Centyr Dominance

by Michael G. Manning

  Given some more time, I could make these men into almost anything. The thought was strangely comforting and disturbing at the same time. What does that make me? In her mind’s eye she saw a vision of herself, surrounded by a sea of dolls, puppets that could eat and drink, walk and talk, but under the surface were little more than marionettes. If anyone can be changed to suit my whim, then what is real?

  She closed her eyes, scrunching her face up as she willed the mental image away. That’s not true. I can’t alter another wizard’s mind, not without a fight anyway. What did that imply? Did it mean that only mages were truly independent beings? Was the rest of humanity just cattle, a resource waiting to be exploited by those with power? How was she any different than the metal things that were controlling King Darogen’s subjects?

  “I’m not like them,” she told herself. “People are not playthings.” But a tiny voice in the back of her mind was still whispering, They could be. Moira shook her head—that way lay madness.

  “Are you ready to go?” asked Wat.

  She focused on his face, willing the unwelcome thoughts away, “Yes.” Expanding her senses once more, she examined the area beyond the door that led out of the guardroom and back to the rest of the palace.

  Past the door was a short corridor ending in stairs that led back up to the ground level of the castle. The entrance to the barracks was there and another hall that led toward the kitchens and laundry. Farther on was the entry hall, and depending on which way one went after that, it led either to the main yard or back to the formal audience hall.

  The barracks held perhaps twenty men, and the kitchens were busy with perhaps ten or twelve workers. The halls themselves were almost empty, but the main entrance had a detachment of ten men. If they could get past them, there would be nothing to stop them making it into the main city, other than the final gate from the castle yard.

  If we walk straight out, and I put the few we meet immediately to sleep, we might get out with almost no violence, she thought. The main gate might be a small challenge if someone managed to drop the portcullis before they got through. But a little stone and steel aren’t enough to stop me.

  She nodded, and Wat opened the door, cautiously peeking into the hall beyond it. Of course, he didn’t know that she knew the way was clear already. Moira smiled to herself at that thought. “Just keep walking until I tell you to stop. Act natural, no one knows we’re free yet,” she told him and the other men.

  “They might guess something’s a little odd if they see Stretch,” said one of the other men.

  “I’ll deal with that when the time comes,” she reassured.

  Moving quickly up the stairs, they passed along the first corridor until they reached the entry hall and turned toward the main entrance. Along the way they met one servant, but Moira put him to sleep before the man’s eyes even had time to register the strange nature of her entourage.

  So far so good.

  The guards at the front reacted as expected, and Moira didn’t waste any time, “Shibal.” They collapsed without protest, but then things began to get complicated.

  The men opened their eyes and began retaking their feet, even though she could clearly see that their minds were thoroughly asleep. The metal creatures in their throats could care less about whether their hosts were awake or not. Worse, her magesight showed her that the guards in the barracks were now rushing out, moving to take them from behind, while the portcullis at the main gate was beginning to descend.

  So not only are they now aware of our escape, but they are somehow communicating—without aythar. The metal things that resided in them showed no signs of using magic at all. “Grethak!” she pronounced, putting some emphasis on it and making sure to exclude the men with her. A sleeping mind might not be an obstacle for the little metal parasites, but paralyzed muscles should be a different matter, although it took more effort for her to do it that way. “Keep moving!” she urged her companions. “They can’t hurt us.”

  They began to run, leaving the palace and crossing the yard. Behind them came the men from the barracks. Some of the prisoners turned as if to face them, but Moira shouted at them, “Don’t stop, run for the gate, you have to take the men there! I’ll deal with this.”

  She said the words confidently, but as soon as she turned she felt her heart clench. It was the ‘how’ that made her fearful. Paralysis wasn’t a good option, in fact she was already feeling the strain of the first men who were still fighting the spell she had put on them. Doing so with twenty more would be foolish. The easiest solution would be to kill them, but despite her experience in the throne room, she wasn’t comfortable with that. I don’t want to be comfortable with that. I’m not a killer.

  The guards were only ten yards away, and her time had almost run out. Acting on instinct Moira created a small shield low to the ground. It was invisible, and seconds later the guards were tumbling over it, falling in spectacular fashion, but unlike the romance stories she loved, they didn’t stay down for long. They were clambering up and running again almost as quickly as they fell.

  The thought of fire flashed through her mind, but she still remembered the smell of the burning bodies after Karenth and Doron had attacked her home years before. Not that, please. Instead, she did what just seemed most natural. Lashing out with a fine tendril of aythar she seized control of the lead runner’s mind, and before the metal thing in his neck realized it was in a fight for dominance, she turned his body and made him fall sideways. She repeated her tactic with three more in quick succession, and soon the guards were falling over one another.

  Actively controlling another human being wasn’t taxing, not in terms of aythar, but it did require a lot of concentration and managing more than one or two at a time was a frustrating exercise. Now that the metal things in them knew what she was doing, they were taking a firmer grip of their hosts, and she knew it would be impossible to struggle with more than one at a time.

