Mythborn: Rise of the Adepts

by Lakshman, V.

  * * * * *

  The archmage ran up the face of the pyramid without looking back. He ascended with a single-minded purpose, gaining speed as he neared the blue-white, scintillating portal. In a few moments he was in front of it, his face lit by its unearthly glow.

  I brought them, thousands for your army. Duncan’s pale eyes narrowed when there was no answer. The other gates are sealed, forcing Sovereign’s hand here, as you commanded.

  Still, there was no sound, no voice to answer his claim.

  Even the dragon was freed, a useful harbinger to your coming. The Conclave will act hastily now, out of fear, as you wished.

  When still nothing happened, Duncan said one last thing, out loud. "Release them to me."

  At first, silence reigned. Then with a sigh, barely a whisper in his mind, a melodious voice said, Peace for our people is at hand. Be welcome, Scythe. She awaits you, though all may not be as you wish.

  Duncan nodded and simply said, "It is enough."

  * * * * *

  The party watched Duncan facing the gate with mixed expressions of anger and disbelief. They could not see what he saw from their position, but watched as he seemed to gather himself, then take a step through. He vanished in a flash. His departure was so sudden and immediate, it caught most of them by surprise.

  "Inane, useless chatter. He couldn’t be more confusing on purpose," Kisan huffed, clearly exasperated. Then her eyes narrowed and she turned to Silbane, "You captured him because of his knowledge of gates."

  Silbane nodded, still silent, what Duncan had revealed echoing in his mind. The creature known as Scythe was an Aeris lord? His thoughts centered on what the dragons said during his vision, that Azrael would be freed if Valarius was killed. Did this mean Azrael had once bonded to Valarius, just as Scythe had to Duncan? His head swam with the implications, both for Valarius and more acutely, for himself. He turned to Kisan, wonder in his eyes, and said, "There is much more going on here than we know."

  "Such as?" Kisan, it was clear, questioned the release of an asset, and in this case releasing Duncan only added to the variability of outcomes. Kisan couldn’t hide her belief that letting Duncan go was foolhardy.

  For his part, Silbane’s expression grew both more thoughtful and tired. Kisan’s stance didn’t surprise him, it made him weary, and for the first time in his life he hesitated to share everything he knew. The revelations and visions combined to make him doubt his own role.

  Furthermore, if Duncan were to be believed, his true name was not his own. The repercussions of this one small fact was significant, and he did not want to sit here idly speculating while the boys headed into Lilyth’s world alone. More delay put Arek farther from him and potentially in more danger.

  Instead, he offered, "You know I read him. He is consumed with finding his wife and child, though they are centuries dead." He turned and faced Kisan. "He is of more use stirring his havoc away from us, as you know he will." He thought then of the winged creature of smoke and ash he’d seen standing over Duncan and added, "Trust me."

  "Was he lying?" Yetteje interjected herself between the two masters, not moving an inch, her stance both accusing and demanding an answer. "He said they can be saved."

  At first Silbane was confused by the question, his mind still on the vision of Scythe, its crimson eyes radiant below a cinder crown. It was burned into his memory.

  Yetteje clarified, "My father, the others who have died..."

  Comprehension dawned and he nodded to where Duncan had disappeared and answered, "He thinks so, but he is insane."

  "You didn’t answer me. Is my father still alive?" She looked up the pyramid steps now with an intensity that was almost palpable.

  "And the king," added Ash. "Is there a chance we may yet save him?"

  "Piter might be there," Kisan said, but to no one in particular. When no one answered, she walked toward the pyramid steps, never looking back. Kisan had no faith in Duncan, yet Silbane sensed that the seed of saving Piter had been planted and had already begun to take root. Perhaps this was her chance to set all things right, rebalancing the wrongs she perceived done to her apprentice.

  Silbane shifted his gaze from Kisan’s retreating back. He looked at everyone and said, "I am going to save Arek before it’s too late. None of you have to join us." He turned and started walking up the pyramid steps, following the younger master. Any answers he wanted lay beyond the blue sun.

