Mythborn: Rise of the Adepts (75 page)

"By last count, there are close to nine hundred soldiers and their families still in this fortress," the king said to Ash.

Yetteje looked anxiously around, then said in a small voice, "There’s something else."

"What?" Silbane asked.

Her golden eyes met Silbane’s faded blue ones and she said, "She said Arek is her son."

Silbane drew back, shock registering on his face for a second time. He looked at Kisan, who also stood speechless.

* * * * *

Kisan took the news differently. She had the visions of Giridian
and
Silbane to look at, and knew what they meant. The Conclave was right. Arek destroyed the Way, but what would be the effect if he were taken to Lilyth’s realm? She realized in a flash he would begin to absorb even more power, as those beings were a pure embodiment of the Way.

This is what Thoth had feared. The Aeris would safeguard Arek trying to unravel the secret of his existence, and in doing so would create a creature who would undo them all. It was imperative they found Arek as quickly as possible, no matter where he was, and stop him.

A moment passed, then Silbane asked, "Did you see or hear anything else?"

Yetteje slowly nodded, then said, "Lilyth’s creatures are everywhere, thousands of them. They look like mistfrights, but much worse. They control the lower levels and sift through the cracks of the walls like smoke. One of the guards of Bara’cor... something entered him, and he couldn’t fight it off. When it did, he became something else." She pointed to the ground where Baalor had been. "That thing inside the stone. I’m not sure, but it looks just like the man Arek and I killed earlier. Niall said he is a dwarf."

Silbane looked at Kisan and said, "We have to get to the Gate."

"I must rescue my son," said the king. "If that means getting to this portal you speak of, I agree, but I cannot let the people of Bara’cor perish."

"Lilyth will kill you if you turn yourself over to her," warned Ash. He looked at Silbane and said, "Our only chance is to try and find a way out of Bara’cor."

"Perhaps I can help."

The group turned, startled by the raspy voice. It came from Scythe, still bound to the medical table in the back.

Kisan was first to speak. "Help who? Us or them?" she said sarcastically. She turned to the rest of the group. "This man tried to kill us. He may be responsible for the deaths of the other fortresses and their inhabitants."

At that, Yetteje’s head whipped down and her blade sang as it cleared her scabbard, the point centered on Scythe’s chest in the blink of an eye.

"Wait!" cried Silbane. He held up a forestalling hand and said, "I mindread him, princess. He is not wholly responsible."

Yetteje looked at Silbane, and Kisan could tell she would not blindly accept what he said. "How could he not be responsible? At the very least, he didn’t stop them, and that makes him guilty." She turned her glowing amber gaze back to the bound man. "You deserve death."

She began her thrust but Alyx, who had been standing right next to her, grabbed and pulled Yetteje in. "Easy, Princess," she whispered, "if he is responsible, I pledge my blade will follow yours. But rest easy for now, and let the king sort this out."

Scythe’s watched the interaction calmly. "If you read me, you know I want to reach the Gate," he said. "It is my only purpose."

When Silbane didn’t answer, Kisan said, "If you let him go, you’ll be as crazy as he is."

Silbane shook his head slowly, looking at Scythe, then his gaze took in the rest of the room. He seemed to come to a decision and then said slowly, "I present to you Duncan Illrys, once Lore Father of the First Council, and last of the Old Lords."

Journal Entry 25

An idea has begun to take seed and grow. I battled and lost, was hunted and preyed upon, until I rose and stood firm. I came to this world already an archmage, powerful in the Way. Yet, I could not prevail until I had suffered. Why?

I believe it is because my mind needed the victories to build its self-image of power, a surety in the conviction I could survive.

Captain Dreys once said a bladesman cannot cross live blades until years pass and he becomes familiar with failure. That he cannot block till he has felt the wooden knot of a bohkir leave a lump (he called it "love") on his skull.

Ritual, whether physical or mental, is not enough. We must face overwhelming odds and prevail or our knowledge has no meaning, no root. Like a misplanted tree, it topples in the slightest breeze, borne by the winds of adversity.

Wisdom comes from experience and experience from bad judgment. It is our victories over missteps that define us, give us confidence and strength.

I now think I know a way to defeat these Aeris, these mythborn, these legends come to life. I cannot attack them in the traditional sense.

Instead, I must attack something deeper... I must create something more powerful, something that can hold power over the Aeris Lords and those who use the Way.

My companion returns. We have a quiet dinner planned, while my elven guard patrols the castle walls and grounds. Her company is the one thing I look forward to in this accursed place.

T
HE
O
LD
L
ORDS

The surest sign of fear is anger.

The surest sign of strength is kindness.

—Altan proverb

S
tunned silence followed as the people in the room digested that Duncan Illrys, who had been killed over two hundred years ago, lay secured as a prisoner on a table a few paces from them. He had his wife had died, pierced by the same arrow, if those old legends were to be believed. They were the last survivors against Lilyth, and the first executed by the ancient Galadine decree.

Kisan broke the silence, "Are you sure?"

Silbane took a deep breath and said, "Yes."

Just then, the walls of the room began to buckle and groan. With a crack, they shifted in place and began to grind inward. The room began to collapse in on itself! Dust and rock fell from the ceiling as they folded under the pressure of the walls. Weapons fell from their places and were crushed by the grinding stone.

"What’s going on?" yelled the king.

Scythe, now revealed as Duncan, said, "Baalor. He has called upon the rock of Bara’cor. We must get out of here."

Silbane vaulted from his table to the king’s, then to Duncan’s, landing lightly next to Yetteje and Alyx. He knelt next to the captured lore father and said, "I want your Binding Oath, if I free you, you will assist us. It is the only way you will see
her
again."

