by Lakshman, V.
"He can’t hope to prevail against two of us," said Kisan, looking down into the gloom.
"Indeed, then why does he still come?" Silbane turned to the king and continued, "We need a more defensible area—a room— something with only one entrance.
The king seemed lost, looking about in confusion. "Lilyth?"
Silbane grabbed the king by the shoulders and shook him once, hard, "We need a defensible area, now!"
* * * * *
Baalor turned the corner, stalking the girl easily by her contact with the granite of the fortress. He came upon the body of the one she had slain, the economy of the kill impressive. One thrust. He noted that and notched his regard for the girl a bit higher. Perhaps the goddess had been right. No matter. She, along with those left in Bara’cor, would serve their gods again, no matter what blood or lineage they claimed.
He then leaned low and felt the stone, his eyes closing. There! On the stairwell, she moved with speed and he could feel his target moving with her. They would soon meet and he would complete his task.
His form illuminated in lightning and he looked inside himself. This body was powerful, more than its previous owner had known. That man did not have the knowledge Baalor did, the knowledge of the Aeris Lords. Baalor brought this to bear, his essence mastering the dead builder completely.
This body was made to respond to the Way. It could be Shaped to meet his need, his will. He concentrated and the body responded, changing in form and substance.
Slowly, he submerged into the rock, like a man into water. The only sign of him was a slightly darker patch, a ripple, as if someone swam under the stone. The ripple made its way up the rock walls, directly for the king’s forces above.
TRAPPED
There are things worse than death in this world.
To remind myself of this fact,
I occasionally seek out danger.
—Davyd Dreys, Notes to my Sons
As if punctuating their danger, screams echoed up from the darkness. It was the three guards who had been with the king, but unfortunate enough to not have someone like Yetteje to haul them to safety. Their cries ended suddenly, like drowning men pulled under water.
The sound galvanized the king, who moved quickly now, the loss of Niall carefully controlled beneath years of experience commanding men on the field of battle. He moved to a resupply room, ushering the rest of the party in.
The room was large enough to hold twenty men comfortably. It had provisions along one wall and weapons along another. In the center were three tables, two for repairing various weapons and armor. The third was a medical station, including bandages and other tools necessary to help aid the injured.
The king motioned and the guards secured Scythe, still semiconscious, to the last table. He then positioned Ash’s men near the door and turned to Kisan and confirmed, "This is Silbane?"
Before she could respond, Silbane stepped forward and backhanded the king—a stinging slap. "For Arek."
The king’s men pointed swords at the master. Kisan and Ash each jumped in, pulling their respective leaders apart.
"Hold!" Bernal yelled to his men, his voice ringing with command. He put a hand up to his jaw, wincing, then spit blood. "Well met, I should say."
"I’m happy to do so again, given Bara’cor’s hospitality to my apprentice."
The king’s arms went wide and he exclaimed, "I did what I must, for Bara’cor!"
Silbane shrugged Kisan off like she was an afterthought, his anger visible, then he turned to the door. "Torture a boy?" He looked back at the king, and Bernal could see there was real sadness in Silbane’s eyes. "I have lost him because of you."
The king moved forward, his arms still spread. "I have lost my son, too," he said simply. Grief threatened to overcome him. "What of Jebida?"
An awkward silence fell upon the group, then Kisan said, "He fell, and provided us a means of escape."
The simple statement hammered the king, who took an involuntary step back, his hand to his chest. They had been friends for years, and it had become a fundamental belief in Bernal that nothing could hurt the firstmark. He looked down, grief etching his features as he thought about his friend. "He’s dead?"
Ash stepped in and said, "Niall is still alive. He’s been taken from us, and we need to focus on how to get him back."
Just then a guard near the door jerked, his scream cut off as his head entered the wall of Bara’cor, sinking in past his neck. He braced his hands on the wall and tried to pull his granite-encased head out, but the rock was solid and unyielding. His companions each grabbed a leg, but it was no use. The man’s frantic attempts slowly became lethargic, then feeble as his air ran out.
