and one Silbane fell, back broken and crushed, before disappearing in a flash.

Rai’stahn swept a Kisan into his grasp and bit her head off, then tossed the body aside. It disappeared before it hit the ground in a flash of orange fire. Still dozens came, weaving in and out of each other, coming toward the dragon with attacks that could distract him long enough for the real masters to launch an attack he did not see coming.

He narrowed his golden eyes, looking for the heat of a living creature, then quickly reached out with a clawed talon and grabbed one of the masters out of a group to his right. Kisan erupted in orange flame as her protective aura ignited in response. Rai’stahn bared his fangs and squeezed.

The aura grew brighter as Kisan fought the dragon’s grasp, locked in a struggle that could only end in her death. She let out a scream and the flameskin detonated with an orange blast that threw the dragon back. Kisan landed in a heap and lay motionless. All versions of her instantly dissipated, vanishing before the gathered nomads in the midst of combat and leaving many with no opponent.

Scythe still had dozens of Silbanes to deal with and yelled to Rai’stahn, "Breathe!"

The dragon targeted a knot of Silbanes engaged with the nomads. Some heard the huge indrawn breath of air and looked up in horror, seeing death in the dragon’s eyes. Others on the periphery scattered to avoid the great blast. Then the dragon breathed a firestorm, erupting the land in front of it, destroying all it touched and melting the sand to sparkling bits of crunchy glass.

In an instant the hundreds of nomads and simulacrums of Silbane caught in the blast vanished, vaporized in the heat of the dragon’s fire. The nomad camp broke apart, fear creating a wave of fleeing warriors running from the great dragon’s wrath. Devastation spread in an arc in front of the dragon, and with the exception of the lone black portal, not a single structure stood within the distance of an arrow’s cast that wasn’t burning or simply gone.

Scythe stepped forward and surveyed the scene. He seemed about to motion to Rai’stahn to move forward when the air behind him wavered and then blurred. From the nothingness stepped a shape that said, "Wrong choice."

The real Silbane stepped out from where he had maneuvered while his illusions mixed with Kisan’s had fought. He snapped the torc used on him around Scythe’s neck and it locked itself in place.

"This belongs to you," Silbane said.

Before Scythe could reply, Silbane struck him a backhand blow that sent him reeling back, unconscious. The master moved like an arrow shot from a bow and grabbed the red-robed mage before he hit the ground, spinning in place to face Rai’stahn.

Kisan staggered to her feet and moved over to stand next to Silbane, trying to focus her vision and catch her breath. They both watched as the dragon turned its yellow gaze upon them.

"What wouldst thou have me do, mortal?" Rai’stahn hissed.

"You are oath-forged with Scythe," Silbane stated, adding, "no harm can come to him through your action, or inaction."

"I know the oath. How wilt thee shame thyself now?"

"He will go with me and I will see no harm come to him," Silbane said. He looked at Kisan and nodded, his meaning clear.

Kisan had begun to recover from her encounter with Rai’stahn’s grasp, and except for a cut down one cheek, was unharmed. She retreated on unsteady legs back to the portal, keeping a careful eye on the hundreds of nomads who were slowly reappearing at the outskirts of Rai’stahn’s devastating arc of scorched earth.

Silbane kept his eyes on the great dragon while making his own way to the portal. "I go to find my apprentice," he said. "If it is as you say, I will deal with him. Do not interfere or I will not guarantee Scythe’s safety."

The dragon flashed and changed, becoming again a black armored knight. He strode forward but stayed well out of the masters’ reach. "If thou hast any love for this land, kill thine apprentice."

Kisan looked at the great dragon-knight, her eyes narrowing. She understood where Rai’stahn’s heart was but could not reveal her own orders, not yet. She would however, make sure Arek could not threaten this world.

Silbane nodded, meeting the dragon-knight’s eyes, and said, "My lord, you once trusted Themun. Trust me as you did him."

He took one last look around then nodded to Kisan, who jumped into the portal and disappeared.

T
HE
E
YE OF THE
S
UN

It is often true that he who achieves victory,

Does so not out of cunning or skill.

But by delivering the seventh thrust,

After the first six are blocked.

—Tir Combat Academy, The Tactics of Victory

I
froze, again..." Niall whispered to himself. "I failed, again."

Arek’s liquid ebony eyes returned to their normal pale blue as he quenched his flameskin, the black fire diminishing into him, but ready should he need it. He took a deep breath and could feel the Way course through him now, drawn in by the air, eldritch and potent. It was a heady feeling of strength and power and he reveled in it. He looked down, knowing his foot was whole, but at the expense of something else, a winged creature that had once been alive.

He moved around the dead assassin’s body and knelt next to Tej. A red mark that was the beginning of a nasty bruise painted the left side of her face and jaw. A thin cut ran from the right side of her forehead, through one delicate eyebrow, and ended on her right cheek. It was bleeding but Arek thought her lucky she had not lost the eye. He offered her a hand and helped her stand.

"You’ll have a scar from that," he said, pointing to her face.

Tej ignored the comment and looked past Arek to the dead assassin, still on his knees. "Who was he, and what was that fire thing you did?"

Arek looked at the figure too and said, "I don’t know who he is." Then he looked at Tej and answered her second question, "It’s called a flameskin, but I’ve never created one before this."

"Convenient." She wiped off her short blade. She should have felt elated at surviving the fight, instead she seemed more annoyed. "What happened to your limp?"

Arek couldn’t tell if she was making fun of him, so replied carefully, "These attacks are healing me."

"More convenient." She sheathed her blade and before he could say anything else she asked, nodding in Niall’s direction, "And him?"

"Fear," Arek replied matter-of-factly, his combat training making the assessment without thinking. "Someone actually trying to kill you can be unnerving, especially the first time."

It was a normal part of fighting and something he had faced himself, albeit at a much younger age. It was often proportional to someone’s worry about getting hurt. Once he realized getting hurt was not as horrible as he thought, the fear diminished too.

"I was too angry to be scared," she replied, a faint note of disgust in her voice. Arek couldn’t tell if the remark was directed at herself, her opponent, or at Niall. He decided to let it go and check on the prince.

As he approached, he saw Niall with his sword still in a white-knuckled grip. The prince was looking down, shame plainly written on his face. "I didn’t do anything,
again."

Arek looked around, satisfied that there was no other threat, then said, "Don’t beat yourself up about it. The guy is dead."

"Thanks to you and Yetteje. What did I have to do with that?" Niall whispered, mainly to himself.

Yeh-te-jee?
He didn’t remember if he had heard her full name and found he liked it. He looked back at her and smiled, but of course, she didn’t notice. She was about to search the man.

"Careful!" he said quickly. "The daggers on him are poisoned. One touch and they’ll finish the job he started."

Yetteje’s eyes widened at that, and she stopped a hand’s breadth away from the man’s body. "I want to know who he is."

Arek drew a small but keen knife from his belt and made his way back over to where Yetteje stood. He knelt carefully and slit the man’s hood open. He then pulled it away, revealing the face underneath. What he saw shocked them both.

"What is he?" she asked, looking at the features that while normal, were larger and wider than the average person’s. They then noted the man’s body, which was again larger than would be expected.

Arek thought for a moment, never having seen something like this before in real life, then said, "I don’t know, but I think he’s a dwarf."

"He’s a
builder."
The statement came from Niall, who had come up to stand behind the other two, still looking miserable. "At least, I think he is. He’s bigger than I expected, but he looks just like the pictures carved into various reliefs around the fortress."

"Seems big for a dwarf. What’s he doing in Bara’cor?" asked Yetteje. "And why is he trying to kill you?"