Betrayer's Bane

by Michael G. Manning

  Lyra, forgive me—our baby… and then she mercifully lost consciousness.

  Sarah burst in only seconds later, roaring like a beast as she came, only to see the stranger fling Garlin’s limp body to the floor. He was already dead.

  The Prathion mage’s shield was still down, the enchanted quarrel had broken it when Kate stabbed her. Sarah’s attack hit her like a battering ram built of fire and unholy violence. It ripped the woman in half and left what remained of her body charred beyond recognition.

  Silence reigned for a moment as Sarah stared at the wreckage that had been Tyrion and Kate’s bedroom, her eyes taking in the bodies and the blood, absorbing the sight of things that could never be made whole again. Slowly she crumpled to the floor, keening with despair as her trembling fingers felt the savage cuts in Kate’s body.

  Chapter 39

  Ryan was in the empty city, reconsidering the layout for an aquaduct, when he heard the screams. He ignored the first one, so focused was he on his thoughts, but then a chorus of unholy wails rose to join the first one.

  Stepping out of the small workroom that served as his makeshift office he glanced up and down the street. It was mostly empty, except for the work crew lifting massive blocks along one side. Twenty men and women, previously inhabitants of one of the She’Har slave camps, were using their aythar to transfer the blocks one at a time from a massive sled to the partially completed wall of a building.

  They had stopped now, letting the stone settle where it was as they glanced at one another and then at him. Several shrugged, no one knew what the source of the screaming was.

  Violet poked her head out of a doorway across the way, where she had been working on a stone relief showing an idyllic pasture with sheep grazing. “What’s going on?” she asked when she saw Ryan.

  I don’t know, he replied, broadcasting his thoughts.

  Seconds later his magesight spotted the first fugitives, two men and a woman, running down the street behind the building he had just emerged from. They couldn’t run very fast, though, for all three of them were limping, but they hobbled along as fast as they could possibly manage. A flare of aythar at the edge of his range struck one and the woman went down, unmoving.

  The other two rounded the corner and came into view. One of them yelled a warning, “She’s gone insane!” Both of them were bleeding from a profusion of cuts, particularly their legs.

  Then Brigid came into range, her aythar blazing like a phoenix, her chain writhing in the air around her, restless and angry. She wasn’t quite running, but her steps were quick, moving her at a pace her wounded prey couldn’t hope to match.

  “Who?!” shouted one of the workers.

  “Brigid, the raven-haired bitch!” answered the other one. Neither stopped moving. “If you want to live, run!”

  Ryan stepped out, trying to block their path. Stop. Calm down and explain what’s happening.

  They ignored him, panic on their faces as they split up to go around him. Brigid rounded the corner at that point, her eyes taking in the work crew. She fired two short blasts, killing the two she had been chasing. She had fresh targets, making the two she had been chasing obsolete.

  Brigid stop! shouted Ryan mentally, but his psychotic sister ignored him.

  The workers watched her approach in fear and confusion, uncertain what was going on and looking to Ryan and each other for support. Pandemonium erupted when her chain blurred forward and cut three of them in two without pause.

  Ryan was stunned by the sudden violence and Violet ducked back into the building she had been working in. The workers scattered. Some tried to run and others used their magic to lift the stones they had been using and hurl them at their unexpected antagonist.

  Brigid’s enchanted chained spun, cutting down most of those who had dared to stand in front of her, while simultaneously she used her aythar to catch the heavy stone blocks hurtling toward her. The stones slowed and then reversed course, smashing into the ones that had wisely decided to flee.

  Less than five seconds had passed and most of his work crew was dead or dying. The only two left on their feet began to run and Brigid watched them with an expression not unlike that of a cat, considering a toy. Her chain raced forward, hamstringing one leg on each of them.

  Then she slowed her pace to let them gain some ground.

  It took all of Ryan’s resolve to step in front of her, Explain yourself, Brigid. Why are you doing this?

