Mythborn (36 page)

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

H
e’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 gave 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.”

He didn’t wait for Dragor’s acknowledgment, but instead went over to Tarin. Before she said anything he looked to the two guards and said, “Please escort Lady Jesyn into the tent, but keep the two adepts apart.” He said this right in front of her, knowing it would increase any pressure if she had lied to Tarin.

The men carried out his orders, then he led Tarin back into the room so that they stood equidistant between the two adepts. They conferred in low tones, speaking in their dwarven tongue. It was short, ending with Tarin saying, “Ask her.”

Dazra stepped back, thinking. Then he looked over at Jesyn and said, “My doctor saw the face of my brother in Dragor’s memory. Tell me why.”

Dragor began to say something but Dazra held up his hand. “You had your chance, Adept. Now let the girl speak.” He looked down at his arm and tapped a few symbols. In response, a small whorl on Jesyn’s wrist lit up.

She looked down at it and asked, “What does this do?”

Dazra never took his eyes off of Dragor when he said, “It blocks any sort of communication to you. My hope is that you’ll tell me the truth, without any coaching, knowing we’ve treated you fairly and honestly.”

Jesyn looked at Dragor, her expression mirroring her helplessness, then she looked down, thinking. Her companion didn’t say anything, he just sighed and leaned back. Finally the younger adept cleared her throat and said, “Our isle was attacked by a team of six assassins. They were quick and merciless, killing one of our teachers and her class of children before heading for the main halls. Our lore father sensed them and cast an illusion letting them think they were succeeding.

“Dragor and another adept, Master Kisan, each went to face them before they could do more harm. Kisan had changed her form to look like one of them, but could not protect anyone without giving away her subterfuge. In the end, Adept Dragor faced them alone.”

She paused, looking down again, then she sighed and continued, “Our lore father’s illusion feigned Dragor’s death so Kisan could infiltrate them in disguise. He did this though it cost him his own life.”

Then the younger adept looked up and met Dazra’s eyes again and said, “The man Kisan killed was named, Tamlin. We know because she read his memories in order to infiltrate the team. These memories were given to me and Dragor in case we needed them during our search for the assassins’ origin.”

Dazra watched as the she bit her lip, then she offered, “We didn’t know he was your brother, Dazra, and I’m sorry for your loss.”

He considered what Jesyn had just said, then asked, “Did Tamlin remember us, did he remember me?”

The young girl swallowed, then said softly, “I don’t know. The memories transferred by Master Kisan were incomplete, but nothing I’ve seen pointed to your brother remembering this place.”

“What did he remember then?”

“Bits, pieces,” Jesyn replied. “It takes time to assimilate someone’s life and Master Kisan was on the run. It’s a wonder she got anything.”

Dragor breathed in, his eyes calculating. Dazra didn’t like it, or him for that matter. Dragor was still not cooperating, and now brought his ill gaze on Jesyn, as if she’d done something wrong. The man rubbed him wrong, and Dazra had survived this long by listening to his gut.

Surprisingly, it was Dragor who broke the silence, saying, “He remembered something called the ‘Citadel.’ It was a training academy of some sort, though I’ve never heard of it.”

“We call our home that, but it is much more than just a training academy.” Since they could only look at images left by memories, not actually hear or feel what someone felt, he was at a disadvantage. This man could just be regurgitating something he’d heard during their capture, something told to him upon awakening, or just lying to him outright. Dazra would have no way of knowing. Were it not for Jesyn’s sincerity, he would not be favorably inclined to believe their story at all.

“Anything else you’re not telling me, Adept Dragor?” asked Dazra, turning his attention back to the man who had not given him the courtesy of cooperation. It had become a matter of principle now that Dragor offered some reason for trusting him, something more than he’d done thus far.

As if he understood this, the adept leaned forward and said, “Before Lore Father Themun Dreys died, he said the word, ‘Armun.’ Later the new lore father and I found out the name referred to Themun’s brother. In looking through our archives it became clear Armun disappeared here, somewhere near Dawnlight some one hundred and fifty years ago. Our quest is to find him, to see why his name was the last word our lore father uttered.”

Dazra watched the man, unable to tell if he said this in order to made amends, or because he’d sensed how close to being banished he was. Finally, he looked at Tarin and said in dwarven,
“What do you think?”

“I believe her,” she replied.

He switched back to the common tradespeech and said, “So do I, for now.” Then, he took a breath and then gestured to the room, commanding them to gather around the table and taking his seat at its head. When they’d all settled he said, “I’ve given Jesyn access to the Citadel, but I’ve decided that you will remain here.”

Dragor sat up, “We need to stay together to accomplish our mission.”

“Perhaps,” said Dazra, “but I can’t risk the safety of our people. You have not treated with me well, Adept. In every turn you chose the path of adversary, and that cannot be undone.”

“I can’t help you on my own,” Jesyn said to Dazra.

“I’ll not gainsay your skill, either of you,” Dazra said, “but in this war you do not tip the scales. Furthermore, I have no idea who this Armun is, I’ve never heard of him. I couldn’t help you find him even if I wanted to.”

“Ahh, but I can,” Dragor said, tapping his head. “The assassin’s memories are becoming clearer to me, and I can lead us to where Armun is being held.”

“You see this place?” Dazra said with a scoff. “Convenient, now that we do not wish to burden ourselves with your care.”

“You misunderstand,” said Dragor. “I have seen where these assassins are holding many people. Some may be yours. As more time passes, I can lead us there.”

Dazra was quiet, considering this. Then he said, “And having seen this place, you still doubt us? You wonder still if you’re prisoner of these assassins?”

The adept looked down, his expression vaguely ashamed. “We got off on the wrong step with each other, and I would offer my apologies.”

Dazra got up and walked slowly forward until he stood directly in front of the adept. He looked down at him and said, “I don’t trust your heart—” he held out his hand, asking for Dragor’s own—“but I can’t dismiss an opportunity to find our people.”

The dwarven leader did not ignite fire, nor did he infuse Dragor with
entats
the way he had with Jesyn. Instead, he asked for Jesyn’s hand as well and placed the two together. Then he traced a symbol that fell like black ink, a concentric circle that began on Dragor’s hand but ended on Jesyn’s. When he’d finished he stepped back and said, “I’ve aligned your perception with ours. So long as you stay near someone with an entat, you may phase with us into our realm. However, should you wander away or I feel you risk the safety of my people, you will be sent back here immediately.”

“Here?” asked Dragor, clearly confused.

Tarin stepped forward then and smiled, laying a gentle hand on Dazra’s own. She met Dragor’s gaze and said, “There are places in the multiverse that overlap, where the walls between worlds are thin. Dawnlight is one such place. It exists here in Edyn, and also in Arcadia, and perhaps a thousand other worlds. Our Citadel lies within a third place, the Dawnlight in phase, a place protected from attack because it exists in between realms.”

“So long as you stand near one of us,” said Dazra, “you may exist in phase.”

“And if I disappoint anyone, you kick me out,” finished Dragor.

“Verily,” said Dazra, “is it not good to have such clarity between us, Adept? It helps to avoid… misunderstandings.”

Jesyn moved forward then and said, “Well, if this is settled let’s plan our mission. Finding Armun is the only reason we’re out here.”