Mythborn III_Dark Ascension

by V. Lakshman

  The man sounded almost hungry and Arek tried again to summon the blackfire, but whatever he did soaked downward and into the black wood beneath him. Yetteje came to mind as his eyes grew heavy.

  Valarius leaned in and said in a voice pitched so that only their party could hear, “Why do you think our weapons eradicate the Aeris?” He smiled and then added conspiratorially, “Faith. Because we believe they will, and that is the Aeris’s weakness. They become what we believe and nothing gives stronger belief than faith. But that faith must be truly earned with acts of myth and legend. Join me, and I will give you the means to defend Edyn from the demon queen and her lies.”

  “Join you?” cried Silbane. “After you’ve attacked us?” He stepped forward but Valarius held up a hand and Silbane was lifted off the floor. Without any purchase, he couldn’t walk.

  Valarius looked at the rest and said, “Do not attempt me. I’m not as weak as Duncan, a puerile and miserable dog of a man. If you think we are cut of the same cloth because ‘archmage’ is a title we once shared, know that I have survived where none other has. I will eradicate you with less than a thought, and think nothing of it later. And Arek will still be mine.”

  Helios and Orion had staggered over to kneel on either side of Arek and Brianna, carefully checking her wound as much as they could, shielding them both with their wings. Arek felt something cool pressed onto his forearm, probably by Brianna, but he couldn’t tell. She tried to say something but it came out a mumble.

  Then his mind cleared and he realized he’d been shot. Somehow Brianna had managed to affix a patch to his skin, but the bolt was still there. His mind had regained enough clarity to know what had happened. This part of Avalyon, Arek’s thoughts finally pieced together, must be like him—a place that absorbed the Way. Before he did anything else, he looked at Helios and said, “Put a patch on her.”

  He dimly saw Helios comply, his meaty fingers scattering patches from Brianna’s pouch before picking one up and slapping it onto her neck. Arek hoped it would be enough because he didn’t know how the metal tube worked. He waited, shaking in anger and frustration, one hand still clutching at his stomach and trying to staunch the bleeding.

  “You’re not allowed to die on me,” he whispered fiercely to Brianna, “we’re not done yet.”

  That they’d been betrayed by Lilyth and sent here to die was certain now. The only logical reason would be that his presence here on Avalyon was necessary. Wait! How could Valarius possess him, unless . . . Arek’s eyes traveled up the archmage’s form. When all else is proven false, what’s left must be true. If Valarius could possess Arek, that could only mean he was Aeris and needed a body to leave Arcadia. Lilyth must’ve known this, and perhaps sought the death of Arek and Valarius. He shook his head and let out a small laugh, sounding weak even to himself. That the two Watchers had been sent to their deaths might mean Thoth had also been part of the duplicity, just as Valarius claimed.

  A sudden flash of light from the gate drew everyone’s attention. A lone elf stood there, blood spattered and beaten, but her eyes burned with clear intent. She looked around uncomprehendingly at first, until she spotted the highlord. In a voice pitched for all to hear she said, “We succeeded! A Galadine holds the line. Bara’cor calls for our aid!”

  Valarius gestured and Silbane dropped from the air as black tendrils of sticky liquid erupted from the floor, engulfing the small party and quickly winding around their ankles and legs, pulling everyone prostrate like supplicants. Wherever the liquid touched it hardened, encasing its victim in a black wood as hard as iron.

  Silbane was the last to be captured, chopping and shattering wood as he tried to make his way to Valarius, but not quickly enough to matter. Soon, he too fell heavily onto his knees, beaten by the living wood and exhausted by the room’s hunger.

  Arek was in no shape to do much except lie on his back and feel the black wood slowly cover his limbs, winding around him like an obsidian snake. Blood flowed out of him with each pump of his heart and his vision started to grow darker.

  “Gabreyl,” Valarius said, “it is time.”

  Arek turned his head and saw the archangel that had accompanied them land lightly near the opening of the gate, which was now liquid red and boiling. The entire thing reminded him of fresh blood.

