Mythborn: Rise of the Adepts (8 page)

Alion stabbed her sword into the ground, then knelt behind it. The arc of lightning hit the air in front of her and curved around, bending the stroke into a sphere of power surrounding the king’s mark, but not touching her. The lightning danced until it gathered at the hilt of her sword, following the blade down and channeling itself into the ground, leaving Alion entirely unharmed.

The ground around her exploded outward from the force of the lightning strike, scorching the earth in a radial pattern of force. From its smoking center rose the king’s mark, smiling, blade in hand.

While Davyd combated Alion, his youngest son, Themun, leapt away from the clearing and began cutting down sentries and those who had managed to escape their swath of destruction through the camp. As he rounded a tree, a blade came whipping out, only to be caught on the hilt of Themun’s steel.

Lieutenant Kearn pulled a shorter blade and faced his opponent, who looked no older than his new recruits. This would be simple work. “I’ve never heard of a mage who can fight.” To his side came Stiven, holding a cudgel he had found to replace his lost sword. He held one in one shaking fist, a torc in the other.

Kearn motioned to him to attack. “Easy kill,” he cajoled, “they can’t stand against our—”

Themun’s form blurred, moving faster than the man could blink. His blade sliced effortlessly through the torso of the hapless lieutenant, the body falling in two pieces even as he kicked the other man in the face.

Stiven tumbled and landed on his back. He threw the torc blindly at his attacker, then rolled and began feverishly crawling into the undergrowth, trying to hide.

Themun deflected the torc away, then placed a booted foot on the boy’s back. He heard him scream, then watched as he rolled over and begged, “Mercy! Please, this is my first time! I knew it was wrong! From the very beginning!”

The look on the boy’s face made it clear he had not expected to be facing someone his own age, but Themun didn’t care. He could hear the lies fall from the man’s tongue even as he spoke it. Magehunters were despicable and the song of retribution sang in Themun’s heart. Only blood would quench it.

“Please, don’t kill me,” begged the boy again. He began to grab for a dagger.

“I’m not my father,” the Themun said, then sliced twice with his blade, opening Stiven’s bowels. “I’m not as good at making this painless.”

Stiven screamed in agony and fell back, the dagger falling from nerveless fingers.

Themun stabbed him once in the neck, then held the boy’s hand to the spurting wound. “Hold here, it’ll be slow; let go, and you’ll die quick. More mercy than you have shown these people.” With that, he stood up and literally vanished into the undergrowth, never looking back to see what the boy chose. He simply did not care.

* * * * *

Armun did not hesitate, speeding to the hut holding the villagers. He knew his father battled Alion and that he could not get there in time, so he did the next best thing. At least saving some of the villagers was still within his power. He grabbed the soldiers at the door and flung them away, his touch sending a surge of lightning through their bodies. They fell in smoking husks, dead before they hit the ground.

He pushed forward with both hands and the hut exploded outward. The grass and thatching detonating with such force that many of the larger pieces sliced into exposed skin and blinded those soldiers unlucky enough to have been looking in that direction. Armun had a special affinity with earth and trees.

He snapped his fingers and every piece of grass or wood lodged within a soldier or on their person burst. The force was not huge, but enough to break bone, tear flesh, and incapacitate them. Literally dozens of men fell dead or dying from Armun’s touch. He let out a sigh and surveyed the area. In a few heartbeats he and his brother had laid waste to almost fifty men.

* * * * *

Alion and Davyd battled back and forth, their swords an intricate dance of death. When Davyd pressed, Alion pulled back, forcing the other to commit. Davyd however was too well trained to allow her to draw him in. Worse, she knew his sons would be done soon, then it would be three against one. She knew her time was running out.

When Davyd’s sons returned, her life would be over. She cursed her luck again at having the errant king’s mark appear now, during
her
raid. Alion was no fool, and though Davyd Dreys had not participated in the final battle against Lilyth, he was not one to be trifled with. He had been trained by the best, before going outside the law.

