Betrayer's Bane

by Michael G. Manning

  Recognizing his shame for what it was he became angry once more. I owe the She’Har nothing! Not them, or their children, innocent or otherwise! The anger helped more than excuses when it came to pushing aside his remorse.

  “Stand up and turn around,” he ordered. When G-1 had fearfully complied he added, “Bend over and put your hands on the bed.”

  Eal’estea’s eyes widened as she realized what he meant to do. She shook her head in negation, “Nealoora!”

  The word made no sense, but Tyrion recognized defiance when he saw it. His hand came up, as if he would strike her, but then he regained his composure. Applying his will and aythar he trapped her in bands of force, bending and turning them to force her body into the position he desired. He tried to be gentle, but her struggling still resulted in marks and what would probably be bruises later.

  In less than half a minute she was bent over before him, and being naked already, he could see his goal.

  Tyrion unfastened his trousers, but he found his body unwilling. For a moment he felt something, a twitch, an urge, but then the sound of his captive’s weeping broke his resolve. Decision made or not, he was limp.

  You are a rapist, Lyralliantha had once told him, back before he had faced the reality of what he had actually done to the women in Colne. She had been right, but in the present, faced with the cold calculated decision to be just that, he found himself impotent.

  “Damnitt!” he swore as he released her. He slammed the door closed as he left.

  ***

  An hour later he had returned, this time with his son, Ryan. The boy and his sister had been busy working on another of the secret chambers, but he had pulled him away from the task with no explanation.

  “What is it you need, Father?” asked the younger man. “Why didn’t you just tell Emma we were coming here?”

  “I didn’t want to upset her,” answered Tyrion. “I need you to do something.”

  Ryan waited patiently.

  He gestured at the cell doors, “My work in cauterizing their seed-minds has been successful and some of them are…,” his words trailed off. How the hell do I say this?

  “Are what?” asked Ryan.

  “They’re coming into season,” stated Tyrion.

  “Season?” Ryan stared at him in confusion but after a few seconds his cheeks colored. “Wait, what… you don’t mean you want me…?”

  “Someone has to,” said Tyrion. “That’s the whole point of this. Humanity will need their gifts in the future and this is the only way to get them.”

  Ryan gaped at him. “That won’t enable me to steal their gifts. You know that! What are you talking about?”

  Tyrion closed his eyes, “Not you, their children. Any offspring will be human, but coming from the females they won’t have the same genetic traps that the She’Har built into their male children.”

  “I still don’t fully understand this ‘genetic’ thing you keep talking about,” said Ryan, hoping to reroute the conversation.

  “Their children can reproduce, and they’ll have the same special abilities that their mothers have,” said Tyrion. “But first, someone has to impregnate them.”

  “Someone?”

  Tyrion nodded, “Three are ready now, but the rest will start soon.”

  “Three?!”

  “I don’t expect you do to do it all in a single day,” added Tyrion.

  A long argument ensued, but eventually he convinced Ryan with a combination of threats and intimidation. There was no appealing to better nature in this case.

  Ryan entered the cell under protest but after a few minutes he reemerged, his head was down and his face in shadow.

  “Well?” asked Tyrion. He had kept his magesight focused in other directions.

  “I couldn’t do it,” mumbled Ryan.

  “What?!”

  “I couldn’t do it!” shouted the young man.

  Tyrion couldn’t find his anger. He’s too young, too kind, and of course there’s… “Emma,” he said at last.

  It was a single word but it made Ryan’s blood boil. “Shut up! I don’t ever want to hear her name on your lips, not at a time like, like…,” his words ran into an unintelligible growl. He cursed and swore, but eventually he ran out of steam. “Find someone else. I can’t do this.”

  Tyrion stared at the wall and neither spoke for a long while. Almost any one of the men from the slave camps would have no trouble, but of course, that would negate the entire purpose. All of them carry the lethal traits, he thought. It has to be one of us…

  Eventually the inevitable conclusion arrived. He didn’t look at his son as he ordered, “Go find Ian.”

