Betrayer's Bane

by Michael G. Manning

  He turned his attention to what he knew of the Centyr She’Har, letting his questions lead him down the paths of memory. Images, words, and thoughts assailed him as he explored new regions within his recently gained knowledge. The Centyr had been instrumental in the destruction of humanity, and not because of their spellbeasts.

  The spellbeasts were merely an offshoot of their true gift, manipulating minds. Because of that they were the most feared among the different groves, aside from the Illeniels. Their abilities had turned entire armies against one another.

  But even that had not been enough, otherwise the She’Har would not have used their final option, the plague of self-replicating krytek that had devoured humanity in a horrifying display of biotechnological mastery. He let his mind dwell on that once more.

  Those krytek had been based upon a creature that had once plagued the She’Har. They had recreated it and modified it to feed upon human flesh rather than their own. It was a feat of precision control over the design of their warrior servants, one that Tyrion could never have reproduced on his own, but there had been one flaw.

  Their design retained the original genes, those that gave the creature the ability to subsist on the She’Har elders themselves. They had silenced those traits, but the blocks that they had created could easily be omitted. If that were done the resulting krytek would feed upon humans and She’Har trees alike.

  A second plague would wipe out humanity, but what would it do to the She’Har? They no longer had the kianthi that had saved them once, long ago, but they covered the entire earth. As advanced as they were, it was quite possible they could stop the parasite, given time to react. They were so numerous it was unlikely they wouldn’t find a solution before they were all gone.

  It was a moot point anyway. Tyrion had no way to recreate the krytek they had used. The ancient scientists of humankind might have been able to, but while he possessed some of their knowledge now, he didn’t have the tools much less the skills to make any use of that information.

  The only ones capable of it would be the father-trees. I can’t risk that, he thought, not yet.

  And besides, he was sure it wouldn’t be enough. He would have to think of something else.

  Or in addition to, he realized, a dark smile spreading across his face. Geology, such an interesting word. Too bad the She’Har didn’t know half as much about it as the people they butchered did.

  Chapter 18

  Three days passed before they received their ‘surprise’ visit. Since they hadn’t known exactly when it would occur Tyrion had forced everyone to stay home, so most of his projects had been put on temporary hold. Ryan hadn’t minded much, though, since it gave him a respite and an opportunity to work on some of the smaller improvements he had long had planned.

  Lyralliantha was the one exception. After hearing the warning, she had volunteered to return to her place in the Illeniel Grove for a while. Protecting her mind wouldn’t have been an issue for her, but hiding the secret within her womb would have been impossible.

  Everyone else was under strict instruction to shield their minds as tightly as possible. Kate and the younger children were the only ones who wouldn’t be able to do so, but the children didn’t know anything anyway. Kate on the other hand, didn’t know anything specific about her husband’s plans, but she might know enough to get them in trouble.

  Tyrion couldn’t be entirely sure. At the very least he worried that a stray thought on her part might give away the fact that he had eaten the loshti, so he cautioned her to stay inside their bedroom for the duration of Ceylendor’s visit. The privacy ward around it should be enough to keep her thoughts safe. If I can’t even sense whether someone is inside the room I doubt he could read anyone’s mind in there, reasoned Tyrion.

  The problem, of course, was not knowing when the Centyr lore-warden would arrive.

  As fate would have it, Brigid was on watch when their unannounced guest arrived. Their original enclave had a stone wall around it now, enclosing a large yard. Inside it were the two main houses, Tyrion’s and the dormitory his older children lived in, as well as a number of outbuildings, primarily storehouses and workshops.

  Brigid was on the small platform next to the main entrance when she spotted Ceylendor’s approach. She ignored the ladder and dropped lightly to the ground and jogged toward her father’s house. Along the way she passed Violet and Blake. “He’s coming,” she told them. Those words were enough, everyone had been told to expect their visitor.

