Daughter of War

by Brendan Wright

  She watched them eat and talk, staring into each other's eyes. The young woman's love and admiration for her husband were strong and unquestioning. Seeing him smile, confident and charming, Elana couldn't blame her; if this had been her first impression of him, she may not have believed he was insane after all.

  After their meal, the two made love in their bed, passionate and intense. They fell asleep curled into each other's embrace shortly after, and Elana slipped down from her perch on a nearby rooftop and slipped into Symond's mansion.

  Symond didn't keep a journal, nor any written records, in his home. There was nothing she could use against him. Briefly, her hopes had begun to rise when she'd found a folder marked Medical Records in his study, but the documents within were disappointingly generic; heart tests, general check-ups, and eye tests mostly.

  Not only was there no trace of Symond's insanity in the mansion; there was barely any trace of his military career. The only evidence she could find that he was Lord Commander was the rich, immaculate uniform he wore hanging in his closet, and a glass case full of military medals. With her eyes boosted by shadow magic, the metal trinkets glinted at her in the darkness, as though in sunlight. More than a dozen medals sat behind the spotless glass. Medals won by mass murdering her people.

  Before she realised, her Kaizuun was in her hand. She swept into the bedroom, the clean, beautiful medals shining in her mind's eye. Symond slept, oblivious, within reach. Her breathing came ragged into her lungs, fast and painful. It would be so easy. Her blade swept down, glittering pure black, in her mind. She saw the blood, the eyes opening too late, gasping and struggling weaker until silence returned. The temptation pulled at her. She'd never felt the urge to commit murder before, not even with Hayne. She'd seen Hayne as a genuine threat whom she would kill in combat if necessary, but it had been relatively easy to walk away when he'd been disarmed. This time, with the image of all those war medals burned into her mind, sheathing her Kaizuun was one of the hardest things she'd ever done. She let out a sigh, closed her eyes, and put her blade away.

  She thought about the man sleeping in his wife's arms, and what she'd seen tonight. It didn't add up. How could such a loving, gentle man spend his career ordering the deaths of thousands? There had to be a way to discredit him. There had to be a way to eliminate him and stop Ermoor's invasion of Pandeia without shedding more blood.

  Riffolk

  Pretending to be a Crown was far more satisfying than he'd anticipated, and his mood was far brighter once Symond left the chamber. It may take a while to turn the Lord Commander to his will, but it could be done. He'd certainly been desperate enough to avoid his retirement. Through the channels available to the Twelve, he knew Arthor had sent his wife away. She was an easy target, and he would do anything to protect her. But Riffolk wouldn't go that far unless he absolutely had to. Too much hatred would make for an inadequate servant.

  For now, he had the Lord Commander under pressure and indebted to him; that was more than enough for the short term. Even better, Symond didn't suspect that the Twelve were compromised at all. He'd be able to go about his business, at least for a little while, without worrying about that. Eventually Symond would grow suspicious, of course; meeting with only one member of the Twelve was fairly inconspicuous if it happened once, even a few times, but not indefinitely. He would just have to manipulate Symond into place before his time ran out.

  It wouldn't be difficult. The Twelve were keeping tabs on Symond; his erratic behaviour had been noticed. They held extensive notes, records and copies of his personal documents dating back years. Reading through it, Riffolk discovered much about Symond he'd never known. He'd noticed a lot of the behaviour, of course, but the Twelve had been watching and recording his movements and actions for a long time.

  Their plan had been so small. Ruling over a few countries, as though that made one all-powerful. He couldn't believe their naivety. Then again, they hadn't seen the things he'd seen. Whole worlds mere steps away, magic and technology working together, myths and Gods and vehicles that soared through space. They had no idea.

  Riffolk was going to bring a new age to Pandeia, even more incredible than the technological revolution he'd started in Ermoor after his first travels. He would be on the same level as the Gods themselves, and the creature would help him get there. He looked again at the chest in his safe-room. It was small for a chest, but incredibly well protected; almost indestructible.

  Acquiring it had cost Riffolk substantially, both financially and in other ways. But its contents were worth more than he could say. He hadn't dared touch the large book with his bare hands, as it was bound in pure electricity. But when he first brought it back to his lab, he'd managed to move it into a protective glass enclosure without touching it; the same glass enclosure which ended up holding the creature.

  He obtained the book years ago now, but the memory still flooded him with triumph. It contained everything he needed to know to become as powerful as a God. He closed his eyes and remembered opening the book for the very first time, sparks flying from the tome as though it was as impatient as Riffolk himself. Underneath the magical cover, it seemed to be made from normal paper, and the sparks had immediately quieted. Riffolk felt a momentary disappointment, until he saw the words on the page:

  Taranos: God of Power

  His mind had reeled; despite the things he'd seen even back then, and despite the rumours that had surrounded the chest before he acquired it, seeing the words for himself was something he wasn't prepared for.

  The book was fascinating; not only did it give him a full understanding of Gods in general and a detailed break down of Taranos itself, but it taught him everything he needed to find and capture the God of Power. He'd set to work immediately, and within a few years held a God in the palm of his hands.