  Let me help.

  The voice in her mind was her own, familiar and yet foreign at one and the same time. How?

  Like this. Part of her reached out and took a firm grasp of one of the soldiers, and then she felt a fracture within her mind, as though she had broken in to pieces. Each piece took hold of a different man, and within seconds she had taken control of ten men, each as solidly as if she were focusing her entire attention on that individual.

  The metal parasites fought, but her fragmented selves shut down the part of the brain that the parasites used, and soon ‘her’ guardsmen were fighting the others, clumsily, haltingly, and without skill, but they were fighting.

  It should have been a disorienting experience, but somehow it felt almost natural. The part of her that she still considered her ‘self’ watched in amazement, taking in the overall picture, while her fragments operated individual soldiers like marionettes. She found herself overseeing the entire thing, keeping an eye on the larger battle and giving instructions to her smaller selves to coordinate their actions.

  Even more incredible, she realized there was no need for her to stand watching. She could follow her companions, which would probably be the wiser course. But ‘her’ guards were losing, slowly being defeated by the superior motor skills of the others. Some of them were wounded already, and two were dying. Making them fight each other is cruel, she thought, I should take them all.

  But could she?

  Of course you can, said one of her new selves. With the thought came an instinctive act of will, and a second later there were ten more of her, each taking control of one of the remaining guardsmen. Moira felt a rising sense of exaltation as her mind expanded. She was no longer bound by the rules of a single mind, she was more.

  Even the gods could not do this. She could hear laughter and then she was startled to realize it was her own. Behind her, the prisoners were fighting with the gate guards, and losing. Turning, she began to run toward the gate, and her new puppets followed behind her.

  Her companions grew frightened,
alarmed by the guards who came with her, not understanding that they were now allies as well. Since there was no time to explain she took them as well, and seconds after that she took the gate guards too. The portcullis began to rise once more, and the fighting had stopped. Moira only had one question now. How many am I? It was an odd question, but it made perfect sense in that moment.

  It took a couple of minutes to finish counting and find the answer. I am forty-seven people.

  The number boggled her. It was incomprehensible. No mind could do that many things at once. It beggared belief, and yet she felt no strain. The amount of aythar required to do it was still small, and her primary personality was still free to oversee all her other selves. I should be going insane. Why am I still sane?

  She wanted to panic. None of it made sense. Moira needed to think, she needed solitude, but she felt as though she were surrounded by a crowd of people. Correction, a crowd of me…

  Time to simplify. Moira sent the guards marching back to the barracks. She would release them once they were too far away to catch up. At the same time she set the parts of her that were controlling her prison companions to editing their memories. Don’t let them remember the escape, they’d never forgive me for doing that to them, she commanded.

  She and her companions marched into the city, with Stretch following close behind them. After a few blocks her other selves had finished their work, and she released the men who had escaped with her. Soon after that, she released the guards in the barracks, and then her smaller selves began to collapse, falling into one another and becoming a single mind once more, but it still was not her mind.

  Who are you? She asked her other self.

  I am you, but I think it’s going to take some time to figure out what all of this means.

  You don’t know?

  I know what you know.

  I don’t know a damn thing!

  Excellent, so now you’re twice as ignorant.

  That isn’t funny.

  Yes it is.

  Yeah, you’re right. I think I’m going mad.

  You mean, ‘we’ are going mad.

  “Are you alright?” That was Wat. He was staring at her with a worried look on his face.

  “Yes, why?” answered Moira rather hurriedly.

  “You were just standing there staring into empty air and mumbling,” he replied. “Some of the other men have left.”

  Their group was considerably smaller than it had been. There were only two other men with her now, along with Wat and of course, Stretch. “I’m sorry,” she told him. “We need a place to hide. I was trying to think of where we could go.”

  Wat grinned, “I think I know a place. Follow me.” He glanced at the other two, “There’s room for you two as well, if you want to come.”

  Chapter 11

  Chad had gotten away. That was his only consolation.

  Gram was standing in the street now with Alyssa beside him. The last hour had been one of the most bizarre and terrifying of his life. Locked in his own body, he had watched himself walking the streets searching for someone, he assumed it was Chad, but he hadn’t really been given any definite information. It didn’t matter, he had merely been a passenger.

  Watching his body betray him had been a surreal experience. He imagined it was something like what warriors paralyzed on the battlefield must experience, with one notable difference, while they also lost the ability to control their limbs, they weren’t forced to watch themselves move and act while being controlled by some bizarre external force.

  He couldn’t even be sure if it was an external agent controlling him. Something had definitely lodged itself within his neck, and it was obvious that it was the means of his internal imprisonment, but he didn’t know whether it was the real authority or whether it was merely taking commands from someone or something else.

  There was certainly some sort of coordination taking place, though. Alyssa was close by, and now and then he was able to catch a glimpse of her eyes. He could see no hint of what might be going on behind them, but he guessed that she was suffering in the same helpless way that he was.