  If she recognized him, it didn’t register on her face. The enchanted chain whipped toward his face and if he hadn’t interposed his metal hand it would have taken his head from his shoulders. He managed to catch it as it pulled back for another strike, iron fingers clamping into place before it slid away.

  That surprised her, but her will surged and then he was flying into the air, pulled along with the weapon. He hung there awkwardly for a second as she prepared to whip the chain around and smash him into the ground, when Brigid suddenly paused, blinking.

  Brigid stop! I’m your brother!

  She croaked something, but her voice was too hoarse for him to understand.

  Violet peeked out from the doorway, “It’s Ryan, Brigid. Don’t hurt him!”

  Brigid lowered him slowly to the ground, but he didn’t release the chain. He felt it pull as she tugged at it with her will and then she stalked toward him with dead eyes.

  Tell me what’s going on! he insisted.

  She got close enough for him to understand her hoarse words, “Let go or I’ll cut that arm off and use it for a club.” The other end of her chain twisted around to menace him.

  “What happened?” asked Violet, having finally emerged from her hiding place.

  Brigid’s face twisted into a rictus of rage and agony, “They killed the babies! They killed my babies!” She yelled as she answered, but her voice had been ruined by screaming already, so it was still difficult to understand her.

  Ryan let go of the chain and she began moving automatically, following the ones she had wounded.

  Violet and Ryan stared at one another as she left. Neither made a move to stop her.

  We need to return, to find out what happened, he told her.

  “What about Brigid?” asked Violet, her eyes slightly wild.

  Do you want to try to stop her?

  “No,” she replied immediately.

  Me either. Despite the bravery he had just displayed his body was already trembling in reaction to what had just happened. Death had just stared directly into his eyes and for a moment he had been certain he was about to die.

  Together the two of them began heading for the main house and dormitory, where they lived. It was a fifteen minute walk normally, so they jogged to speed up the journey. Halfway there they met Emma, Anthony, and Piper heading toward them.

  “Brigid?” asked Emma.

  She went that way, replied Ryan. What happened back there?

  “Assassins. Some of the people from the slave camps killed the children,” stated Emma flatly. Her voice was smooth, but he could see the emotional strain hidden behind her eyes.

  “Which ones?” asked Violet.

  “All of them,” answered Piper, her voice strident.

  “Eight entered the main house,” added Emma. “Sarah killed them but two got past her. Kate and Garlin were dead before she could get to them. Several others ambushed Brigid. They slew Inara and Eldin right in front of her.”

  Violet’s eyes grew round, “No wonder…”

  She is killing every one of the workers she can find, Ryan informed them. There’s no stopping her.

  “It doesn’t make sense,” said Emma. “They knew they wouldn’t survive the attacks, but they did it anyway. Even those hardened by the slave camps have a care for their own lives.”

  “We haven’t exactly treated them well,” observed Violet.

  “They still have it much better here. We don’t force them to fight,” said Anthony.

  “If they knew about what is planned…” wondered P
iper.

  They don’t, insisted Ryan. And if they did they wouldn’t throw their lives away, or target the children specifically.

  Emma glanced knowingly at Ryan, then she said two words, “The Centyr.”

  It’s possible, acknowledged Ryan. Though we kept them entirely isolated.

  “We don’t really understand their capabilities,” said Emma, “and it’s possible one could have snuck in, hidden amongst the newer slaves.”

  Anyone here could be an assassin then, concluded Ryan.

  “Except us,” said Anthony. “Right?”

  “That’s not an established fact,” said Emma, “but we have to assume so. If they had turned one of us they wouldn’t need to settle for something like this. One of us could kill the others by surprise and then do whatever we wished.”

  “I hate to say it,” Piper put in, “but Brigid might have the right idea.”

  “There are at least four thousand workers here,” said Violet, horrified.

  Emma nodded, “Brigid can’t kill them all.”

  Violet was shaking her head, “You didn’t see her a few minutes ago, she looked perfectly capable of taking on an army.”