  Ash and Yetteje hurried to follow, the latter supporting the firstmark as he gingerly made his way, trying not to jostle his crushed shoulder and arm. They climbed in silence and before long, all had reached the apex.

  The blue fire of the sun shone more intensely here, the light permeating them utterly. The circle of the Gate also stood open, through which they could see green fields and sunlit waters. The air was crystal clear, with a hint of a gentle spring wind and the smell of green grass and wildflowers.

  "Arek’s touch did not close this." He looked at Kisan and then admitted, "We were wrong."

  Kisan buried her face in her hands and rubbed until the skin was red. When she looked up, it was with determination. She looked at Silbane and her voice took on the keen edge of steel when she answered, "I’ve gotten used to you being wrong."

  Just then a sigh of relief escaped from Ash’s lips. He looked at his shoulder, then rotated his arm, smiling. When he noticed the group looking at him, his expression became more thoughtful.

  Silbane saw the swarm of yellow particles, coalescing like mist, adhering and permeating the armsmark’s shoulder. He knew if he concentrated, he could see the muscle and bone reknit itself under the ministrations of Tempest. The gift of Sight it seemed, had not fled him. Knowing the answer, he still asked, "Healed?"

  Ash nodded, "And not at the expense of anyone else."

  "Useful where we’re going," muttered Kisan.

  Yetteje glanced at Silbane, then quietly asked, "Can you find Arek?"

  Silbane kept his eyes fixed on the Gate and the world behind it. "I think so, and something seems to be driving us forward."

  The princess didn’t hesitate, replying, "Then we’ll rescue them... all of them." She readjusted the runebow and took a step forward.

  Silbane looked back at the group and said, "Let’s pay the Lady a visit."

  With that, the group of four stepped into Lilyth’s Gate and disappeared in a flash of blue and white.

  Journal Entry 26

  Over these past months (years?) you may know me already, but I give you my name, nonetheless.

  You may judge me as you will, for I no longer care what the world or you thinks, for I have found my soul here. When we started this journey together, I pleaded for your understanding and hoped you would judge me less harshly, or laud my efforts. It was a fool’s dream, and I now dream of greater things.

  Today I began a new ritual, a cleansing of myself. It will be an arduous process, a remaking of who I am, through discipline and dedication.

  Through sacrifice, I will begin a new Shaping, one which will bring forth the perfect being, the harbinger of destruction upon the Aeris Lords and others who betrayed me, such as my friends in the Conclave.

  I will raise it from its very first breath to know it is destined for greatness, made from the consummation of flesh and Aeris, and powerful because it is one with the Way. I will create the myths that surround it, the prophecies that define it.

  I wondered once, how do you kill a god?

  My elves gave me the first clue. Sonya brought the second with her, for she is with child. Ritual is key, faith is power, but we are the vessel.

  Through her ultimate sacrifice, I will bring forth a new life and a new myth, born to smite the Aeris, born for one purpose only, vengeance.

  What kills gods? Legends kill gods.

  I will create the legend of a god-killer. Then, I will unleash Him.

  —Valarius Galadine

  Here ends Mythborn, Rise of the Adepts.

  The story will continue in
>
  Mythborn, Bane of the Warforged.

  A preview follows… enjoy!

  DAZRA

  Watch the cubs, but stand clear.

  No quicker death can come,

  When their mother is near.

  - Shornhelm Survivor's Guide

  Jesyn ran through the underbrush, her breathing slow and controlled. She flew past trees, clearing hurdles with bursts of preternatural speed. Her footsteps were light, barely bending the grass where she stepped. She was a black dart, a whisper in the silent night.

  Behind her came three shapes, lethal predators, massive in shape and fixated on their target. She knew they were closing in on her; their labored breathing and pounding hearts gave them away.