  ***

  That afternoon he had a small meeting with the small group that would be making the next clandestine attack.

  They gathered in the front room of the main house, with the privacy screens active. Emma and Ryan stood to one side, looking particularly out of sorts, while the two Mordan mages, Brangor and Jordan stood on the other. Layla was opposite him and as usual, Brigid was close by Tyrion’s side.

  “The Centyr are next,” said Tyrion without preamble, “but since I’m sure most of you remember Ceylendor’s recent visit they present some specific difficulties, the first being the location of the attack.”

  Jordan spoke up, “Neither myself nor Brangor have ever been to any part of the Centyr Grove.”

  “Which means that we need to take one of them there and pick our spot before we can do anything else,” finished Tyrion.

  Layla looked concerned, “The journey is much too far if you plan on having me conceal you.”

  Tyrion nodded, “Don’t worry, that had already occurred to me. Fortunately, the easiest course would be to bring one of them with me on a trip to survey Baratrea, ostensibly in preparation for the next batch of slaves.

  “However, I have some reservations,” he continued. “As you recall, Ceylendor seemed quite capable of influencing us to some degree, even with our minds tightly shielded. Baratrea will be teeming with others of his kind. The biggest danger is that they might discern our motives while we are there.”

  Emma broke in, “Then the obvious conclusion is to keep the number of people on this visit to a minimum.”

  “Exactly,” said Tyrion. “That’s why I plan on taking only Jordan with me. I believe I can protect both of us using the same technique that worked for me when Ceylendor came.”

  Brigid started, “But Father, if you’re only taking one, it should be me…”

  “You aren’t a Mordan mage, Brigid,” he said, stopping her before she could go on.

  Emma looked worried too, “This is the ‘stone mind’ technique you described to me the other day?”

  He nodded.

  “It’s too dangerous,” she responded immediately. “You might have to maintain it for hours. If you make a mistake, lose control, there won’t be anyone there to help you.” Emma made a point of looking directly at Jordan.

  Tyrion understood her meaning. If he accidentally went too far he would need someone he trusted to help pull him back. Jordan was unsuitable for the task for more than one reason. For one, the man didn’t understand the nature of Emma and Tyrion’s special talent, and for another they couldn’t trust him completely.

  He wanted to dismiss her concern, but it was valid. Finally, he nodded, “You make a fair point. It will be the three of us then.”

  “If you’re both going then you can take me as well,” suggested Brigid. “You can shield Jordan and Emma can protect me.”

  “Either of us could do all three, or four,” explained Tyrion. “Only one of us will handle it at a time. The other will be there in case something goes wrong, or if we have to split up for some reason.”

  “You still haven’t said how you will travel,” reminded Layla. “On horseback Baratrea is more than a week away.”

  “Dormon,” he answered. The dormon were massive winged plant creatures created by the father-trees for the primary purpose of transportation.
They were grown in much the same way that the krytek were, and similarly had only a short lifespan measured in months. The Illeniel Grove rarely needed them but the Prathion Grove was much larger and still had the slave camp of Ellentrea, so they were in the habit of keeping several on hand.

  Tyrion smiled, “Thillmarius has kindly offered to let us use one of the Prathion Grove’s dormon.”

  ***

  “Father, are you sure?” asked Emma as they landed in an open area set aside for just such purposes in Baratrea. “You could damage your mind.”

  “Observe and learn, Emma,” he responded. “It is easier than what you have done before, and less dangerous, so long as you don’t allow yourself to slip too deep. You may need to do the same at some point before we leave here.”

  She frowned, “I can’t imagine trying to listen to the earth and continue walking around, much less talking.”

  “It’s a balancing act, just watch for now, but if we have to separate for any reason I want you to do the same. I don’t know if Ceylendor was an exception, or the rule, but if there are others here with his skill ordinary mental defenses won’t protect you for long. Do you understand?”

