Mythborn

by Lakshman, V.

  Arek recalled with perfect clarity how the silver one had tucked under his wing, then spun and brought the razor sharp tips of his other wing down to spike a nephilim into the ground, before ripping it apart with a casual flick. No move had been wasted, no counter missed. He reminded himself to make sure he did not underestimate these Watchers should he face them in battle, despite Cainan’s derision. They were too dangerous to dismiss.

  “The Lady’s Blades,” Cainan’s voice floated in from off to his right. Something like an undercurrent of anticipation colored the soft declaration.

  Arek guessed and asked, “Your men?”

  He could almost imagine Cainan nodding as the voice drifted back with anticipation, “Some… a small company led by Brutus. They will be useful.”

  Arek thought about what his creations were about to do to these unsuspecting Furies and a small smile lifted the corners of his mouth. He tracked down the ravine to the point where they would come closest to his position, then up the embankment to identify the fastest way down. Though a normal person might balk at the precipitous drop, the descent held no real challenge for someone with his training.

  Off to his right he heard Cainan begin to pant like a wolf, and it occurred to him this wasn’t anticipation he was hearing in the dark shade’s voice, it was hunger.

  “If you know him, lend a hand when the time is right.” He didn’t expect a reply, but instead watched as the party neared the place they would meet. Arek mentally timed the right moment and then jumped from his spot, landing lightly and vaulting immediately to the next stone. His feet barely touched the surface as he flew down the embankment to land in a small cloud of dust directly in front of the lead Fury.

  The man stood towering over him but with a shocked expression on his face. Arek had covered the distance in less than a few heartbeats. To them, it must have seemed he’d appeared out of thin air. The man’s hesitation didn’t last long before his training took hold. Blades sang from their scabbards as the threat was recognized, but Arek raised his hand.

  “I would parley with you,” he said, looking at the leader in front. “Perhaps we can avoid bloodshed,” he added, knowing it was a lie.

  The Fury didn’t answer, instead looking up at the top of the ravine walls, no doubt to try to determine if their position was covered by archers, or worse. Seeing no obvious signs they were under sights, he turned his eyes back down to Arek’s own and said, “Parley? How did you come to know our route?” Suspicion bled through every word uttered.

  “Why walk at the bottom of a ravine?” replied Arek. The hunger grew within him again, but held himself in check. A moment, maybe two, before it would be time to act.

  “We don’t answer to you,” the man sneered, drawing his arm back.

  “Hold, Brutus!”

  When the leader of the Furies turned to look, his face turned white with fear. “Captain?”

  Cainan stepped forth from the shadows and said, “You’ll stay your arm, Commander.”

  “By the Lady, what has happened to you?” the question came out as a gasp, but quickly the man fell back closer to his companions as the truth was revealed. “You have been turned!”

  Cainan ignored him and said to Arek, “Now, Master.”

  The explosion of blackfire was Arek’s only reply. It erupted out in a cone, taking the four lead Aeris near the front of the column by surprise in a flash of power and heat even as Brutus rolled out of the way. It engulfed them in liquid black flame, beginning their transformation even as they fell clutching at their skin and face.

  Cainan dived into the column nearest to him, cutting into those left, his blade swinging with honed ferocity. Wherever an opening showed itself, he would reach out and touch his opponent, watching as the blackness spread from his touch like an ink stain.

  Brutus had risen to his feet after avoiding Arek’s initial blast. Now he ran forward and swung, his blade almost parting the air as it raced unerringly for Arek’s neck.

  Arek watched, but did not raise his arms in self-defense. When the man’s blade vaporized in the heat of his flameskin, his only reaction was to tilt his head and smile, as if grading one of his students in a flawed attack.

  Then Arek burst into action, knocking aside the half-blade with his forearm and grabbing the Aeris Lord’s massive wrist. Shock turned to horror as bones snapped and broke in his crushing grip, his flameskin growing brighter at that point of contact, melting through the mailed sleeve. When bare flesh was grasped, it instantly blackened, partially because of the heat but also because of the change Arek’s touch inflicted. In an instant the leader fell to his knees.

