Mythborn III_Dark Ascension

by V. Lakshman

  Dragon’s Offer

  “Diplomacy: The art of letting someone have your way.”

  Argus Rillaran, The Power of Deceit

  S

  ai’ken moved quickly, angling upward through Dawnlight. Tunnels sped by in a blur, but her destination was a room near the centerline of the peak, a place where she would make her final offer, or her final stand. She could sense the guardians moving, their power displacing the Way as clearly as a thrown stone created ripples in water. It was not hard to follow their progress, nor to feel trepidation as they neared. After all, she was not a Rai and combat was not her strength.

  She burst through the last set of corridors and into the wide open space she’d sensed before. The builders and adepts had served their purpose, getting her into the mountain before Sovereign acted in earnest. Now her skills as a Sai would be tested to their fullest.

  She found a comfortable spot and curled up, tucking her nose under her hind leg, and waited. It was not long before four guardians, then eight appeared, hulking brutes standing as tall as her father in his dragon form. They had rock skin, roughly hewn from the mountain and given life by Dawnlight. Their eyes burned yellow, like the molten fire of the earth from whence they were forged.

  A dark form appeared, slowly coalescing in the chamber. It moved forward, becoming more real as it stepped down a set of stones to come before her. Her dragonsight could see what a normal person could not, that the thing before her had grown into a man-shaped creature with a crown upon its head. She looked to the left and right and saw herself surrounded now by guardians, each a mirror copy of the one next to it. She watched them, knowing any move she made would only result in her death. Already the tunnel exits had closed. There was no escape unless she won it through diplomacy or guile.

  The figure enrobed in black seemed to smile. “The Conclave sacrifices one of their own, a Sai no less. To what do I owe such generosity?”

  Sai’ken transformed, becoming again the girl. She moved forward and knelt, bowing her head. “I greet thee, Sovereign, and bear a message from the stewards of Edyn.”

  “A messenger with a message. How apt,” Sovereign’s dark figure said. “Speak, for I am curious as to what solicits such brazenness.”

  Sai’ken nodded, then said, “I can tender thee the king of the builders and his most trusted allies. In addition, two more Adepts of the Way. Together, they are some of the last of those who might resist thee.

  “I also tender our service again, provided thou wouldst agree it will continue after the world is remade.”

  That gave Sovereign pause. He tilted his head down, as if considering something, then switched to the tongue of the dragons and said, “And what dost thou ask for in return?”

  “We want Armun Dreys released,” she said.

  There was silence at that. Then the crowned specter of Sovereign said, “Wherefore?”

  “He kens the lore of the Phoenix Stone, something—”

  “I will need to remake the world,” Sovereign completed.

  Sai’ken nodded. “It was lost in the Shattered Sea, but Armun couldst help us locate it.”

  “And having done so, what willst thou do with the Stone?” asked Sovereign.

  “We will gift it unto thee.”

  Sovereign grew, rising until he looked down upon her. He raised a single finger. “And thy king will take the Oath for all dragonkind?”

  “He hath empowered me to do so, and I speak for them all.”

  Sovereign bent forward, as if inspecting her soul, then stood. “Thou will take the Oath, and tender thyself and thy brethren to mine service again?”

  “Willst thou gift me Armun, and let him journey with me to recover the Stone?” Silence reigned as Sai’ken knelt before the dark being towering over her. She knew the risk, but the dragonkind understood their duty was to Edyn first. Hopefully, Sovereign felt the same way.

  Finally, Sovereign said, “Agreed.”

  “Then I say to thou, by the hand of Sovereign, mine Maker, and in return for the gifting of Armun Dreys, we bind all dragonkind to thee. Our Oath, we will cause no harm to befall thee, either through our actions or inaction.” Sai’ken reached down and sliced herself open with one nail against her palm, cupping the blood and offering it to Sovereign.

  Sovereign leaned forward and said, “Mine Oath, in return for releasing Armun Dreys and pledging thee and thine to continue to serve the new world of mine making, the dragonkind will serve me faithfully from this day forth.” He held his hand forward and a black mist fell from his outstretched palm to fall upon the cupped blood of the dragon.