  Word passed quickly among them but Tyrion wasn’t in the house. Brigid had known that, though. She went inside and entered his bedroom, closing the door behind her. In one corner stood an enchanted stone. It had been a small river rock originally, but now it was covered in runes and looked as though it had been split in two. Picking it up she spoke the command word and watched as it began to glow.

  Its counterpart in Tyrion’s deepest lab would be glowing similarly, letting her father know it was time to return.

  She might have gone to fetch him herself. The bedroom held a secret entrance that led directly to it, but she couldn’t open the door. It was one of the special doors he had made and though she knew it was there she couldn’t sense it, much less open it, only Tyrion and Emily could do that.

  Brigid waited impatiently. An impartial observer might have called it ‘fretting’, but no observer that liked remaining in only one piece would have dared make such a remark to her. She paced back and forth. Outside the room she could hear voices. The others had come in and she suspected the Centyr She’Har was with them.

  Unsure what else to do she activated the privacy screen around the bedroom. “Hurry up, damnitt,” she muttered. She had no idea what excuses to make for their guest if Tyrion didn’t appear.

  The stones in the corner of the room opened abruptly, sliding silently apart to reveal a long stairway descending into the ground. Tyrion marched briskly up them. “He’s here?” he asked immediately.

  Brigid nodded, “Yes, I believe he’s in the dining hall already.”

  “Where’s Kate?!” he asked in sudden alarm. “She’s supposed to be in here!”

  His daughter’s eyes went wide, “I passed the word along. Someone should have told her. She should be here already.”

  “Find her,” ordered Tyrion. Brigid started to run from the room but he grabbed her shoulder, “Walk. I don’t want to give him anything to wonder about.” With that he released her and she proceeded to open the door at a more casual pace. He followed her out.

  His eyes lit upon their visitor the moment he entered the dining hall.

  Ceylendor was of average height, a little under six feet, but he had a commanding presence. Like all of his kind he had green hair, a subtle color reminiscent of oak leaves in the middle of summer rather than the bright colors of spring. It was his eyes that caught the beholder’s attention, they were a vivid viridian, like emeralds under the noonday sun.

  Kate’s green eyes were a more humble, human shade, and seemed drab by comparison. That observation aroused an irrational hatred in Tyrion’s heart that had nothing to do with the man’s species.

  Ceylendor’s gaze was on him the moment he stepped out, and while the She’Har’s stare should have seemed challenging, instead it felt warm. The man radiated a warm charisma that was impossible to deny. “You must be the man I’ve heard so much about,” said the lore-warden.

  Tyrion knew he was being influenced, much as everyone else in the room was. The flows of aythar that emanated from the Centyr She’Har were subtle, natural, almost impossible to identify as deliberate. It took an act of will to tighten the shield around his mind, which helped a bit, but their visitor’s charm still seemed to seep into him.

  He felt an odd urge to hug the stranger.

  “I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t do that,” said Tyrion sternly. The words were hard to say, for he knew they were rude and the last thing he wanted to do was offend their new guest. Fortunately, he had had years of practice
at being cruel, even toward people he cared much more for than some unknown She’Har.

  Ceylendor’s brows went up in innocent surprise, “I’m sorry, did I do something to offend?”

  For a second Tyrion felt chagrin and deep embarrassment for being so rude, but then Ceylendor’s tone and expression brought a memory up from the past. The insouciance of his facial expression, the honesty in his tone, it reminded him of Thillmarius, and thinking of his former trainer brought with it the old panic and fear that had been ingrained in his soul.

  With fear came adrenaline, and then anger. “I think you know damn well what I mean,” ground out Tyrion. “Are you here for an honest meeting or do you just want to mind-fuck everyone in the room?”

  His words brought looks of shock and consternation from his children. Most of them, with the exception of perhaps Brigid, had already begun to relax under the waves of charisma emanating from the Centyr ambassador. Tyrion’s challenge shocked them and they began tightening their own mental defenses.