  She nodded, placing her hand on his arm, establishing a direct link between their minds. It wasn’t quite as easy as it was with Ryan, where his mind was an orderly place of ideas and constructions layered with almost hidden affection, her father’s was a land of cold steel and sharp edges. On the surface Tyrion’s mind was structured, sane, but beneath that she could feel a maelstrom of madness, barely contained.

  Emma wondered that he could survive there. She was merely a visitor, but he had to live with himself. Did he see the interior of his mind the same way, or was he numb to it? Faintly she could hear a woman’s voice, wailing, and somewhere beyond that a boy crying. Her father radiated despair, and she could feel it seeping into her bones. Unbidden, a tear rolled down her cheek.

  From the emptiness her father’s voice spoke, Steady Emma, when you stare too long into the darkness the darkness stares back.

  She felt him looking at her, seeing her in much the same way that she now saw him. Something must have pleased him, for the cold dim receded slightly as a faint warmth appeared. Is that a father’s love? she wondered.

  What little I have, he answered. Forgive me for whatever you find here, Emma. While you may have traded me some of your warmth I fear you will only come away stained with my darkness.

  Tyrion’s mind began to change then. It had opened, expanding and becoming something different, something foreign. From personal experience she recognized the shift as his ‘self’ grew to encompass some of the world around them, most particularly the ground beneath their feet.

  The link between them was tenuous now, for it was difficult to maintain a connection between a purely human consciousness and the inhuman awareness of the earth. For a moment she began to follow him, to listen as well, matching her state to his, but then she mastered herself. Doing so would only put them both at risk, and make her effort to provide an anchor for him pointless.

  Perhaps it is a poor idea to have one person with this ability try to safeguard another, she noted mentally. It might be better to have a normal mage perform the task.

  The world took on a strange appearance. Her magesight was still functioning, but it presented something completely different to her than what her eyes did. She still stood beside her father, and Jordan, but her magesight was reporting nothing but stone, solid unyielding stone. It extended outward some ten feet in every direction and within it they didn’t exist, they were dead stone statues walking within stone air.

  Beyond the edge of the stone her magesight still showed her a world that reflected what her eyes provided.

  “That’s very clever,” she observed.

  “Indeed,” said Tyrion in a voice devoid of inflection.

  Jordan, however, had broken into a sweat. “I know you warned me about this, but I think I may be claustrophobic.”

  “Try not to think too hard about what your magical senses are telling you,” she advised the Mordan mage.

  Jordan swallowed, “I’ll do my best, but I have to tell you. This illusion, or whatever it is, works too well. I can’t feel my position.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Tyrion tonelessly.

  “I don’t think I could teleport right now,” explained the other mage. “Nor can I learn where we are now to return later. If I am to impress this place on my mind I will have to step outside of your protection at some point, preferably at whatever place it is you wish to come back to.”

  Tyrion nodded, “Very well. Stay inside me. I’ll let you know later on when I want you to memorize a place.”

  Jordan shuddered at the thought of remaining locked inside the strange rock, but then he reflected on Tyrion’s words, “Inside you?”

  “He means inside the phantom stone,” explained Emma.

  Together the three of them walked away from the dormon and toward the edge of the landing area where a woman awaited them.

  Chapter 20

  Flashes of viridian framed by frowning brows. That was Tyrion’s first impression of the She’Har woman that stood waiting to greet them.

  “Greetings,” said the Centyr She’Har. “My name is Serrelia.”

  Silence reigned for an awkward moment before Tyrion realized a response was expected. He could still think, but the ‘stone-mind’ was interfering with his ability to process social cues. “I am Tyrion. Will you be escorting us in Baratrea?”

  The woman bowed slightly, “Yes, if that is agreeable with you. The elders have asked me to walk with you and answer any questions you may have. What would you like to see first?”