  A blinding flash of yellow surrounded them, slowly fading as the Way bound Sai’ken and every dragon upon Edyn to the service of the Oath she’d just taken. When it was done, Sovereign looked down and said, “You ken breaking thy word will consign thee and thine to oblivion.”

  Sai’ken nodded, but said nothing. Instead, she pulled out a single dwarven finger sliced cleanly from the hand and tossed it on the ground in front of her. “The blood carries the marker identifying those who hath infiltrated Dawnlight. As agreed, we offer them as part of our bargain. We art thine to command, our Sovereign.”

  There was silence at that, then Sovereign gestured and the floor parted. From that open space rose an illuminated glass casket within which was a man suspended in a clear liquid. Sai’ken rose and moved over to inspect the casket and the man inside. He did not look alive, but Sai’ken knew better. She could hear his heart beating slowly. He looked young, the same age as when she’d seen him last. She took on her dragon form and hefted the casket easily under one arm, then turned back to Sovereign. She closed her eyes and bowed. “I thank thee.”

  Sovereign inclined his head to her, then gestured to the finger, which floated up into his waiting palm. The blood within it came out in a cloud of red, hanging motionless in the air. Then he looked at his guardians and said, “Take those who scurry below and bring them to me.”

  He looked back at Sai’ken and said, “Thee and thy brethren will sit at mine right hand in the world remade. Rejoice! Thee hast done well, daughter of Edyn.” A hole opened in the ceiling, with clear blue skies visible high above.

  The young dragon didn’t say anything, just bowed again and leapt up with the casket in her arms. She flew into the clear blue heavens beckoning from above. In a moment, Dawnlight became a small angular shape far below, as she arrowed west across the open skies.

  * * * * *

  Dazra moved quickly, sometimes half inside or outside a wall as he followed his second. He’d thought Dragor would lead but the man seemed happy to be silent, taking a secondary role, deferring to either him or Gedeon. Perhaps he’d been too hard on the adept, Dazra thought. They’d stayed within the tunnels so far because of Dragor’s inability to phase. For the most part, it didn’t bother the dwarven leader since they were acting as bait. He’d rather meet Sovereign’s forces in open air spaces than be encumbered with unknown powers they might wield when ensconced in rock.

  Gedeon held up a hand and they all came to a stop. He looked around, tilting his head as if listening. Dazra put a hand on the wall and listened too. His eyes were drawn upward. Something big was coming.

  “Defensive!” said Gedeon, sinking into the ground.

  Though he had no love for him, Dazra didn’t want to leave the adept by himself, so he drew two short blades and moved closer. Naph turned and faced the way they’d come, a heavy short blade in one hand.

  Gedeon flew out of the tunnel floor and hit the ceiling, falling down and bouncing painfully. He left behind a bloody print where his nose had smashed into the rock.

  Wait, Dazra thought, what happened to our phase? He stretched out his hand and felt the firm and unyielding surface of stone. They’d been discovered! His entats weren’t working.

  “We’ve got to pull back, they’ve found us!” he said.

  Gedeon was pulling himself up when a meaty fist swung out from within the wall and caught him in the chest, smash
ing him up against the ceiling. His limp form fell, only to be encased in a globe of stone.

  Naph moved forward with a scream and struck the fist but his blade skittered and sparked off its knuckles. The tunnel they were in widened, as if pulled apart by hands until it was a semicircular opening. Standing before them were two guardians, one holding Gedeon in the stone globe, the other coming for Naph.

  The warrior dodged a swipe from the creature and tried to strike it again, but the blade did the same thing, sparking off the obsidian skin without even marring its surface. Then a fist caught Naph and he went down in a tumble, unconscious or dead, Dazra couldn’t tell.

  The dwarven leader backed up and looked at Dragor. The man just stood there, looking slack-jawed and useless.

  “Get out of here!” he screamed, even as he rolled out of the way of a granite fist that blasted pulverized stone dust into the air.

