Mythborn: Rise of the Adepts (74 page)

Yetteje ducked the blow, letting her momentum carry her through and past it. Her years of training felt somehow augmented now by the moment. She drew a breath, her mind and body acting as one. The world slowed and she could see her feline opponent flip up the wall, then jump back down at her—death from above.

Now, though, to her heightened senses, it moved in slow motion. She could see its wide eyes shining with their eerie, otherworldly light and white fangs protruding from behind thin black lips. It dove at her with clawed hands outstretched, but she brought her blade up and thrust it into the mistfright’s mouth. The steel came out the back of its head, severing the spine. As the creature fell past, Yetteje pulled the blade out in one smooth, clean motion.

Time took on its normal flow and the creature fell in a heap at Yetteje’s feet, dead before it hit the ground. She cautiously moved over to it, her booted foot turning the body to get a better look. She was shocked to see the soldier, his cheeks still smooth. His face and neck were spattered with his blood, ruined by Yetteje’s sword thrust. Even as she watched, a black smoke snaked out of the body and soaked into the stones of Bara’cor.

Whatever that thing was, it was no mistfright. Maybe all she had accomplished was killing someone possessed, a defender of Bara’cor.
But I saw it, didn’t I?
She fell back, her shoulder sagging against the wall, the magnitude of the events threatening to overwhelm her, but something else took over. It was the same thing that had kept her calm during her flight and focused her during her fight.

She stepped forward and wiped her blade clean on the uniform of the soldier. Had she been able to see herself, she would have noticed that her eyes now drank in the light, glowing their own soft, ethereal yellow. They were the eyes of a predator, a hunter.

Not wanting to linger near the body of what had been something else, she raced up the deserted corridor, making her way to one of the main stairwells leading up. The castle proper, she knew, didn’t start for some levels up. She cocked her head and listened, and heard footsteps coming down.

She moved quickly under the nearest landing and prepared. When they passed, she would cut their legs out from under them and make her way up to the king’s men, who must surely be patrolling the halls above.

The sounds of footsteps neared and she braced herself, willing the moment of combat clarity to come. It responded to her will and time once again slowed. She smiled, readying her weapon. Then, in an unearthly burst of speed, she shot out of her nook and flipped over the inner hand rail, her blade slicing directly for the back of the lead man’s leg.

When she saw who it was, her eyes widened in shock and she stopped her thrust a finger’s width away from hamstringing him. Her momentum was too much, however, and she still fell, knocking them both to the ground. The three guards with the lead man stood stunned, for they had never seen anyone move with such speed. Even now, they did not know what had attacked them, but they readied their weapons nonetheless.

"By the Lady!" exclaimed the king. "Tej?"

She couldn’t believe it. The king was here? She started to smile, then a sound from the corridor awoke in her the terror she felt leaning against the iron door. It was too real, too recent for her to forget. She looked at the king and said, "We have to go."

"Tej, where’s Niall?" the king demanded.

Yetteje looked over her shoulder, somehow knowing the man in black still followed. She looked back at the king and grabbed his arms. "We have to
go!"

She grabbed his armor and began moving him physically back up the stairwell. Somehow, she had the strength to move him by herself and the guards rushed to keep up.

"Tej, release me!" said the king, surely not understanding how such a small girl could have such strength.

She carried him up the stairs as if he weighed nothing more than a babe. She knew their lives hung in the balance and didn’t look back. Instead, she concentrated on getting them to where she knew safety lay, just a few more flights up. The stairs below her feet flew by, three, four at a time. Yetteje literally bounded up the flights of stairs with the king pulled behind like a leaf in the wind.

Then, from above her, a man appeared. He reminded her of Arek—the same kind of intensity in his faded blue eyes. He was followed by a woman who looked younger, but no less deadly. Yet something about her recalled to Tej’s mind safety and solace. Behind them came a squad of Bara’corian soldiers—and Ash! Thank the Lady!

Then she caught herself, for she knew who "the Lady" was now: Lilyth. It was such an inborn habit, a praise or curse every person of Edyn uttered but clearly did not understand. They prayed to the very goddess who assailed them now.