  Over the past ten days she and Dragor had ranged their way up the southern coast of Thar, coming ashore at Deeplook. From there they made their way up the land and across the Galadine’s March and to the Summers Pass. It was here that they had encountered their first resistance, dwarven assassins much like those that had attacked and killed Thera and her class of children on the Isle. Discovering their origin required capturing one of these assassins alive. That required cunning, and it was becoming clear, no small amount of luck.

  Jesyn didn’t need to look over her shoulder, but her mouth still twitched into a small smile of anticipation. The full power of a true Adept of the Way coursed through her now. It sang through her wiry frame, filling her body with warmth and energy. Her focus sharpened and she ducked right.

  Three daggers imbedded themselves in the tree limb where her head had just been. They sank to their hilts into the hard wood, but Jesyn didn’t waver. She continued her evasive flight, waiting for the right moment.

  Then Dragor’s voice mindspoke in her head, Now! and she sprang upwards, leaping into the branches above and calling on her flameskin. The Way within her ignited, a flame that at first seeped then blazed from her skin, igniting the dark night in a sudden flash and trail of amethyst fire as she rose like a shooting star. She tucked and somersaulted, her legs snapping out with a dancer’s grace to propel her even further up into the canopy. She knew her pursuers would be tracking her visually now, a tactical mistake. She had gone up for a reason.

  The sound of a bough breaking alerted her to Dragor’s attack. She spun around the trunk she had been passing and extinguished her flameskin, crouching like a panther. The scene dropped to sudden blackness, but her heightened vision could easily pick out her former master as he struck the group following her.

  The sudden decapitation of the first assassin was clue enough that they had never seen Dragor coming. The assassins' choice to follow Jesyn up into the trees had forced them to move lightly and not use their obdurate shieldrock on their skin. A second, more costly mistake they had counted on.

  Jesyn vaulted from her position, arrowing towards the remaining two as they turned to deal with this new threat from Dragor. With her flameskin extinguished they had lost track of her. That was their third and soon to be final mistake. Life seldom gave you so many chances and still let you live.

  She struck the lead man, snapping his head back with an elbow and then following with an open palm strike to his unarmored midsection. The blow detonated against the lead assassin’s stomach, shattering his spine through his body in a flash of purple fire. She could hear Dragor taking on the third, their target for capture, but her attention stayed focused on her opponent.

  Even as he crumpled forward, Jesyn came down on the back of his head with the point of her elbow, crushing his skull and driving his body downward. His impact on the forest floor created a shockwave of force outward, a radial pattern with the assassin’s lifeless body painting its center in a bloody splash.

  She looked up in time to see Dragor strike his opponent with an open palm to the face. The blow was non-lethal, driving him down to slam into the base of the tree. Before he could react, the dark-skinned adept moved like a sky serpent, pinning the man’s arms against the trunk and making his way quickly behind.

  "Jesyn!" she heard him say, and knew already what he wanted. His part was to immobilize the man quickly using a thin rope they had for that purpose. She needed to secure the various poisons they had found on the bodies of those killed during earlier attacks.

  She burst forward, striking the man’s stomach to stun him further, then ripping off his belt and the vials and weapons it contained in one smooth motion. She could hear Dragor’s even breath and felt the man’s arms pulled tight, no doubt secured by the other adept even as his legs gave way. The assassin slid forward semi-conscious.

  A breath, then a sigh, and Dragor appeared from behind the trunk looking no worse for the wear. "Good work," he said. "You’re getting better every day."

  "Thanks…" The word, master, lay at the tip of her tongue, unspoken. A hard habit to break now that she had attained the rank of adept.

  Dragor nodded and if sensing her thoughts and said, "Wait till you have an apprentice calling you, ‘master’. Talk about uncomfortable," he added with a small laugh.

  Jesyn smiled in return, then turned her attention to the man they had captured. He was dressed in the same black uniform as those who had attacked their isle. She grabbed the blue-lensed mask and ripped it off, revealing the face beneath. Then she stepped back and let Dragor take over.