  That’s beside the point, offered Ryan. If she runs around killing them she’ll start a panic. They will be running in every direction. We can’t track them down if they run away. Even if they don’t realize it, the tattoos on them have a limited range.

  “Are you proposing what I think?” asked Emma.

  Better if we put an end to them quickly, before they escape, or worse, before the next group of hidden assassins tries to kill someone else.

  “You want us to spread out and activate the kill tattoos, one at a time? That will take forever, even if all of us do it,” objected Anthony.

  “The others are back at the main house, watching over Sarah. She was pretty distraught after finding Kate and Garlin,” noted Emma. “One of us could go back and mobilize them. The sooner we start the sooner we finish.”

  Just tell them to fan out and try to stop anyone from leaving, Ryan told them. He tapped one section of the runes engraved on his arm. I created a set of master runes that can do the job more efficiently.

  “How?” asked Anthony.

  They allow me to activate the lethal tattoos on any of the slaves within my range, simultaneously.

  Emma looked at him in surprise, “What’s the range?”

  Roughly a half a mile, I think, said Ryan. Obviously I’ve never wanted to test it before. Turning away he walked back in the direction Brigid had gone, where the largest concentration of workers would be found. I’ll walk a pattern through the city and then back to Albamarl. It should be finished in a few hours.

  Violet shivered at the thought, but Emma was more practical, “What about the ones we prepared?”

  They’re in stasis boxes. They’ll be safe, Ryan assured her.

  The others looked at Emma, still expecting orders from her. With Tyrion absent, she was the obvious choice. “Spread out, head for the edges of the settlement. Make sure none escape. I’ll go back and get the others to help.”

  And then Ryan began his march, stretching out his senses. Whenever his magesight made contact he touched the spot on his arm and sent out a pulse, massacring every one of the slaves that came within his reach.

  Thousands died, and most never knew their deaths were coming before it was over. The only small mercy to be found that day was that he got to the majority of them before Brigid did.

  ***

  It was late in the afternoon when he found Brigid. She had cornered a small group within one of the newly finished residential buildings.

  Since he was still outside he couldn’t see her with his eyes, but he could tell by the fluttering of her fading aythar that she was close to collapse. Her chain dragged the ground beside her, only animating briefly when she used it to kill.

  Sending out another pulse he slew the last of her prey. Then he went inside to find his sister.

  Brigid stood uncertainly in the largest room, her eyes unfocused and tired as she stared around herself, wondering what had happened. When Ryan entered, her head jerked toward him. “What did you do?” she rasped.

  They’re all dead, Brigid. There’s no one left to kill, he told her.

  “You stole them from me,” she accused.

  It’s over.

  Her eyes glared daggers at him, but then her knees sagged and she slumped to the floor. She was so fatigued she should have passed directly into unconsciousness, but her eyes remained open, staring blankly along the floor. As her anger faded tears began to run from them.

  Ryan went to her and bent down, slipping his arms beneath her shoulders and knees. She flinched away from his touch, but she no longer had the strength or will to resist. Straightening his back and knees he lifted her up, cradling her slender form against his chest.

  Brigid cried openly for several minutes as he walked, but by the time he had carried her home she had fallen into a troubled slumber.

  Chapter 40

  Tyrion was bored.

  It was a problem he was well acquainted with. During his days as a slave boredom had been his constant companion, even later, when he had lived alone with Lyralliantha it had been common, but the last few years had been full of activity.

  He looked up with anticipation when Byovar appeared. “You look healthy,” he said, greeting the Illenieil lore-warden in his native Erollith. Learning the language had been the way he had first spent his time with Byovar.

  “And your accent is flawless now,” complimented the Illeniel. “I fear that I have dark news to bring you.”

  Tyrion was already on his feet, “Is Layla alright?”

  “It isn’t your child, or Lyralliantha either,” said Byovar, shaking his head. “Something has happened in the place where you live.”

  His anxiety grew. What have they done?