  “The living areas,” answered Tyrion. “I am here to see about bringing some of your former slaves to Albamarl.”

  “Of course,” answered Serrelia. “I assumed that would be the case. If you will follow me…,” she gestured with one hand as she began walking slightly ahead of them, leading them in to where the buildings were clustered more thickly.

  As they went she continued talking, “Ceylendor told me you were unusual. I think I see what he meant now.”

  Tyrion ignored her remark.

  “If you don’t mind me asking, what type of magic is that which you are using?” she asked.

  “I do,” said Tyrion curtly.

  Serrelia looked confused, “You do what?”

  “I do mind,” he clarified.

  “Oh.” Walking so close to them brought her well within his ‘stone-mind’ which had to be doing odd things to her perceptions, but Serrelia did her best to hide her discomfort. As they went she drifted closer to Tyrion, as though she might walk beside him, but Emma already had his arm occupied.

  Serrelia sent a sidelong glance at Emma who merely smiled in return. “Go ahead,” said Emma.

  “Pardon me?” asked the She’Har woman.

  “Touch him if you wish,” she challenged. “It won’t help you find his psyche.”

  Serrelia looked unhappy, “I had nothing of the sort in mind. Ceylendor told me about his encounter. I was cautioned to be a perfect ambassador today.”

  Emma nodded, “That’s good then,” but she made no attempt to apologize for her directness.

  They reached a large thoroughfare that passed between the buildings and found a large crowd of people standing there expectantly. Much like the other camps, the humans here were of a wide variety of sizes, shapes, and descriptions, but what made the scene eerie was their utter silence.

  The scene made Emma uncomfortable, but if Tyrion noticed the strangeness he gave no sign of it.

  “Do you intend to bring any back today?” asked Serrelia politely.

  “No,” said Tyrion flatly. “I only plan to choose twenty today. You can send them to us next week.”

  Serrelia dipped her head in acquiescence, “As you wish, although it will take a long time to empty Baratrea at that rate.”

  “We will increase the numbers as new housing is
constructed,” said Tyrion. After a moment he began walking along the front line of the crowd, forcing Emma and Jordan to stay close to him. It might have made their tiny group seem odd, the way they stayed so close together, but they were already a strange sight for everyone with magesight. The ‘stone-mind’ around them was a bizarrely jarring sight, since it was completely at odds with what normal vision showed.

  The people they passed were beautiful, men and women both. Like most of the slave camps they were young, on average, for the arena had kept most from reaching advanced age, but there was something else about them. Apart from the She’Har, and perhaps the people of Colne, they were the healthiest and most attractive looking group of humans Tyrion had seen.

  If he had been in a normal frame of mind it might have made him suspicious, but as he was it only presented as an interesting puzzle to him. After a brief bit of consideration, he selected his twenty at random. “I think we have seen enough today,” he told their guide.

  Serrelia seemed disappointed, “You have only just arrived. Are you certain there is nothing else you would like to see?”

  Emma spoke up, “Are all of these people Centyr?”

  Their host frowned, “They are all property of the Centyr. Pardon, I mean they were all property of the Centyr.”

  Tyrion’s daughter shook her head, “No, I mean are they all a product of your grove? How many come from other groves?”

  “Oh, I think I understand,” said Serrelia. “No, these humans all have the Centyr gift. We have never kept many humans from the other groves.”

  “But you do have some?” probed Emma.

  “A few…,” answered Serrelia somewhat reluctantly.

  “Where are they?” she asked.

  “We keep them in another place, separate from the rest,” admitted the She’Har. “They do not do well if we mingle them with our main stock.”

  “Why not?” asked Emma pointedly.

  Serrelia pursed her lips, “You know how they tend to fight. We find it keeps such things to a minimum if we separate them.”

  “Can we see them?” said Emma curiously.

  “We have seen enough,” interrupted Tyrion.