Yetteje sprinted for Ash, covering the ground in the blink of an eye. Here was someone she knew and nearly thanked the Lady again before catching herself. Old habits die hard, she thought, unceremoniously dumping the king and falling to a knee, exhaustion now threatening to overcome her as her strange combat focus faded.

The strange woman leaned in close and said, "It seems you and I have some things to talk about, Princess of EvenSea, but that can wait. I am Master Kisan and this is Master Silbane. What of Arek?"

Yetteje looked up at the woman and said between gulps of air, "She took him. She took him and she took Niall." She started to rise, her attention on the stairwell leading down into the blackness.

The king looked at Kisan and asked, "She?"

"Lilyth…" stammered Yetteje in response.

When the king still looked confused, Kisan stepped in and said, "What makes you all so obtuse, the water?"

Silbane stepped in and addressed the king, "Your son and my apprentice have been taken by the demonlord Lilyth."

The king shook his head, his attention focused now on Yetteje. "This cannot be! Where?"

The girl looked over her shoulder and down the stairwell, then back at the king. "There’s a man in black following me," she said. "He’s trying to kill me."

Both masters’ flameskins erupted as they moved to stand between their remaining forces and the new threat.

"He can’t hope to prevail against two of us," said Kisan, looking down into the gloom.

"Indeed, then why does he still come?" Silbane turned to the king and continued, "We need a more defensible area—a room— something with only one entrance.

The king seemed lost, looking about in confusion. "Lilyth?"

Silbane grabbed the king by the shoulders and shook him once, hard, "We need a defensible area,
now!"

* * * * *

Baalor turned the corner, stalking the girl easily by her contact with the granite of the fortress. He came upon the body of the one she had slain, the economy of the kill impressive. One thrust. He noted that and notched his regard for the girl a bit higher. Perhaps the goddess had been right. No matter. She, along with those left in Bara’cor, would serve their gods again, no matter what blood or lineage they claimed.

He then leaned low and felt the stone, his eyes closing. There! On the stairwell, she moved with speed and he could feel his target moving with her. They would soon meet and he would complete his task.

His form illuminated in lightning and he looked inside himself. This body was powerful, more than its previous owner had known. That man did not have the knowledge Baalor did, the knowledge of the Aeris Lords. Baalor brought this to bear, his essence mastering the dead builder completely.

This body was made to respond to the Way. It could be Shaped to meet his need, his will. He concentrated and the body responded, changing in form and substance.

Slowly, he submerged into the rock, like a man into water. The only sign of him was a slightly darker patch, a ripple, as if someone swam under the stone. The ripple made its way up the rock walls, directly for the king’s forces above.

T
RAPPED

There are things worse than death in this world.

To remind myself of this fact,

I occasionally seek out danger.

—Davyd Dreys, Notes to my Sons

A
s if punctuating their danger, screams echoed up from the darkness. It was the three guards who had been with the king, but unfortunate enough to not have someone like Yetteje to haul them to safety. Their cries ended suddenly, like drowning men pulled under water.

The sound galvanized the king, who moved quickly now, the loss of Niall carefully controlled beneath years of experience commanding men on the field of battle. He moved to a resupply room, ushering the rest of the party in.

The room was large enough to hold twenty men comfortably. It had provisions along one wall and weapons along another. In the center were three tables, two for repairing various weapons and armor. The third was a medical station, including bandages and other tools necessary to help aid the injured.

The king motioned and the guards secured Scythe, still semiconscious, to the last table. He then positioned Ash’s men near the door and turned to Kisan and confirmed, "This is Silbane?"

Before she could respond, Silbane stepped forward and backhanded the king—a stinging slap. "For Arek."

The king’s men pointed swords at the master. Kisan and Ash each jumped in, pulling their respective leaders apart.

"Hold!" Bernal yelled to his men, his voice ringing with command. He put a hand up to his jaw, wincing, then spit blood. "Well met, I should say."