  The adept just looked at him until a fist caught Dragor’s body. Dazra was sure there would be nothing but pulp left, but when the guardian’s fist touched the adept he disappeared in a flash, as if he’d never been there at all.

  Illusion! Dazra gaped at the space the fake Dragor had been standing within. But if he isn’t with us, then where?

  The dwarven leader didn’t have time to find out. Even as he turned, a fist came directly for him, opening into a globe of rock that seemed to take up all the space left in the cavern. As the blackness enveloped him, Dazra’s last thought was to hope that whatever happened, Tarin made it to safety.

  A Keeper’s End

  All tailors in Westbay know that

  before a garment is finished,

  one must tie up the loose ends.

  Alain the Farflung, A Guide to Westbay

  L

  ilyth’s eyes glistened with tears of joy as she watched the sparkle of fire. Avalyon burned like an orange star, like an ember trailing black smoke across the dusk sky. She knew her forces were driving Valarius’s elite like a herd of sheep through the portal to Bara’cor, where her final trap lay.

  “Good news, I take it,” muttered Thoth, squinting into the sky alongside her.

  Lilyth didn’t turn, but instead said, “The portal to Bara’cor is closed.”

  Thoth’s eyes widened, “How do you know?”

  Lilyth regarded him from beneath a raised eyebrow. Had Thoth been looking at her instead of Avalyon, he’d have seen her contempt.

  She took a moment to contemplate the imbecile standing beside her before saying, “I’m waiting for word on the fate of Valarius.” Then she turned back to the sight of the elven city ablaze in the night sky, hugging herself, hoping against hope that the highlord was dead. She thought about reaching out to Alion, but the undead magehunter had a specific task and interrupting her now would not help. It was a lesson she’d learned long ago. Never manage what has been delegated to underlings, or you risk putting yourself at their level.

  Alion would succeed and be rewarded, or fail and earn whatever the Lady had in mind, but the queensmark would never be able to say either outcome did not fall squarely on her shoulders alone.

  The double doors to her throne room opened and in strode Mithras, wreathed in the holy sunfire that was his to control. He went to a knee immediately, putting Tempest point down and pulling the flames in so that only his skin shone golden, as if the sun never set on him.

  “You succeeded?”

  “I do not like retreating,” the once-Altan warlord and now Fury said, “but I drove the curs mewling like kittens to the portal. Did they go through?”

  “They did,” Lilyth said, “and sent reinforcements back into Bara’cor to hold against your fearsome return.”

  “Valarius’s chosen warriors?” asked Mithras.

  Lilyth smiled, her eyes alight with pleasure. “His very best.”

  “Then you have succeeded,” concluded Mithras with a smile. He appraised her with a look Lilyth had seen a thousand times in men’s eyes. “You have the cunning mind of a wife I once cherished,” he said in a deep voice.

  “And because I’m so happy, I will not kill you for what lies behind that look,” replied Lilyth. She walked past him as he put his head to the floor in apology.

  “And neither will I, beloved,” muttered Tempest, though Lilyth wasn’t sure who exactly the blade was talking to.

  “What are you planning?” asked Thoth, having retreated back to the throne room from the open window.

  “Valarius and Avalyon are only part of our problem, Keeper,” replied Lilyth. She made a small gesture and Mithras got up and moved to stand at the lowest step of her dais. “Defeating Valarius doesn’t free us to act.”

  “What then, is left?” questioned the older man. He leaned on his staff and said, “I’m impressed with the way in which you’ve orchestrated the downfall of Avalyon.”

  Lilyth nodded in thanks, then said, “We must escape Arcadia.”

  Thoth’s countenance reflected his confusion. “Escape?”

  “Arek’s minions have expanded beyond my ability to contain. Our only hope is to flee.”

  “But you said you had them controlled! We cannot survive there, not without bodies,” exclaimed the keeper.

  “Arcadia dies, consumed by the nephilim, as do those within Arcadia who use the Way. For those left in Edyn, the Way will be more powerful. Our people can survive there without bodies now, even walk the world again. Still, there will be bodies aplenty to be had, and by that action our world will be unified.”