  The atmosphere in the room cooled abruptly. It was a sensation akin to sudden darkness when the light has vanished. Ceylendor made a quick half-bow, “My apologies. I have been so long among my own kind I have forgotten my manners. Please do not judge the Centyr by my sloppy habits.”

  As if I believe that, thought Tyrion. The man is a viper! Nothing he does is anything but calculated. He controlled his anger when he replied, “I prefer to have conversations in which I can be sure that my emotions are my own. The accord between your people and mine is still new, let’s not sully it with a bad start. Are you thirsty?”

  Ceylendor watched him for a moment before replying, “I was sincere in my apology.”

  He felt my anger, thought Tyrion. Despite my careful shielding. Having someone answer his mood rather than his words was disconcerting to say the least. “If you would show your sincerity, then stick to the conversation at hand, rather than my perceived mood.”

  The lore-warden nodded, “Understood, and yes, I am thirsty.”

  Brigid had almost made it to the front door when it opened of its own accord. Kate stood on the other side. Everyone’s eyes fell on her as she entered.

  “Hello?” she said into the awkward silence.

  Abby spoke first, “We have a surprise visitor, from the Centyr Grove.”

  Kate’s face grew wary, but she covered the expression quickly, “Oh, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Catherine—Tyrion’s wife.”

  Ceylendor had already crossed the distance before anyone else could move. Stretching out his hand he took hers and dipped his head politely, “It is a pleasure to meet you, Catherine.”

  The instant their hands touched Tyrion felt something pass between them, something so small and quiet it was almost impossible to sense. Rushing forward he pushed them apart, glaring at Ceylendor. “Your actions belie your recent apology, Centyr.” Without turning to face her he spoke to Kate, “Inara needs you in the bedroom.”

  Confused, and possibly charmed, Kate began to object, “But she’s with, Lay…”

  “Let me help you, sister,” said Brigid, guiding her toward the bedroom.

  Ceylendor appeared upset, “I meant no offense toward you or your concubine, Tyrion, please forgive…”

  “Wife,” corrected Tyrion. “The proper word is wife.”

  “Pardon me,” said Ceylendor quickly. “It seems my Barion is not up to par. I have done nothing but commit one offense after another.”

  “Let’s adjourn to the front room,” said Tyrion, ignoring the apology. “It’s more comfortable there, and more private.” He glanced at the others, “Return to your rooms. We can have dinner later.”

  No one argued.

  Ceylendor followed him without comment, taking a seat in one of the modestly cushioned chairs that Ryan had designed. “That really wasn’t necessary.”

  Tyrion stared at him, holding onto his cold rage, “Wasn’t it?”

  His guest sighed, running a hand through soft green hair, “Perhaps it was a mistake for me to come here.”

  “Your mistake was in treating us like books to be rummaged through,” replied Tyrion.

  Ceylendor gazed at him appraisingly. The stare was unnerving. Tyrion felt a sudden sensation of uncertainty, something akin to the feeling a lamb might feel when it discovers it has been trapped in a pen with a hungry wolf.

  But Tyrion was no stranger to fear. He and his fear had become old friends over the years. Rather than let it control him he used it instead to inform his actions. He had been holding his breath but he released it slowly now. It was already apparent that no amount of mental shielding would keep Ceylendor entirely out of his thoughts, so he changed course. Listening carefully, he felt the firm beat of the earth. It called to him, but he didn’t allow himself to be consumed by it.

  Instead he touched it gently, letting it infuse his thoughts and permeate his body. He expanded slightly, becoming more than he had been, but only to a mild degree. His senses changed and his boundaries shifted. He was the sum of everything around him, with one exception.

  Ceylendor was foreign to him, like a splinter beneath his skin.

  Balancing lightly on the edge between being human and embracing his strange ability more fully he listened to the other man’s words, registering them without feeling. The She’Har looked different now, less like a man and more like a predatory beast, his teeth were sharp and his fingers ending in claws. He was almost reptilian, with hard scales where his skin should have been.