  “You know I’ve loved you the most,” Valarius said to a kneeling Gabreyl, stroking his face.

  The archangel smiled up at the highlord and replied, “I am honored to serve my people as sacrifice.”

  The party could only watch helplessly as Valarius drew a blade and sliced cleanly through the archangel’s neck. A flash of power, and Gabreyl’s wound spurted bright crimson into the waiting pattern on the floor. That pattern lit with fire and led to the gate itself, and when that fire touched the gate, a silent implosion took place. Arek felt it down to his very bones.

  When the flash ended they saw figures huddled on the other side with a lone body kneeling before the gate, obviously dead. A man detached himself, no doubt having noticed the change and stepped through the clear, liquid-like wall that separated them.

  Arek blinked once, recognizing King Galadine of Bara’cor, then his fading awareness was pulled by a hand squeezing his leg. He barely heard Niall scream, “Father!”

  He looked down and was amazed to see the pale eyes of his own father looking back at him, clear of pain. Blood still caked his face and neck, but it was dried blood on whole skin. The torc was gone, eaten away by Arek’s blackfire. Beneath the loose collar of his robe the patch now glowed a soft green, just as Brianna had promised.

  The red mage let out a small laugh filled with pain, a wild glint in his eyes. One word was forced out, driven by torture and misery.

  “Vengeance!” Duncan’s command, now free as the torc had fallen away, echoed with power across the domed room.

  A blinding light flashed at the blood gate, and through it and past the shocked King of Bara’cor, strode a monstrosity made of blood, flesh, and bone. It moved slowly but with purpose, its bone shards glistening with the promise of ripping flesh and crushing bone.

  Duncan looked up at it and said, “Kill every fucking elf you see.”

  Vengeance

  Hell hath never dismissed a morsel so savory

  as the sweet taste of vengeance earned.

  - Rai’kesh, The Lens of Leadership

  N

  iall stood aghast as the blood gholem let out a scream of rage and hunger, then slammed into the elves like a living battering ram, striking with jagged spurs made for killing. It was a juggernaut of misery and pain, brutally inflicting the same on any elf within reach. Like a dam breaking, the hall erupted with the screams of battle joined. Bodies flew like ragdolls, and with each strike blood flowed up what looked like invisible veins, only to appear as glistening white bone, growing in protective plates. Bone armor grew to cover exposed flesh, the spurs along its fists and arms lengthened.

  Valarius looked in Duncan’s direction with murder in his eyes, then signaled to Niall. Before he could say anything the gholem smashed the ground, cracking the direwood near the elven highlord.

  “Niall! Take the cohort and protect your father! We will reinforce you!”

  Niall nodded, then moved forward. Discipline reigned as the elves not defending Valarius or engaging Vengeance ran for the gate and King of Bara’cor, who’d emerged from the other side at Sparrow’s heraldic call. Niall watched his father standing wide-eyed in amazement as five hundred elves streamed to defend the portal at a clipped double march.

  Then the king’s eyes strayed down the long column line to finally come to rest on Niall, who could immediately tell his father didn’t recognize him. A flutter in his stomach made him hesitate, but only for a moment. Then he ran forward and said, “Father!”

  His father stumbled back a step, his mouth agape as he looked up and down, drinking in the sight him, armor, wings, skin . . . Niall knew it would be a lot to take. After what seemed like an eternity but was likely only
a few heartbeats, Bernal said, “Niall?”

  He looked lost and for a moment Niall wondered what would happen, but the king’s eyes softened and then smiled and said, “I’m going to catch the Lady’s”—he seemed to catch himself—“the wrath of your mother. You’d better think of something good to say.”

  Niall smiled back, then hugged his father fiercely. The man felt so small! Yet, tears came to his eyes as he could feel the warmth and enthusiasm of his hug returned with a tightening of his father’s arms. The sight of him, and hearing his mother was safe, was almost too much to bear. Then Niall stepped back and wiped his face.

  “Of course. We’ll take care of freeing Bara’cor and then send a messenger to Haven.”