  His mouth tasted of blood. Whatever it was, it had cut his tongue on its way in, and he could only imagine what it might have done to the back of his throat. The pain there was minimal, but a steady burning sensation was a sure sign that it had done him some harm farther back.

  And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, it was over, and his body was his own again.

  Gram began to tremble and his hands went immediately to his mouth. He had to get it out!

  A warm hand landed atop his, pulling it gently away from his face, “Don’t. It won’t help, and if you try too hard you’ll be punished.” The expression on her face was tired, weary, and devoid of hope, but there was something more. Sorrow.

  He seized her hands in his own, “What’s happening to me, to us?!”

  Alyssa’s eyes darted sideways, a hint of alarm on her features, before coming back to rest on his own, “Don’t speak. If you ask certain things, if you say certain things, or try to—you’ll lose control. Let me talk for a while.” She tugged at his arm, walking back in the direction they had come. “Follow me.”

  He let her lead him, “Where are we going?”

  “To my home.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s private, not that that word really applies to us anymore,” she said flatly. After a second she added, “…and because I’m selfish.”

  Selfish? That puzzled him for a moment, but he couldn’t afford to think about it too long. “I can’t. I have to find Chad. I have to warn M…mmph!”

  “Stop!” said Alyssa urgently, clapping her hands over his lips, her eyes desperate with warning. “Whatever you came to do, don’t talk about it, don’t even thin…” Her words cut off abruptly as her eyes rolled back in her head and her body began to twitch.

  He caught her as she started to fall, but as suddenly as it began, her seizure ended. Alyssa’s eyes came back into focus and locked on his own. Pain and resignation were written on her face. Her lip trembled faintly and without thinking about it he lifted her, cradling her in his arms.

  “It’s alright. I can walk now,” she told him.

  Gram blinked, hard. “Let me do this,” he answered. “Which way do we go now?”

  “People are going to stare.”

  He started to laugh, but the action brought a sharp pain from his damaged throat, “Does it matter? How many of them are…?” He stopped, unsure how to phrase his question.

  Alyssa leaned her head against his chest, “Fewer than you might think, for now at least. Straight down the street, then take a left when you pass the Drunken Goat.”

  “Drunken Goat?”

  “It’s a tavern,” she explained.

  He nodded and began walking. She was lighter than he remembered, but the last time he had carried her had been before he took the dragon-bond, so he couldn’t be sure. Despite her slight figure, her body was still solid. She carried an impressive amount of muscle beneath the smooth fabric of her dress. Gram’s mind recalled the details of her body all too well.

  Alyssa remained silent as they progressed down the street, keeping her cheek against his broad chest. She felt like a child in his arms, an unusual sensation for her, but she was beyond caring. She looked up as he turned at the tavern, pointing at a nondescript doorway, “Over there, that’s my door. You’ll have to put me down to open it.”

  Gram ignored her advice, bending his knees slightly as he reached the door, to put one hand close to the handle. With hardly a bobble he tripped the latch and used his foot to push the door back before stepping inside. A quick turn and his foot closed the door behind them.

  “Now what? You can’t carry me forever,” she informed him.

  “Try me,” he replied. It wasn’t the worst thing he could imagine. His eyes took in the dim room. Light entered from a small window to the right of the door showing him a small bed near the far wall and a rough table i
n the center of the room. A wooden chair and a heavy trunk completed the room’s spare furnishings. “Quaint,” he pronounced, hearing his mother’s voice as he said the word.

  “I know it’s meagre compared to what you’re used to…” said Alyssa, embarrassment in her voice.

  Gram tried to laugh once more, but the pain in his throat cut that short once again. “Damn that hurts,” he told her as he set her on her feet.

  Moving to one side, she lifted a pitcher and a small cup from the table, “Have some water. It will help a little.”

  He finished it in a single, long swallow, “Do you have anything stronger?” For the first time in his life, he felt a positive need for alcohol. The events of the day had left his nerves raw and frazzled.

  “I can’t afford it,” she admitted. “Besides, it would burn like fire. The wound in your throat will take a few days to heal.”

  That made sense, now that he thought about it. A million other questions ran through his mind immediately after, but he took his time choosing one, “How long…?”

  She lifted her hand to her own throat, “A week ago, just after I asked to be released from the Earl’s service. As soon as I was recovered enough to walk on my own…”

  “Your wounds,” he interrupted, “let me see.”

  The dress she wore was of a single piece. Without the slightest hesitation Alyssa stood and lifted it overhead. She was naked beneath it.

  Gram had seen her bare form many times, but he still blushed at the sight of her flesh. Putting that aside, he examined her ribs. A red puffy scar marked the place where one arrow had pierced her. A similar mark showed next to one of her shoulder blades, but both appeared to be healing well. “Obviously you didn’t stitch these,” he remarked.

  Alyssa smiled, “The men who carried me would not have received your grandmother’s approval, but they kept me alive.”

  “That’s more than I could do,” he said bitterly.