Had she been assigned a full complement of troops, they might have prevailed, but against one who had the combined training of a bladesman
and
the lore of the Way, this was no longer about winning, it was about survival. It didn’t help that his sons were turning out to be as lethal as he was. What she needed now was leverage if she was going to get out of this with her skin intact.

At that moment, Davyd was wracked by a fit of coughing, so Alion took the advantage. She pushed forward and kicked him in the chest, then bolted to one side. In an instant, she dived and rolled, snatching up the little girl they had found. Alion put her back to a tree, a blade to the girl’s throat. She did not have to wait very long.

Davyd Dreys was joined by his two sons, neither of whom seemed particularly winded, a testament to their own training. He clapped them on their shoulders, then came to stand in front of Alion. He sheathed his blade and opened his hands. “What do you hope to accomplish?”

“Another mage, dead before she bears more filth!” Alion spat this out, her hand tightening on the hilt as she prepared to slit the girl’s throat.

“Wait. You must want something.” Davyd gestured to the open forest and asked, “Free passage?”

Themun looked to his father in astonishment. “She can’t live!”

Another bout of coughing erupted, bending Davyd over. When the attack subsided, he let loose a breath and wheezed, “Her armor... It bends the Way. Do we take that chance?”

Themun’s eyes met Alion’s own, and she could almost hear his thoughts. She would do this again if left alive. He looked back at his father, “For one girl?”

Father and son regarded each other, and Alion knew Themun saw the death of this hostage as a small price to pay for eradicating someone like her. “Trust me?” He put a hand on his son’s shoulder and then turned back to the woman holding the knife. “Free passage, for her life.”

“You would trade? After telling me I will see justice today?” Alion laughed. “Do you think me a fool?” Still, a part of her began to believe she might yet gain her freedom.

“I would trade even scum like you if it meant saving her,” Davyd said, looking at the little girl. “Release her and I will grant you safe passage.”

“Your Oath, then? And my other girl, Kalissa? You
know
who she is.” Alion raised a bushy eyebrow. “Protect the innocent I understand, even the child of a Galadine. She must return to her father.”

Davyd stepped back, sighing. Alion knew that to let her go was against every fiber of his being, but he would not mete out justice in the same manner as the king’s men. It simply was not what he believed in. He needed to know that in some things, he and his sons were different. And she would use that against him. She remained silent, knowing he could only come to one decision, and was not surprised to hear him utter the Oath.

“By the blood of my forefathers, I bind myself,” he said. “My oath as Keeper of the Lore, no harm will befall you by my hands.” A small flash of yellow encompassed the mage at the uttering of the Binding Oath, then disappeared. “Now, do what your honor demands.”

Alion stood and released the girl, shoving her forward with a booted foot. “You’ll never survive the King’s Law, honor or not, and neither will your sons.” She looked around the camp. Of the villagers, perhaps ten survived and she had killed the two that
had
been mages. An incomplete victory, but one she could accept with her honor intact.

Armun stepped forward and said, “Be thankful we value his Oath, or your blood would water the ground here.”

“Your father is a fool,” Alion replied with a smile. She limped over to Kalissa, who lay unconscious on the ground, paused to sheathe her blade, then picked up the girl and slung her over a shoulder. Looking back at Davyd, she said, “You can’t win.”

“Perhaps, but that depends on what ‘winning’ means.” Davyd nodded to the trees. “Be gone, dog. I took the Oath, but my sons did not.”

Alion clenched her jaw at that, but said nothing. She adjusted the weight of the girl over one armored shoulder, then made her way into the trees and disappeared.

* * * * *

“You’re letting her go?” A villager exclaimed. “She is a murderer and she goes free?”

Davyd turned to the voice and said, “The message she carries back, without her men, without accomplishing what she set out to do, will strike fear into the hearts of the Magehunters.”

Though he believed this, none of the people around him did. They had lost those they loved most dearly and now sorted through the memories of their lives, strewn about because of one night’s casual violence. This was not a time to accept his point, much less care. Only their shock at this attack and their fear stopped them from exacting their own vengeance on the king’s mark.