  The blackfire consumed him as it had Cainan, leaving the Fury kneeling in place as the blackness spread throughout his body and transforming him from the inside out. An innumerable number of particles of black light flowed from the dying Aeris, flooding into Arek as the young adept breathed in his knowledge and power. As the essence of what had been Brutus became one with Arek, he knew Cainan had been right, these beings would be useful indeed. He took a deep breath, his being suffused with joy at the thought that something better than Brutus would now rise in his place.

  He looked up in time to see Piter clumsily block a strike and then grab his opponent, the last of two, down toward him. As the Fury tilted off balance, Piter clawed at his throat, the entire action lacking any training or finesse. It was almost animalistic and that fact disturbed Arek more than it should have. The Fury fell gagging under Piter’s dark form even as the blackness spread under his skin, turning it black and spreading slowly outward until it was a midnight blue.

  The sounds of a struggle pulled his attention to another sight, that of Cainan feeding, the blackened bodies of at least four others lying beside him. Each face was frozen in anguish as the nephilim’s touch took hold of them, changing them from within.

  In moments, it was over. Arek could not believe the ease in which they had taken these winged creatures. It was far easier by his reckoning than the fight at the henge. Unlike elves, these Furies did not seem particularly good at fighting his nephilim, a thought that brought another smile to his face. He liked the sound of that: his nephilim. Still, Piter’s obtuse attack made him question how much of him survived his transformation. Would Cainan and the rest also become nothing but animals in the end?

  A sound from where these Aeris had made their stand betrayed the prisoner, pushing herself to her knees, still weighted by chains. Her eyes were wide with fear. She managed to kick herself clear of the bodies undergoing their transformation and knelt in the small clearing at the center.

  Arek approached, noting the whorls painting her skin in intricate patterns, unlike anything he’d seen before. They seemed almost alive, shimmering with a dark iridescence. It was not so unlike his own nephilim, the midnight blue-black sigils catching and reflecting the light at odd moments. He pulled in his flameskin, letting it simmer just below the surface, ready in case he needed it.

  He gestured to the dwarven woman and asked, “Do you want to live?”

  She hesitated, looking around, then nodded vigorously.

  “Your name?”

  “Brianna.”

  Arek inspected her chains and collar. Something about it seemed strange. Oh, the chain links were normal enough, but the collar itself was… shifting. His vision could see it phasing in and out, as if it existed in two places at once.

  “What does the collar do?” he inquired, kneeling in front of her to finger a chain. He walked his fingers up slowly until he held the link closest to the collar. He grabbed it and pulled her massive frame down so that she was sprawled on all fours, her eyes even with his own.

  A sudden breath escaped her lips, an involuntary gasp of fright. She’d seen what he could do. He hoped that would solicit the truth from her, for there was no doubt in him that if she did not prove her worth, she would become part of his growing legion.

  “It prevents me from… escaping.”

  It seemed she wanted to live a bit longer
. His fingers flashed once with blackfire and the chain link dissolved, vaporized by the heat. The chain connecting it fell away, leaving her with only three chains securing her in place.

  Arek met her eyes, his gaze unflinching, and said, “That is obvious. You should know that I’ve seen your type before. A black-clad assassin who stalked me and my friends. He died—”

  “I don’t know who they are,” she interrupted, swallowing quickly. “I don’t know who any of you are.”

  Arek leaned back, considering. What was his purpose now? He’d come here under Lilyth’s invitation as a prince returning to his kingdom, ostensibly to meet his father. Valarius had attempted to kidnap him, and revealed himself as a Galadine. That fact made him doubt the man could be his pater. Why did he not run to Lilyth? Something about meeting his mother did not feel right. Something was still missing.