Kisan moved to the doorway and tried to push the door open. It would not budge, having been pinned by the crushing walls until not even a crack remained around the frame. She shared this with Silbane, who yelled back, "Be ready!"

Duncan looked at the walls grinding inward, the ceiling as it bent under the pressure, then at the adept. "By the blood of my forefathers, I bind myself," he said. "My oath as Keeper of the Old Lore, no harm will befall you or your allies by my action or inaction." He extended his palm, which Silbane cut along with his own. When their blood touched, a yellow flash occurred at the binding of the Blood Oath, then just as quickly disappeared.

Silbane freed the
prana
locks he had placed on the archmage, but could do nothing about the torc. Only someone without Talent could free that and Silbane wasn’t sure he wanted Duncan released yet, regardless of his oath.

He turned his attention to Yetteje, needing to calm her down. "Princess, believe me when I tell you this man is the only hope we have to save Arek and the king’s son," Silbane said. "Please let that mean more to you than revenge."

The ground shook again as the walls continued their inexorable movement inward, crushing weapons, armor, and supplies under stone.

Yetteje looked at Silbane with anger in her eyes. Then her gaze fell upon the king, his face etched with desperation. She looked back down at the man now revealed as Duncan and said, "When this is over, you’ll die by my hands."

"Nothing dies, Princess," said the ancient lore father. His voice came out tired, though his mouth still moved into a smirk, as if by habit.

"You’re going to wish that were true," she stated. She looked at him a moment longer, disgust etched on her face, then vaulted from her table to the king’s.

Silbane looked at Duncan and asked, "What are our choices?"

The walls had now moved in the length of a spear. They had only a few moments left.

"Break open the door," Duncan said. "We will face Lord Baalor on open ground."

Silbane locked eyes with Kisan. "We smash the door together." He then moved with blurring speed. They met at the door, open palms striking the stone surface with an impact detonating the stone itself, exploding it outward.

"Quickly, hurry!" yelled Silbane to the people in the room.

They streamed out and into the open landing just outside the supply room. The air was still, silent and dead; the sound of stone grinding and crushing isolated to the room behind them.

Duncan came to stand beside Silbane, wiping his face clean. "My powers, this accursed torc?" he said, fingering the metal collar, still sealed shut by ancient magehunter magic. "Will you not free me?" A small titter erupted, as if he laughed at what he had just said, but it was quickly stifled.

Silbane shook his head. "Kisan pulled me away before I could assimilate your memories. I know who you are, and maybe a bit more. Because of that, I understand you. Do not mistake that for trust."

"You’ll need my strength to get out of here," Duncan pressed. "My interests are aligned with yours, and I took the oath." He appeared calm now, in control. "What made you think about your first meeting with Themun? I did that, for I wished to see him as you did. I am a lore father too, and would help any pupil of the Way."

Silbane looked back at Duncan, so consumed with revenge to have become something like Scythe. How long would this moment of clarity last for the tortured mage? Yet he
was
a lore father, if misguided. "Perhaps..."

Before Silbane could finish his sentence, Duncan faced Ash and said, "Draw your blade again."

The firstmark looked at the archmage and then at Silbane, caution warring against need.

"Weapons such as Tempest were forged for this very purpose," Duncan added. "You saw her power in the room."

When Silbane did not intervene, Ash drew the blade and held her aloft, high above his head. Her clear light erupted from the green gem, illuminating the landing, making the surrounding areas translucent to their sight. Nothing appeared to be lurking within the stone.

"We should make for one of the exits," said Alyx. "Our men will be there."

"You will die before you get ten paces," remarked Duncan. "There is no escape. Your mundane weapons are useless against these foes." He looked at the sergeant, "As for the soldiers of Bara’cor, they have likely been taken."

"What do you mean?" asked the king.

Duncan turned a scathing gaze upon the king, who took an involuntary step back, startled by its vehemence. "The coward king still breathes good clean air. Galadine,
your
death cannot come too soon. Only my Oath intervenes."

Ash and the sergeant moved to stand between the two, their swords at the ready.

Duncan ignored them and faced the king, nodding to the bow strapped across his back, "Valor, a weapon that enjoys killing as much as the one who wields it." When the king stared at the mage uncomprehendingly, Duncan continued, "The last I saw your bow, it held an arrow sighted at me and my wife, just before a Galadine used it to execute her."

Silbane stepped in, his tone mollifying, "This is not the same king who took her away from you. That man has been dead for over ten generations."

Duncan continued to stare, his gaze never leaving the king’s bow, reliving the moment when Sonya had sacrificed herself to protect him. When he answered Silbane, it was with a hint of unbalanced laughter, a teeter on the edge of a mental precipice, but quickly recovered.

A calm settled over him then and he said, "I took the oath and will not harm him, but I do not have to enjoy a craven’s company." He spat on the king’s feet and moved away without another word.

"Then answer me," said Kisan, drawing Duncan’s attention. "What do we do now?"

Duncan looked at the young master and said, "Baalor is here, waiting for us to move. The Way is proof against their ability to possess, as are enchanted weapons such as Valor. If you have neither, you are nothing but prey for them. Our only chance is to make for the Gate. Bara’cor is lost."

The king shook off the hesitation and surprise that had come from Duncan’s verbal attack and responded, his voice strident, "I will make for the Gate regardless, with or without you."

With disdain in his voice, Duncan looked back at the king. "You are an imbecile, from a long line of dim-witted tyrants. Your only skills are war and death, and saving your own skin." He turned, ignoring any answer the king might have had, and said, "Lord Baalor, this hiding ill becomes you."