"I’m happy to do so again, given Bara’cor’s hospitality to my apprentice."

The king’s arms went wide and he exclaimed, "I did what I must, for Bara’cor!"

Silbane shrugged Kisan off like she was an afterthought, his anger visible, then he turned to the door. "Torture a boy?" He looked back at the king, and Bernal could see there was real sadness in Silbane’s eyes. "I have lost him because of you."

The king moved forward, his arms still spread. "I have lost my son, too," he said simply. Grief threatened to overcome him. "What of Jebida?"

An awkward silence fell upon the group, then Kisan said, "He fell, and provided us a means of escape."

The simple statement hammered the king, who took an involuntary step back, his hand to his chest. They had been friends for years, and it had become a fundamental belief in Bernal that nothing could hurt the firstmark. He looked down, grief etching his features as he thought about his friend. "He’s dead?"

Ash stepped in and said, "Niall is still alive. He’s been taken from us, and we need to focus on how to get him back."

Just then a guard near the door jerked, his scream cut off as his head entered the wall of Bara’cor, sinking in past his neck. He braced his hands on the wall and tried to pull his granite-encased head out, but the rock was solid and unyielding. His companions each grabbed a leg, but it was no use. The man’s frantic attempts slowly became lethargic, then feeble as his air ran out.

The other guards retreated, looking up at the ceiling and at the floors, trying to find their opponent, fear clearly reflected in their eyes. How could they attack something hiding inside rock?

Another guard gave a scream when he was pulled down through the floor, disappearing into the rock of Bara’cor without a mark.

"On the tables!" Silbane barked. "Get off the stone."

The group vaulted up onto the three tables in the room, ducking their heads so none were within arm’s reach of a stone surface, including the ceiling. Only seven remained, including Alyx, Yetteje, and Scythe on one table, the king and Ash on a second, and Kisan and Silbane crouched together, reviewing their options on the third.

A deep voice said, "How will this help you, King of Bara’cor? You squat like a dog."

Bernal shook off his grief, at least for the moment. Battle had been joined and like it or not, Ash was correct. They needed to focus on saving the living. The dead could be grieved for later. He looked about in disgust and said, "Dogs at least fight. What hides under stone and dirt?"

The table the king and Ash stood upon began to sink into the stone. "By the Lady!" exclaimed the king. In one smooth motion he drew his sword, but Ash held his arm, listening.

* * * * *

I can find him, beloved. Draw me.

No.

Not even to save your king?

Ash looked around, his mind in turmoil, then he grabbed his blade and drew it. The green gem burst with a clear light, making the stone translucent where it struck. They could see the figure of a black assassin with his feet braced, pulling the table under by a leg.

"Prime," Kisan said, looking at Silbane. "He must have survived."

Silbane cocked his head, looking at the creature below them, then at the other master. "That thing is not Prime." He moved in a blur, centering the Way and struck the ground over the black creature’s position with an open palm, before vaulting back to another table. "Tell me your name, demon!"

The blow had a visible effect, as shockwaves traveled through the rock and blasted the demon backwards, leaving the king’s table at a list, half submerged in stone.

They saw the creature look up, smiling at Silbane. "I am Lord Baalor," it said. "Do you not remember your gods, mortal?" It laughed, then moved away quickly and out of the light Tempest cast.

"What now?" Alyx asked. When the fighting had started, she had grabbed Yetteje and pushed her onto a table with herself, clearly guarding the royal heir the same way Ash had partnered with the king.

The king turned to Yetteje and said, "Tell us what happened. We need to plan our next move."

For her part, Yetteje had grabbed a proper sword to replace the fighting blade she had been using. She held the scabbarded blade, crouched on her table top and answered the king, "Arek touched a portal and Lilyth appeared."

Silbane spoke first. "What happened to the Gate?"

Yetteje looked at him, brows knit in consternation. "Nothing. She just appeared. I could hear them speaking."

"What did they say?" asked the king.

"She said to tell you she has Niall and if you don’t turn yourself over to her by nightfall, she will kill everyone left inside Bara’cor."