  He looked back down at the prostrate form of the dwarven woman and asked, “Why would dwarven assassins hunt me?”

  She had her hands open, looking up at him, then closed her eyes and dropped her chin to her chest. “I told you, I don’t know.”

  Arek considered that, then blackfire burned bright between his fingers again, melting another one of the four links. The chain fell heavily to the ground as he said, “I reward the truth.”

  Two chains were left, and the woman raised her head again. Arek could stand and look up at her, but not eye to eye. Even kneeling she stood well above him in height.

  “Where are you from?” he asked, noting that she had not attempted to stand despite no one actually holding the two chains that were left.

  “Far from here,” was her simple reply.

  Arek scoffed. “I told you I reward the—”

  “I awoke, but my memories are not clear,” she interrupted again, one hand raised. “Nothing makes sense. If I knew more, I’d tell you.”

  Arek paused, his mind and eidetic memory working quickly. “The dwarves are from Dawnlight, which disappeared. Did it shift to this realm?”

  Brianna looked lost. “Dawnlight? I’ve never heard of it. But shifting…” Her hand slowly came up to touch the collar and she said, “this prevents me from doing the same.”

  Never heard of Dawnlight? How could that be? Arek waited for a moment but it was clear she wasn’t going to add any more detail. The fortress was part of Edyn’s history, a place every child knew. How could a dwarf not know of the mountain from which she came? Despite her lack of a clarifying answer, Arek found his curiosity growing. A brief flare and a third chain fell away. Only one remained.

  “Tell me,” he said, “if I remove your torc, what will you do?”

  The woman’s eyes turned down and stared at the ground in front of her. Arek’s hunger grew into a longing to consume everything in this world. The large nephilim behind Arek breathed in shallow pants, a sign that he too was getting hungry again. She shook her head slowly, as if understanding her fate should she answer wrong. Then she went to her hands and knees, touching her forehead slowly to his feet.

  “I would try and escape,” she said in a small voice, “but with this collar on, I will do what you ask of me.” As she uttered these words, the tattoos under her skin shifted and changed, their pattern becoming something new. They grew up her arms, winding and twisting, reconfiguring themselves as if her words affected them, and somehow they now reflected that change.

  Arek looked at them in surprise, then at Piter and Cainan. “How long do we have before these turn?” he asked, gesturing to the fallen warriors of Brutus’s command.

  “Some time, Master,” Piter said in a voice filled with poison. “Our powers are still growing,”

  He thought about that and about those of his legion. They would always do as he asked, but he needed counsel from someone not compelled to obey. Perhaps this woman would serve that need? And the mystery of her origin still tugged at him.

  Of course he would still meet with Lilyth, but not for the reasons she suspected. It was clear there was a war going on between the demon-queen and Valarius. Where he fell in this struggle had yet to be ascertained, but he intended on shaping his own destiny. This woman may yet hold information integral to that purpose, including what happened to the dwarves after the Demon Wars.

  He burned through the last chain with a flick of his fingers, then stepped back as the woman rose. He had not released the collar. He was not so trusting as to believe she would not just escape, as she had truthfully admitted.

  “I’m going to find a place for myself in this world, Brianna,” Arek said, “and you’re going to help me.”

  Truth

  No tool is more useful to liars

  than the trust of the innocent.

  - Argus Rillaran, The Power of Deceit

  He’s untrustworthy,” stated Dazra, flatly.

  “You’re so sure?” retorted Tarin. “They were being hunted by Sovereign’s forces, just as we are. And why do you trust Jesyn so quickly?”

  “I took a chance,” Dazra said, “but in the Offering I saw no deceit in her.”

  “And you suppose that he’s on a different mission than her?”

  Dazra got up, smacking his thighs. He’d tested the girl and Jesyn had been honest with him. The other one, Dragor, clearly her senior, was guarded. Further complicating things was the fact that during Tarin’s diagnosis, the image of his brother, Tamlin, had revealed itself. There was no mistaking the face, nor the obvious truth that his brother was dead.