  The elder adept inspected the man, then simply said, "Water."

  Jesyn unhooked a small bag from her belt and handed it over. She watched as Dragor grabbed the end and squeezed, squirting the man’s bloodied face. The sudden cold had the desired effect, and the assassin coughed and spat, sputtering to consciousness.

  Dragor stepped forward and placed a finger on the man’s forehead, pinning his head against the tree. A small spark of purple flashed at the connection, a sign that the mindread had begun.

  Jesyn knew Dragor would be doing two things. First, he’d lock the man’s muscles down so that he did not struggle. It had become clear to them both that these massive dwarves were many times stronger than they were. Second, he’d try and get any information on Dawnlight or the attack on their isle. Getting that information was vital, and left them only this one desperate choice. Jesyn knew she was not powerful enough to carry out the mindread, at least not yet.

  It was a calculated risk, for while Dragor could do it, he was not as powerful as Silbane or Kisan. He could not dwell as long nor read as deeply as they could, and the effort would drain him utterly. This would leave Jesyn in charge of their defense. If more of these assassins chose to attack, she would be on her own. Still, they decided this was a necessary risk, and Jesyn knew she would need to be diligent in order to safeguard them once Dragor finished.

  She watched as both men’s breathing slowed and became synchronized. He would be past the muscle locks now, and diving deeper, sifting for information. Jesyn took a breath and stepped back, her duty to provide security clear. Still, the act of mindreading fascinated her and she found her attention kept wandering back to Dragor and the man, locked now together in what could only be the interrogation. What power over another, she marveled, to be able to read their very thoughts?

  Then, as quickly as it had begun, it was over. Dragor released the man and stepped back, then staggered to one knee. Jesyn moved forward to catch him and ease him down.

  "He’s held," the elder adept stammered, "he can’t break free any time soon."

  "Did you find where they are from?" This was vital, the reason they had risked so much.

  Dragor nodded and tried to say something, but the words came out in an unintelligible mumble. Jesyn cursed, then laid him down. They knew it would be several hours before he would recover. For his part, their prisoner lay slumped against the tree, clearly in no better shape than Dragor.

  Jesyn sat back, thinking. Once Dragor regained consciousness, their plan was to make their way to whatever location he had found. So far, any assassins they had been tracking always ended up moving northwest, towards the Dawnlight Mountains. If he had uncovered the lost city’s l
ocation, it would make the next part of their reconnaissance much easier.

  She wondered for a moment if expending the energy to contact the Lore Father would be justified, but quickly discarded the idea. With Dragor down, one of them needed to be combat ready. She let out another sigh and began to get up. Instantly, the hairs on the back of her neck stood out, and she knew she had been surrounded.

  "Don’t move, lass. You’re dangerous. We won’t hesitate."

  The voice was deep and coming from behind her. How had they gotten so close?

  "Easy, we’re after the same thing."

  Jesyn rose slowly, her senses casting out, but could feel nothing. She knew this was a practical impossibility since every living thing existed and echoed within the Way. Yet she still felt nothing.

  She saw them then, dozens watching her silently from the trees, all holding cover. Her confused mind raced, how could she still not sense them? Wait, she remembered, she had felt this before, this hole in the Way. It was back on the Isle when she was near Arek. For some reason, the realization filled her with dread.

  She licked her lips and replied, "The same thing?" Finding a way out of this would take time, and that meant delaying.

  "We’ve been tracking you for days. Turn around, slowly."

  Jesyn turned, her hands raised. She heard a metallic clink, then a spark lit a torch, flooding the area in warm yellow light. Her eyes automatically compensated, but now she could see the face that belonged to the voice more clearly, and it was dwarven. Instantly she fell into a combat stance, her head swiveling about. The glint from the razor-sharp tips of crossbow bolts caught the torchlight, all aimed unerringly at her.

  "Easy!" He held up his massive arms. "These blacknights you fought are my enemy too."