  Tyrion’s vision wasn’t reality, at least not physical reality, but it held something truer than that within it. His perceptions made little sense but he was in a place beyond reason and sense, in a place where things simply were.

  “Have you considered that perhaps it wasn’t a mistake? Isn’t it possible I goaded you into driving everyone else away. Being alone with me might not be entirely wise…,” Ceylendor was saying, but then his expression changed and his words trailed off. Confusion flickered across his features. “What have you done?”

  Tyrion’s mind was stone, and Ceylendor was trapped within him, much like a fly in amber. “Nothing,” he answered. “At the moment I’m debating whether I should kill you or continue attempting a civilized conversation. Which would you rather I do?”

  The lore-warden’s forehead was damp with sweat as he tried to sense something, anything, but his perception was dead. He still had his power, he still had his magesight, but he felt blind, for beyond his physical sight he could feel nothing whatsoever, not from the man standing apart from him or from anyone within the house itself. It was as though he was alone, talking to a stone made to resemble a man.

  “I would prefer to talk,” said the Centyr She’Har at last.

  “Let’s start with the purpose of your visit,” suggested Tyrion mildly.

  “My grove sent me to gather information,” said Ceylendor. “I’m sure you can understand that. Our intentions are peaceful, however.”

  “Your intentions and your actions don’t seem to match,” he observed. “Peaceful might not be the correct word. Information gathering seems rational, but I would guess that your actions in regard to it are conditional upon what you find.”

  “We hope for peace then,” corrected the lore-warden. “Surely any sentient being would defend itself if it found itself faced with a threat.”

  “We are no threat to the Centyr,” said Tyrion flatly. “That’s what the accord was about after all. If you came to reaffirm that then you’ve done a poor job. Let me simplify it for you. Leave me and mine alone and the Centyr have nothing to worry about.”

  Ceylendor bowed his head, “That is more than enough. Please forgive my insults to you and your family today.”

  “Stay away from us,” warned Tyrion. “That goes for you and the rest of the children of the Centyr Grove. Do that and no mistakes will be made.”

  The lore-warden began again, “Tyrion if you…”

  “Farewell, Ceylendor. I hope we don’t meet again,” interrup
ted Tyrion. He kept his face blank and said nothing more.

  Ceylendor accepted his dismissal with as much grace as he could muster. He left, but his mind was spinning with the chaos and turmoil of his brief visit.

  They were exactly what I expected, until he showed up. A little more complex than the humans in Baratrea, more powerful, but ordinary otherwise. Given an hour or two and he would have known everything he could have possibly cared to know. They clearly weren’t a danger to the She’Har, but meeting Tyrion changed his mind in that regard.

  Of even more concern was what he had learned from the human’s mate, Catherine. His brief contact with her unprotected psyche had been illuminating. She was pregnant. He had seen that immediately, but it was where her thoughts went from there that surprised him. She was thinking of Lyralliantha. The Illeniels have allowed one of their own to bear a child—for Tyrion.

  That changed everything. The Elders of the Centyr Grove would want to consider that information carefully.

  Chapter 19

  Tyrion stared at the cell door for a long time, consumed with trepidation. Hesitation was something he thought he had conquered long ago, but now it had reappeared. He had known what his plan would entail all along, but now that the moment was here he found himself reluctant.

  Growling to himself he thrust his hand forward and opened the door. Within G-1 sat listlessly on the long stone pallet that served her as both bed and bench. It was covered with a bedroll now, as well as several extra blankets and pillows. At Emma’s recommendation he had also had a cup and bowl provided for each of his ‘guests’, so that they would no longer have to collect water in their hands to drink.

  It was still far from civilized, but it was better than it had been.

  They will only have to suffer it for a matter of months and then it will be over, thought Tyrion. Then begins the sleep and when they wake it will be a different world. He had repeated that to himself a dozen times over, but it still did little to relieve his guilt.