  He hadn’t known enough to see if Jesyn also had seen his brother’s face, but Tarin had been convinced they both must know. Now they had the unenviable position to have to trust neither, one, or both of them.

  Unfortunately, he could not take the chance with the safety of his people, and therefore had refused to give Dragor access to Dawnlight. Jesyn thus far had been forthright, but she did not know that he could terminate her now with a thought, the entat within her body growing to infiltrate every organ and muscle.

  Dazra looked back at Tarin and sighed. “What do we do now?”

  “Let’s separate them,” Tarin replied, “and then ask them each to tell their story and compare what they say.”

  Dazra smiled. “Spoken like a true investigator.”

  “I’m happy practicing my medicine,” Tarin said with a shrug, “but wouldn’t mind a break for something easier.”

  “Easier?” The dwarven leader laughed and said, “Don’t let Chermak hear you. The man believes everyone is a criminal waiting for a motive.”

  “Nice to be surrounded by those you have to catch,” replied Tarin. “Sort of like being surrounded by everyone who says they’re sick. They just don’t know it till I examine them. Convenient.” She smiled back and then looked over her shoulder.

  “Bring the two here,” she said to two men waiting by the entrance to their tent. When they’d saluted and left, she turned back to Dazra. “We can’t stay here much longer. We have to shift through before Sovereign locates us.”

  Dazra moved back over to the chair he’d been sitting in and sat down heavily, “We’re no closer to finding our brothers and sisters. Can you take Jesyn and look in on their dwarven prisoner? I’ll speak with Dragor.”

  Tarin nodded and said, “Of course.”

  A few minutes later the guards reappeared with their two guests in tow. They both entered the tent but the dwarven healer moved forward and tapped Jesyn’s arm and smiled.

  “Come, I need to show you something.” Tarin watched as the girl hesitated and looked at Dragor for direction, then added, “He’ll be fine. Dazra just wants to talk to him.”

  Jesyn waited for Dragor to nod before leaving the tent again, following Tarin out into the dark night.

  Dazra watched as the dark-skinned adept moved deeper into the tent. At his gesture the man took a seat, seemingly content to wait until spoken to. The dwarven leader pursed his lips and chose to address the issue directly.

  “Tarin saw my brother’s face in your memory. Tell me what happened.” He purposely gav
e as little information as possible, wanting to see how much this man revealed.

  If Dragor had been taken aback by Dazra’s directness, he did not show it. He looked up and met Dazra’s clear gaze with one of his own. “I’m not at liberty to discuss our mission. It should be enough that we were being attacked by the same assassins you claim are attacking yours.”

  Dazra looked at him in silence, weighing how forceful he was willing to become. Then he said slowly and deliberately, “Why is my brother’s face in your memory?”

  The man shrugged and looked away, making it clear he wasn’t going to answer. The dwarven leader let go of a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, then stood and walked over to the seated adept. He put his hands on his hips and looked down.

  The man was intractable, and Dazra was getting frustrated at what he felt was purposeful avoidance of a simple question. Dragor’s hesitation to speak only made the dwarven leader less certain the man’s intentions were harmless.

  “You live by my grace, and I’ve treated you with openness and honor. I expect the same in return. Now, under what circumstance did one of our citizens encounter you?”

  Dragor shook his head and said, “Until I ascertain that I’m not in fact a prisoner of the same dwarves that attacked my isle, you’ll understand I can’t give you more information.”

  Dazra’s face reddened with anger, but a noise at the entrance distracted him before he said or did anything Tarin might consider foolish. As if summoned by his thoughts, the doctor appeared, Jesyn in tow. The younger adept was a little wide-eyed at the tension she could either clearly see or feel. He met her gaze and smiled, trying to reassure her. He did not need these two panicking and causing damage within their camp. Dazra looked back down at Dragor and said, “You’ll excuse me for a moment.”