The other guards retreated, looking up at the ceiling and at the floors, trying to find their opponent, fear clearly reflected in their eyes. How could they attack something hiding inside rock?
Another guard gave a scream when he was pulled down through the floor, disappearing into the rock of Bara’cor without a mark.
"On the tables!" Silbane barked. "Get off the stone."
The group vaulted up onto the three tables in the room, ducking their heads so none were within arm’s reach of a stone surface, including the ceiling. Only seven remained, including Alyx, Yetteje, and Scythe on one table, the king and Ash on a second, and Kisan and Silbane crouched together, reviewing their options on the third.
A deep voice said, "How will this help you, King of Bara’cor? You squat like a dog."
Bernal shook off his grief, at least for the moment. Battle had been joined and like it or not, Ash was correct. They needed to focus on saving the living. The dead could be grieved for later. He looked about in disgust and said, "Dogs at least fight. What hides under stone and dirt?"
The table the king and Ash stood upon began to sink into the stone. "By the Lady!" exclaimed the king. In one smooth motion he drew his sword, but Ash held his arm, listening.
* * * * *
I can find him, beloved. Draw me.
No.
Not even to save your king?
Ash looked around, his mind in turmoil, then he grabbed his blade and drew it. The green gem burst with a clear light, making the stone translucent where it struck. They could see the figure of a black assassin with his feet braced, pulling the table under by a leg.
"Prime," Kisan said, looking at Silbane. "He must have survived."
Silbane cocked his head, looking at the creature below them, then at the other master. "That thing is not Prime." He moved in a blur, centering the Way and struck the ground over the black creature’s position with an open palm, before vaulting back to another table. "Tell me your name, demon!"
The blow had a visible effect, as shockwaves traveled through the rock and blasted the demon backwards, leaving the king’s table at a list, half submerged in stone.
They saw the creature look up, smiling at Silbane. "I am Lord Baalor," it said. "Do you not remember your gods, mortal?" It laughed, then moved away quickly and out of the light Tempest cast.
"What now?" Alyx asked. When the fighting had started, she had grabbed Yetteje and pushed her onto a table with herself, clearly guarding the royal heir the same way Ash had partnered with the king.
The king turned to Yetteje and said, "Tell us what happened. We need to plan our next move."
For her part, Yetteje had grabbed a proper sword to replace the fighting blade she had been using. She held the scabbarded blade, crouched on her table top and answered the king, "Arek touched a portal and Lilyth appeared."
Silbane spoke first. "What happened to the Gate?"
Yetteje looked at him, brows knit in consternation. "Nothing. She just appeared. I could hear them speaking."
"What did they say?" asked the king.
"She said to tell you she has Niall and if you don’t turn yourself over to her by nightfall, she will kill everyone left inside Bara’cor."
"By last count, there are close to nine hundred soldiers and their families still i
n this fortress," the king said to Ash.
Yetteje looked anxiously around, then said in a small voice, "There’s something else."
"What?" Silbane asked.
Her golden eyes met Silbane’s faded blue ones and she said, "She said Arek is her son."
Silbane drew back, shock registering on his face for a second time. He looked at Kisan, who also stood speechless.
* * * * *
Kisan took the news differently. She had the visions of Giridian and Silbane to look at, and knew what they meant. The Conclave was right. Arek destroyed the Way, but what would be the effect if he were taken to Lilyth’s realm? She realized in a flash he would begin to absorb even more power, as those beings were a pure embodiment of the Way.
This is what Thoth had feared. The Aeris would safeguard Arek trying to unravel the secret of his existence, and in doing so would create a creature who would undo them all. It was imperative they found Arek as quickly as possible, no matter where he was, and stop him.
A moment passed, then Silbane asked, "Did you see or hear anything else?"