  Returning his mind to the present, he glanced at his hands and set a small cascade of sparks spilling to the floor. He made them weak, just dancing light; his control was growing every day. The book contained some information about Power Magic, and Riffolk had read it over and over again the first time he'd opened it.

  He looked again at the chest. Walking over to it, he completed the series of puzzle locks on its surface one at a time until a satisfying thunk sounded within its depths. Carefully, he pulled the lid open. The book's cover swam in pure electricity, constantly moving like a waterfall. Bringing a surge of power to his hand, he reached in quickly and grasped the book.

  Mara

  Riffolk's lab was silent, a large hole ripped into one of the walls. Earlier, when Mara and Pera stood before it in the late night fog, it looked like a hunched beast ready to devour her; it now looked like a corpse, dead and empty. Stepping gingerly through the gaping hole in the wall, Mara stared around the large room. She hadn't seen it properly on the way in, and couldn't remember walking through it when she left.

  Commander Corby walked next to her. His presence was confusing; his confidence and authoritative nature comforted her, but his coldness left her feeling strangely alone. Deep scratches and black scorch marks covered most of the interior of the lab, as though the creature wasn't just escaping, but trying to destroy the whole building. Looking at the destruction, Mara's shoulder throbbed. She felt close to the creature here, as though being near its energy made the connection between them stronger.

  They reached the opposite side of the lab together, and Commander Corby looked at her with his eyebrows raised. She moved through the destroyed doorway and down the corridor she thought led to the hidden lab. Glancing down another corridor as they passed, she saw more scorching and scratches. The damage lined every corridor. They approached the end of the corridor she took them down, but there was no storeroom at the end. Face flushing, she turned quickly and started back the way they'd come.

  "What are you doing? Where's this secret lab?"

  "Umm, I thought it was... Pera found it, I don't know how. There's a storeroom at the end on the left, so we just have to find the right corridor.
"

  He shook his head, but didn't say anything, and waited for her to lead the way again. Even with Pera's help, finding the lab took a while. Without her, Mara had no idea how to find it. She wandered the lab, second guessing every corridor and every storeroom. Every minute that passed, she became more terrified and more certain Riffolk would appear, his cold blue eyes boring into her own.

  Hours passed in the silent, dead lab. Hours of walking up and down identical corridors. She'd thought the storeroom at the end of the corridor would make it easy to spot. She thought she'd be able to remember which one was the entrance to the lab just by seeing it again. But there were so many storerooms, and so many corridors, and Mara became overwhelmed.

  Soon enough she broke down, crying and trembling. Pera found it so easily! She thought. Why can't I see it when I've been there before? She felt like she'd walked up and down every corridor in the building by now, probably more than once. Commander Corby simply stood, impassively watching her cry.

  "You know," he said, his voice firm but quiet, "you won't get in trouble if you tell me you're confused."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Well, your memories are broken and unclear at best. If you tell me now that there was no secret underground lab, you won't get in trouble. I won't be angry. All I want is the truth."

  She was back on her feet before she realised, and his stance changed even faster than her own; suddenly he looked less like an unassuming middle-aged teacher and more like a deadly, experienced warrior. But the intimidation that should have stopped her fell flat against the power of her sudden rage.

  No!

  A flash arced from her, without conscious effort, and crackled against the wall to her side. Commander Corby flinched, then his eyes flew wide open and he stared at her in shock.

  "I'm not making this up! I was held down there, I saw the huge tank with the creature in it, I saw the horrible inventions he built! I saw – I saw him... Kill her. That thing... it changed me."

  Stop!

  Her hands, which had balled into fists, slowly unclenched. Her rage dissipated again as Pera's face swam into her mind. They stood still like that for a moment, Mara lost in thought and Commander Corby waiting for an attack. When she looked up at him again, he relaxed slightly, but remained in a ready stance. She moved past him, determined again to find the entrance.

  Commander Corby followed, and together they turned down yet another corridor. Mara felt his unease as they walked; he knew how dangerous she could be now. She cursed herself inwardly, for showing her powers to someone when the creature had told her to wait. He hadn't said anything, but she knew he was going to tell those horrible scientists, and they would do even more tests.

  They turned again; the lab was a maze, or so it felt to Mara. At the end of the corridor they just turned onto, there was a dead end. Quite a few of the hallways ended that way, including the entrance into the secret lab. As they approached the end, her hopes grew. By the time they were a few steps away, her heart was hammering in her chest; there was a storeroom door which had been destroyed.

  Many of the doors in the lab had been destroyed, mostly storeroom doors, but seeing it still made her pulse speed up. Especially seeing it at the end of a corridor. Commander Corby glanced at her, and she returned his look with a wide eyed look of her own. But the storeroom beyond looked totally different to the one Pera found.

  Not knowing how to tell Commander Corby, she instead walked slowly into the small room. But as she go closer to the back wall, she felt a tingling in her shoulder. There was a pulling feeling, coming from below the floor somewhere. She didn't understand how magnets worked, but it felt to her like the same thing.