  “We just received a message from your daughter, Emma. There’s been an attack.”

  Tyrion’s eyes narrowed, “A message? Why not tell me sooner? If something was about to happen your elders would know it before any message reached us.”

  Byovar looked embarrassed, “The elders move slowly, and I am not told much. This is the first I have learned of it. Your wife and…”

  “Kate?!”

  “Your wife and three of your youngest children are dead,” finished the lore-warden.

  The words washed over him, and as they passed his ears the world seemed to turn grey, as if all the color had leeched from it. Byovar’s voice came to him from a great distance, echoing through an empty void. Tyrion remained still while he mind calculated, three youngest children, that would be Garlin, Inara, and Eldin—and Kate, never forget Kate.

  What would Lyra say when she learned the news? How could he face Kate with the death of her children? His mind stopped, No, Kate’s dead.

  Byovar was still talking, but he could no longer hear him. In one swift motion, Tyrion whipped his fist forward, putting his shoulder behind it. The Illeniel She’Har hit the wooden platform as he went down, completely unconscious.

  “You evil bastards,” said Tyrion, looking down on the insensible She’Har. “You fucking knew. That’s why we’re here, to protect their plan and everything else be damned. What about Kate? What about Inara and Eldin? What about Garlin!?” He was gripped by an urge to kill Byovar, even as the man began to twitch, his eyes fluttering open, unfocused.

  Tyrion restrained himself, drawing on some reserve he hadn’t known existed. He felt strangely calm, considering what he had just heard. I feel nothing.

  Byovar groaned.

  “Where’s Lyra and our baby?” he demanded.

  It took the She’Har a moment to answer, but he finally managed the words, “They are on their way here.”

  “Did she know? Did Lyra know about this, before we came?” Of course, she didn’t know, he told himself, but he had to ask. He had to be sure.

  “No,” said Byovar, “I didn’t know. She didn’t know
. The Elders tell us little that isn’t required.” His words were slurred as they passed his swollen lips.

  Tyrion stared into space, motionless and feeling for all the world exactly like a statue. He was utterly dead inside.

  “You have to believe me, Tyrion,” insisted the groggy lore-warden.

  He answered him in monotone, “I do, or you would be dead already. In the days to come you may wish I had slain you here and now, though.”

  In the distance, he sensed Lyra’s hurried approach. She was carrying Layla in her arms. He went to meet her.

  “Have you heard?” he asked her.

  She looked worried, “No. They told me something had happened, to find you. What is it?”

  How would she react? How could he tell her that her only child was dead?

  Lyralliantha had always been cool, calm and level headed, like all of her people, but she was also the first of her kind to fall in love, to have a family. Tyrion stared at her, numb and unable to formulate a sentence. Eventually his mouth opened, as if on its own, “They’re dead.”

  Her features grew concerned, “Who? Who’s dead?”

  “Our baby, Garlin, Kate, Inara, and Eldin,” he answered, the names tumbling from his mouth like hard stones, and with each one he saw her register the impact, as if someone was striking her in the stomach.

  Lyra’s eyelids fluttered and tears spilled out. Her mouth opened and closed, “That’s not true. Is it?” she said at last, her voice halting uncertainly over each phrase. “This is some strange joke. It can’t be true.”

  He couldn’t bear to look at her, so he cast his eyes downward, “Byovar just told me.”

  “No,” insisted Lyra. “The Elders would have known. They wouldn’t let this happen.” Her arms tightened as she spoke, squeezing Layla uncomfortably. The baby began to cry.

  “They saved the ones they needed,” he rasped, finding it difficult to speak. “That’s why we’re here. They needed us, they need Layla. Everyone and everything else is expendable to them.”

  A growling noise rose from her throat, or perhaps it was a partly strangled scream, but it made Layla begin to cry even harder. Lyra stopped, visibly taking control of herself and stroking Layla’s cheeks with her trembling hands. “Shhh, baby. It’s alright. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”