Yetteje slowly nodded, then said, "Lilyth’s creatures are everywhere, thousands of them. They look like mistfrights, but much worse. They control the lower levels and sift through the cracks of the walls like smoke. One of the guards of Bara’cor... something entered him, and he couldn’t fight it off. When it did, he became something else." She pointed to the ground where Baalor had been. "That thing inside the stone. I’m not sure, but it looks just like the man Arek and I killed earlier. Niall said he is a dwarf."
Silbane looked at Kisan and said, "We have to get to the Gate."
"I must rescue my son," said the king. "If that means getting to this portal you speak of, I agree, but I cannot let the people of Bara’cor perish."
"Lilyth will kill you if you turn yourself over to her," warned Ash. He looked at Silbane and said, "Our only chance is to try and find a way out of Bara’cor."
"Perhaps I can help."
The group turned, startled by the raspy voice. It came from Scythe, still bound to the medical table in the back.
Kisan was first to speak. "Help who? Us or them?" she said sarcastically. She turned to the rest of the group. "This man tried to kill us. He may be responsible for the deaths of the other fortresses and their inhabitants."
At that, Yetteje’s head whipped down and her blade sang as it cleared her scabbard, the point centered on Scythe’s chest in the blink of an eye.
"Wait!" cried Silbane. He held up a forestalling hand and said, "I mindread him, princess. He is not wholly responsible."
Yetteje looked at Silbane, and Kisan could tell she would not blindly accept what he said. "How could he not be responsible? At the very least, he didn’t stop them, and that makes him guilty." She turned her glowing amber gaze back to the bound man. "You deserve death."
She began her thrust but Alyx, who had been standing right next to her, grabbed and pulled Yetteje in. "Easy, Princess," she whispered, "if he is responsible, I pledge my blade will follow yours. But rest easy for now, and let the king sort this out."
Scythe’s watched the interaction calmly. "If you read me, you know I want to reach the Gate," he said. "It is my only purpose."
When Silbane didn’t answer, Kisan said, "If you let him go, you’ll be as crazy as he is."
Silbane shook his head slowly, looking at Scythe, then his gaze took in the rest of the room. He seemed to come to a decision and then said slowly, "I present to you Duncan Illrys, once Lore Father of the First Council, and last of the Old Lords."
Journal Entry 25
An idea has begun to take seed and grow. I battled and lost, was hunted and preyed upon, until I rose and stood firm. I came to this world already an archmage, powerful in the Way. Yet, I could not prevail until I had suffered. Why?
I believe it is because my mind needed the victories to build its self-image of power, a surety in the conviction I could survive.
Captain Dreys once said a bladesman cannot cross live blades until years pass and he becomes familiar with failure. That he cannot block till he has felt the wooden knot of a bohkir leave a lump (he called it "love") on his skull.
Ritual, whether physical or mental, is not enough. We must face overwhelming odds and prevail or our knowledge has no meaning, no root. Like a misplanted tree, it topples in the slightest breeze, borne by the winds of adversity.
Wisdom comes from experience and experience from bad judgment. It is our victories over missteps that define us, give us confidence and strength.
I now think I know a way to defeat these Aeris, these mythborn, these legends come to life. I cannot attack them in the traditional sense.
Instead, I must attack something deeper... I must create something more powerful, something that can hold power over the Aeris Lords and those who use the Way.
My companion returns. We have a quiet dinner planned, while my elven guard patrols the castle walls and grounds. Her company is the one thing I look forward to in this accursed place.
THE OLD LORDS
The surest sign of fear is anger.
The surest sign of strength is kindness.
—Altan proverb
Stunned silence followed as the people in the room digested that Duncan Illrys, who had been killed over two hundred years ago, lay secured as a prisoner on a table a few paces from them. He had his wife had died, pierced by the same arrow, if those old legends were to be believed. They were the last survivors against Lilyth, and the first executed by the ancient Galadine decree.
Kisan broke the silence, "Are you sure?"
Silbane took a deep breath and said, "Yes."