  The king arched an eyebrow. “Oh, I think it’ll be before that.” The king looked meaningfully at the gate then back at his son. “You’d better think of something quick.”

  Niall turned to the gate, realizing what his father meant. Oh, gods. Mother is here!

  Trepidation quickly tempered his excitement as the reality of what he’d have to explain hit him. He was about to say something when elves behind them shouted. Vengeance had pushed forward, laying waste to the phalanx protecting their backs, decimating the front ranks. The creature quickly approached Niall and his column.

  Niall’s blade cleared its scabbard with the pure peal of fine steel. Zedakai strode forward with another group of elves and joined Niall and his father. He looked back at the king and said, “Your father would’ve been proud.” Zedakai’s gaze went quickly to the body of Gabreyl, still kneeling in death. “Very proud.”

  The king followed his gaze, but clearly did not make the connection. Niall rested a hand on his father’s shoulder, noting the strangeness he felt in looking down at a man who’d always loomed over him and said, “This is Zedakai Galadine. The rest are here, and—” Niall paused and looked at the dead elf near the gate “—that was once Gabreyl.”

  If it was possible, the king managed to look even more shocked. Niall watched him look at the dead elf without approaching, and for the first time he could recall, the expression his father wore was . . . fear.

  The king shut his eyes, shook his head, then said, “I’ll remember my father as he was in life. That, at least, cannot be taken away.” He opened his eyes and looked directly at Zedakai. After a moment, he said, “These warriors will do much to save Bara’cor. Thank you both.”

  The ancient pater of the Galadine kings gave Bernal a short nod, then drew his blade and said, “Let’s do what we do best.” He then fell into line next to Niall, screaming to the elves to reform, just as Vengeance struck.

  Niall could feel the strong arm of his father on his right and Zedakai on his left, and though the sights and sounds of elves being smashed and killed by this monstrosity in the past would have paralyzed him with fear, a smile found its way onto his face.

  He couldn’t think of a time he’d been happier in his entire life.

  * * * * *

  Duncan managed to blast away part of the black wood weakened by his blood gholem’s attack. The creature absorbed energy from living things, giving it an edge against the draw of the direwood. Duncan now knew what the enchanted wood was, but also knew his gholem would be safe only so long as it kept killing. Then Vengeance screamed and began pummeling the black wood, some instinct guiding it to attack that which stole the life energy that was rightfully the gholem’s to feast upon. The shattering of the direwood had another effect, weakening its draw on Duncan’s powers, letting him use a bit more of the Way.

  Pulling himself free of the floor’s grasp he made his way over to Arek. The boy did not look good, his skin pale with blood loss and the direwood entwining farther up his legs and arms. Duncan could not see a way to free the boy without attacking the wood physically and perhaps harming his son further.

  Duncan caught a glimpse of a phalanx of elves attempting to overwhelm the creature and smiled. That would never work, but it seemed Valarius was using this to keep the creature contained. The highlord gestured, commanding the direwood itself, and spikes shot up from the floor, piercing the gholem repeatedly. One went through a leg, anchoring it while more stabbed through its body. A winged elf led the phalanx in a renewed attack, chopping at the bone and flesh, confident the creature had been stopped by their highlord.

  The gholem bellowed with rage and twisted its massive body, shattering the shards impaling it. It then grabbed an elf and used it like a mace, clubbing others around it in a grotesque show of force. More blood flowed and the gholem’s healing pushed any remaining shards of direwood out. The creature dropped its head and charged for Valarius, intent on smashing the archmage into a pulp.

  It had become clear none could cast an offensive spell within the trap Valarius had devised, but the highlord still held command of the direwood itself. He spread his hands, fingers up and more sharp shards stabbed through the gholem’s legs, by the hundreds, slowing it down by their sheer numbers. The creature smashed through them, only to be attacked by two winged elves coming to their highlord’s aid.

  A sound—a single tone—pierced Duncan’s ear. The patch on the dwarven woman had gone red, with a line racing across its face. Compared with his own, which glowed green and showed a line that jumped in time with his heartbeat, the patch clearly showed she was nearly dead.