He looked to Armun and said, “Help them, check the wounded, help who you can.” He coughed again and spat out dark phlegm that looked bloody, but neither of his sons commented. His healing had done what it could to slow the sickness, buying him maybe a few more years. Nevertheless, the outcome was inevitable.

He wiped his mouth and smiled at his youngest, barely fifteen. “Go, see to the girl. One of the villagers can take that torc off her.”

The boy scampered away and landed lightly at the girl’s feet. “Come on.” He had a shock of brownish-blonde hair standing out from his head and the little girl smiled at him. It looked funny.

“What’s your name?” she asked, not understanding that this same boy had argued to sacrifice her life just a moment ago.

He turned, then offered a very formal bow and said, “Themun. Themun Dreys, and you?” He gave her a small smile, but Davyd watched his son carefully. He knew the boy’s mind was still on his decision to let Alion Deft go.

She smiled back and answered, “My name is Thera.” She looked about a little sheepishly then added, “I don’t have a last name.”

“No matter.” Themun looked toward the north and said, “The city of Dawnlight lies not too far away. We’ll call you that. Thera Dawnlight.”

* * * * *

Some distance away, Alion reached her horse and untied the reins. Dumping Kalissa’s leaden weight across the saddle, she mounted, then hurried along the path that led back the way they had come. She heard a groan and realized the treacherous girl had come awake. Alion slowed and grabbed her by the back of her head, pulling her upright.

“Sit up, or I’ll carry you across it all the way home.”

Kalissa looked about in confusion, then said, “Where are we?”

“Alive,” said Alion dispassionately. “Don’t thank me.” She didn’t say anything else, but counted herself lucky. Losing the girl might have meant her own neck in a Galadine noose.

They rode slowly for a short distance while she adjusted to sit in the saddle as Alion had commanded.

Then both their attentions were taken by a man standing on the path, the moonlight streaming through the clearing, clouds painting his red robes the color of dried blood. Alion kicked her horse, intending to ride him down, but he raised a hand. For some reason the horse obeyed his command to stop, pulling up short with a whinny.

The man said, “Well met, Alion Deft, king’s mark.”

Alion vaulted off her saddle, the sword clearing its sheath as her feet touched the ground. If this person knew her, he was likely in league with Davyd. She would deal with his treachery now and be on her way.

She pulled her arm back to strike and felt her muscles go stiff. Normally her armor would have bent enchantments around it, but this time she felt as if she were encased in stone.

The man tilted his head to the side, as if examining something, and said, “Your armor won’t protect you, king’s mark, and neither will your simple faith in the gods. They don’t care, they never did.”

She tried to move, but her muscles were frozen tight, still locked in paralysis. Only her mouth seemed to work. She snarled, “So much for honor. Had I known Davyd to be so craven, I would have slit that girl’s throat when I had the chance.”

The man stepped forward past her blade and pulled his hood back, revealing blond hair and pale blue eyes. His gaze told her this man had nothing to do with Davyd Dreys.

His eyes gripped hers and he said, “I am the Scythe. Like the reaper’s tool, I
ascend
those found worthy, or wanting.” He then reached up and tapped her forehead lightly. The flesh began to blacken and shrivel away.

“I judge you wanting. You have much to atone for, Alion Deft. This spell will take several hours to kill you, and you will feel every moment of it. Call to your gods. Perhaps they will grant you solace in the next world.”

* * * * *

He stepped past her and came to stand by the girl, Kalissa, who had dismounted with a grimace that gave testament to the punishment she had suffered at the hands of Alion Deft and her men. She ran to and hugged the man, saying, “She deserves it. They all do.”

Scythe laid a gentle hand on her head, stroking the soft hair. His eyes looked back through the forest to the mountain of Dawnlight, a black silhouette of jagged rock climbing up to stand illumed in the clear moonlight. There were forces at work in the ancient city that could aid him on his quest, ones he meant to investigate.

He looked away from those moonlit peaks and could sense Davyd and the others hard at work in the decimated village. The youngest in particular bore watching, for he had Talent far beyond his father and elder brother. He could sense others too, doing what they could to create a better life far from the king’s Justice. He looked down, sadness in his eyes, then knelt in front of Kalissa.