  The memory of Riffolk being grabbed and thrown surfaced in her mind again. If he had survived, he was touched in the same way as her, which meant he had powers too. She felt an intense, almost physical pull towards the shelves at the back of the room. Looking back at Commander Corby, she gestured back.

  "Stand back," she said, "this might get messy."

  She focused on the shelves, almost certain they were just a cover for the entrance. Reaching within herself, embracing the buzzing in her shoulder, she touched the energy that flowed through her body, preparing to unleash it on the shelves.

  No.

  In an instant, the power was gone to her. Even the buzzing in her shoulder faded, and the sudden lack of feeling there made her cry out; it felt like an absence from her body, as though a limb had suddenly been removed.

  She fell to her knees, and dimly heard Commander Corby yelling if she was alright. After an aching, empty moment, the buzzing returned to her shoulder, and she could breathe again. Energy returned, the power flowing once more through her body in tingling waves, and she felt well enough to stand again.

  "What just happened?"

  "I... I don't know. I think we need to leave."

  Elana

  Her heart was still beating fast. Not from the dash over rooftops back to her camp; that was as easy as breathing. It was the conversation she'd had with Symond. Elana had never taken such an unplanned risk in her life. There was so much she didn't understand about Symond and his state of mind. So many ways it could have gone wrong. Should have gone wrong. But somehow, he'd believed her. He really did hear voices in his head. The idea was terrifying to her.

  Hopefully Symond could get the project stalled or stopped soon, otherwise the voices he heard might change his mind again. She didn't think they would; relief had painted his features the moment she told him to stop Hayne. He wanted the project stopped as much as she did.

  Lord Commander Arthor Symond suddenly made a lot more sense to Elana. He was a good man, or at least had been once. But the voice in his head corrupted his thoughts, made him do awful things. It might have even been responsible for all of his military career, though she doubted it.

  She decided to leave Symond for now, and simply keep an eye on his actions. Knowing that she could appear before him later on put her mind at ease.

  Arthor

  The conversation with Mathys troubled him. His remark about their souls being lost affected him more than he would have believed. He'd always struggled with his faith, but Mathys had a certainty about God that radiated from him, like the priests themselves. It was hard not to get caught up in it.

  He just wanted to do what was right. Regardless of what the Twelve said, or the voices in his head, or even Mathys. He just wanted to do the right thing.

  I will lead you down the right path.

  He closed his eyes tightly, willing the voice away. It had never worked; in the years since it started, the voice kept coming to him no matter what he did to avoid it. Usually, he could ignore it. Lately, he'd been successfully pushing it to the background, but it was starting to creep into his mind when he was talking to people, and that was dangerous; It was only a matter of time before he reacted to the voice in front of someone.

  And what then? He would be locked away in Ravenmire Asylum, in a padded cell, stripped of the title of Lord Commander. He couldn't even imagine what would happen to Ellie.

  Rain tapped against the windows of Arthor's office, chaotic and soothing. He sat silent in the big chair behind his desk, trying to find peace. His mind had been a battlefield lately, and he'd been losing the fight. Whatever spoke to him had been speaking more often, more insistently. He couldn't drown it out any more. It was becoming impossible to tell what were his own thoughts and what were the suggestions of the voice.

  Ellie had been gone almost a week by now, and he was struggling; though he knew she was safe, he still hated being without her.

  You don't deserve her.

  Gritting his teeth, Arthor shook his head. That was the voice, the Other. Wasn't it? It didn't mean anything. Of course he deserved Ellie. He'd been nothing but loyal and loving to her.

  You don't deserve this office, or the title of Lord Commander.

  His hands turned into fists; trying to breathe evenly, he sat still and forced himself to ig
nore it. He'd sent everyone away. Servants, Officers, soldiers, anyone who had any business near his office. He couldn't afford for anyone to see him like this, not until he got the voice under control again.

  You were never in control.

  Yes I am, he thought, you're not real, just a voice. I can get rid of you.

  You have no idea what I am, mortal.

  Screaming wordlessly, he brought his fists up over his head, then slammed them into the desk. A throbbing pain started in his hands immediately, and he pulled them to his chest, his head hanging.

  You are pathetic. I will not leave until your purpose has been fulfilled.

  Everything stopped. Arthor opened his eyes. My purpose?

  "What's my purpose?"

  You will see, soon enough.

  "When will you tell me what you are?"

  He'd asked the voice many times when it first started talking to him. It never gave him an answer. He knew how insane it was to listen to a disembodied voice in his head, but there was a deep, dreadful certainty about it. The voice had told him to do many things over the years, and although Arthor hated hearing it, it had always been right.

  When your mind can handle it. For now, all you need concern yourself with is doing as I tell you.

  Without warning, tears streamed down his cheeks as he sat in the shadows. For the first time, the voice made him feel utterly helpless. He was beginning to doubt that he was merely insane. It was so convincing. Too convincing. For a while, he'd known the voice was something else; as much as he tried to convince himself otherwise, there was always that knowledge laying underneath.