Just then, the walls of the room began to buckle and groan. With a crack, they shifted in place and began to grind inward. The room began to collapse in on itself! Dust and rock fell from the ceiling as they folded under the pressure of the walls. Weapons fell from their places and were crushed by the grinding stone.
"What’s going on?" yelled the king.
Scythe, now revealed as Duncan, said, "Baalor. He has called upon the rock of Bara’cor. We must get out of here."
Silbane vaulted from his table to the king’s, then to Duncan’s, landing lightly next to Yetteje and Alyx. He knelt next to the captured lore father and said, "I want your Binding Oath, if I free you, you will assist us. It is the only way you will see her again."
Kisan moved to the doorway and tried to push the door open. It would not budge, having been pinned by the crushing walls until not even a crack remained around the frame. She shared this with Silbane, who yelled back, "Be ready!"
Duncan looked at the walls grinding inward, the ceiling as it bent under the pressure, then at the adept. "By the blood of my forefathers, I bind myself," he said. "My oath as Keeper of the Old Lore, no harm will befall you or your allies by my action or inaction." He extended his palm, which Silbane cut along with his own. When their blood touched, a yellow flash occurred at the binding of the Blood Oath, then just as quickly disappeared.
Silbane freed the prana locks he had placed on the archmage, but could do nothing about the torc. Only someone without Talent could free that and Silbane wasn’t sure he wanted Duncan released yet, regardless of his oath.
He turned his attention to Yetteje, needing to calm her down. "Princess, believe me when I tell you this man is the only hope we have to save Arek and the king’s son," Silbane said. "Please let that mean more to you than revenge."
The ground shook again as the walls continued their inexorable movement inward, crushing weapons, armor, and supplies under stone.
Yetteje looked at Silbane with anger in her eyes. Then her gaze fell upon the king, his face etched with desperation. She looked back down at the man now revealed as Duncan and said, "When this is over, you’ll die by my hands."
"Nothing dies, Princess," said the ancient lore father. His voice came out tired, though his mouth still moved into a smirk, as if by habit.
"You’re going to wish that were true," s
he stated. She looked at him a moment longer, disgust etched on her face, then vaulted from her table to the king’s.
Silbane looked at Duncan and asked, "What are our choices?"
The walls had now moved in the length of a spear. They had only a few moments left.
"Break open the door," Duncan said. "We will face Lord Baalor on open ground."
Silbane locked eyes with Kisan. "We smash the door together." He then moved with blurring speed. They met at the door, open palms striking the stone surface with an impact detonating the stone itself, exploding it outward.
"Quickly, hurry!" yelled Silbane to the people in the room.
They streamed out and into the open landing just outside the supply room. The air was still, silent and dead; the sound of stone grinding and crushing isolated to the room behind them.
Duncan came to stand beside Silbane, wiping his face clean. "My powers, this accursed torc?" he said, fingering the metal collar, still sealed shut by ancient magehunter magic. "Will you not free me?" A small titter erupted, as if he laughed at what he had just said, but it was quickly stifled.
Silbane shook his head. "Kisan pulled me away before I could assimilate your memories. I know who you are, and maybe a bit more. Because of that, I understand you. Do not mistake that for trust."
"You’ll need my strength to get out of here," Duncan pressed. "My interests are aligned with yours, and I took the oath." He appeared calm now, in control. "What made you think about your first meeting with Themun? I did that, for I wished to see him as you did. I am a lore father too, and would help any pupil of the Way."
Silbane looked back at Duncan, so consumed with revenge to have become something like Scythe. How long would this moment of clarity last for the tortured mage? Yet he was a lore father, if misguided. "Perhaps..."
Before Silbane could finish his sentence, Duncan faced Ash and said, "Draw your blade again."
The firstmark looked at the archmage and then at Silbane, caution warring against need.
"Weapons such as Tempest were forged for this very purpose," Duncan added. "You saw her power in the room."