  She nodded to Mithras, then said, “Life amongst those who worship us has always been our goal. I cannot have the Conclave oppose me, and our next step will require the permission of a keeper. Will you help us negotiate a peace?”

  Thoth looked down, thoughtful. “I think that will be diff—”

  Tempest emerged from his chest, driven in by Mithras, who had come up behind the keeper. The blade said, “Sleep, old one, the Lady reclaims your duties. Your services are no longer . . . wanted.”

  Thoth looked down, his eyes glazing over, then back up at Lilyth.

  “Why?”

  “Why not?” she replied. “The world needs a new keeper, one that can complete the ritual of the Phoenix Stone. I am that, for I have always been the light of lore.”

  The keeper gasped, his mouth working as though he wanted to say more. No sounds came out, and Mithras aped him, opening and closing his mouth in time with the keeper’s . Then the Aeris lord pulled out the blade. The old man staggered forward a few steps, then fell to his knees. The sunlord fell next to him, still pantomiming his slow death for the amusement of those gathered.

  Lilyth let out a delicate laugh as she watched the keeper die, then turned to her second-in-command. “Leave him be and prepare for transition. Once we are in place, you will hunt down the elves. There’s still no margin for error, but we wait for Baalor’s signal.”

  “At once, Lady,” Mithras regained his feet and bowed.

  “He tasted delicious,” said Tempest in a husky voice, “much better than I remember.”

  Lilyth smiled and said, “And there will be more to feast upon as we forge a new world, sister—a world free of the Sovereign, the Conclave, dwarves, elves, and even the accursed dragons.” She turned back to watch the orange star that had once been Avalyon continue to sparkle as it descended.

  “We will create an everlasting Edyn, a godshome whose people shall worship us eternally under our watchful and loving embrace.”

  Opposite of Fear

  Thus what is most important in combat,

  is not the fighting, but to create doubt.

  Use violence to dismantle your opponent’s courage.

  Use silence to break down his contentment.

  This is the birth of fear . . .

  Kensei Tsao, The Lens of Blades

  Y

  ou can’t win,” Kisan said, moving to Arek’s left, “and that means your father dies.”

  Arek shrugged and said, “With the blood gate closed the only person who knows h
ow to get us home is Duncan.” The simple statement had its desired effect.

  The black-bladed master muttered a curse, then looked at Ash and said, “Why not step back from this fight? Duncan is protected and so is the princess.” She looked like she was trying to smile, but was unable to maintain the mask, which gave way to something worse: a dead look in her eyes devoid of any emotion or light over what resembled a grimace.

  Arek had seen this look before, usually when Kisan prepared for missions at the Isle. Now her true self showed from beneath the veneer she’d used to fool others. Their gazes met and Kisan shrugged as if she understood what Arek had divined, that most if not all of her outward emotions were fake. “I just don’t care enough anymore,” she said to no one in particular.

  Arek nodded, acknowledging that. Then he said, “I’d be happy to take you on alone.”

  “And leave me to deal with her if you fall?” Ash asked. “Not going to happen.” The firstmark stepped forward, his blade still pointing at a spot right between Kisan’s eyes, “And, I do have some payback,” he said, tapping his own stomach where Kisan had run him through.

  The master gave them a dark smile. “Everyone really wants to die today.”

  Yetteje stepped forward and said, “Can’t we unite? We’re not free of here yet and Edyn needs us.” She looked at Kisan, “Not just me, all of us.”

  Arek shook his head and dropped into a combat stance. “Stay out of it, Tej.”

  Ash quickly seconded that with, “He’s right, we’ll just get in each other’s way.”

  “Honorable to the end, even if it means three against one,” quipped Kisan, crossing her black blades in front of her body.

  Ash smiled, “If you’re playing the defenseless damsel card, we’re not buying.” He arched an eyebrow, and Arek could tell he was trying to bait her, getting her to commit. He was about to say it was useless, but the master cut him off.

  Kisan moved swiftly. She didn’t attack any of the three arrayed before her, but instead threw a brace of feather blades at Duncan, still lying back in exhaustion against the pedestal base.