  Some memory of his treatment while suspended by the wood gholems prompted him to lean over and grab the metal tube that half lay in the woman’s hand. He pushed the open end into her patch and heard a hiss. Hopefully whatever she gave him would be good for her too. He knew enough to know he couldn’t remove the bolt or she’d bleed out, so he hoped the magic of the patch would be enough to keep her alive. Suddenly something made the woman’s entire body jump, an arching spasm that subsided a moment later. The patch turned from red to amber, and the line was now jumping erratically as it raced across its face. He turned his attention back to the battle, knowing he was at the limit of what he could do for either Arek or the dwarven woman. If they lived, it would be because they themselves refused to die.

  His gholem stood, a hundred razor-like shards of direwood piercing its body, holding it in place. Before it could turn and rip itself free, Valarius pulled his hands apart and the direwood exploded. Pieces of blood gholem rained in every direction, no part bigger than a finger. The direwood had been destroyed in a sizable area to achieve this, causing a ripple effect across the entire great hall.

  Then the direwood holding the party let go. It pulled away like a living liquid and soaked back into the obsidian floor. Duncan looked down then came to a decision. He knelt and placed his hands on Arek, skin to skin. Perhaps the boy’s ability to draw energy would help him survive, and if that were true, Duncan would gladly give him whatever he could.

  At contact he felt the world tilt, a dizzying sense of vertigo, and he found his head now lying next to Arek’s own. The boy’s eyes were closed, but Duncan focused, trying to memorize every part of his son’s face as his world slowly went dim.

  * * * * *

  Silbane stood slowly, every move lethargic and heavy. He looked at Orion and Helios and said, “Take to the air. Perhaps you’ll be drained less.” The two Watchers nodded and leapt up, their motions desperate and tired. He then turned to Yetteje and asked, “Does Valor work?”

  The princess drew back on the string and a faint arrow appeared, though it was nothing like the blazing arrows Valor had conjured in the past. She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

  “You’ve trained with a blade?”

  Yetteje nodded and said, “Tir Combat Academy.”

  The master nodded. “You’ll need a weapon for that flower-cut you all love to throw so much,” Silbane said, picking up a sword and tossing it to her. He winked at the princess.

  Yetteje caught it deftly and replied, “Still is better than anything I’ve seen you do.”

  Silbane couldn’t help but laugh.

  “Agreed, and I’m starting to get annoyed.” His expressi
on grew somber as he looked down on his unconscious young apprentice.

  “Look after Arek, I’ve had enough of this.”

  Yetteje nodded, “Don’t worry.”

  Silbane shrugged, “I’m not good at much else.”

  Then he shot off for the nexus of battle on foot, conserving every ounce of energy he had left by not changing form.

  He raced past an elf, killing it with a strike to the throat. Six approached with weapons drawn, and fell skewered by shining feather blades raining down from above. He looked up in silent thanks to Orion and Helios, who now carved a path for him towards the Galadine archmage, thinning the elven ranks before they could overwhelm his forward progress with their sheer numbers. His energy was low, but he knew he could conserve it by bringing his training to bear. Annoyed was a good word to describe how he felt. They would see what facing a Master of the Way truly meant.

  He jumped over another warrior and picked up a spear. Rolling, he threw it behind him, knowing without looking it had gone through the elf’s neck. There was only one way to get free of this place and that would be to slay Valarius. Silbane’s eyes narrowed as he ducked under a sword slash and killed the elf behind the sword wielder with a hardened fist to the sternum, then spun and kicked the elf with the sword in the back of the head. Both dropped like puppets on strings, shattered and dead.

  More feather blades fell as Orion and Helios cut a path for him to the archmage. He was almost there when a voice in his head said, Stop!

  Kisan! Silbane spun just in time to dive out of the way of one of her feather blades, aimed directly at the small of his back.

  She landed between Valarius and Silbane and changed form. “You’re going to let him take Arek.”

  Silbane cocked his head at that and said, “What?”

  Valarius must have overheard this. He smiled and ordered one of his elven marks, “Reinforce Niall. Take a second cohort through. Quickly.”