The Path of Destruction (Rune Breaker)

by Porter, Landon

  “Don't do this...” Brin whispered. Resistance to exorcism was a sign of a ghost with strong fetters to the mortal plane. They were more difficult to send into the Well and a danger of becoming a more malevolent form of undead unless properly tended. “I don't have enough left in me right now to fight you. Don't...”

  The dead woman clutched the shovel to her chest. The spectral instrument glistened with the memory of demonic ichor—she had wounded one of her killers at the very least before dying. “Please.” she spoke in an airy voice that echoed from far away. “The children...”

  Brin looked around. There were no child spirits left. But now that she thought of it, there had been too few for a village of that size if everyone had been killed in the first place. While they may have crossed over immediately, or never left a spirit at all, Brin grasped at a small hope, both for her sake and for the ghost's. “They're not here.” she said carefully.

  The ghost nodded slowly, tentatively. “Sent them... through the run. To the bridge.”

  “The run...” Brin wondered aloud before it hit her. Farming out on the frontier was a dangerous prospect: that was why they had mystically grown walls and small standing armies with everyone trained with a weapon. Spirit beasts, invading armies, and (it seemed) demons were a very real threat to their survival.

  Given the constant danger, many copied the thieves' runs found in large cities: tunnels underground with highly secure and hidden entrances on either side. In the event of an attack, those who couldn't fight had a small chance to escape and hopefully survive the wild long enough to reach another town or armed caravan.

  This new information bolstered Brin's hopes. “Yes, the run. I can check it for you; make sure the children are safe... or at peace.”

  “Thank you.” said the shade. Lowering the spade, she drew closer, ready to be sent into the Well.

  Brin hesitated. “Before I send you, I have a question.” The ghost cocked her head, curious. Brin licked her lips before asking the question she'd come to the Homestead to ask. “Were any of the girls here called 'Layaka?”

  A glimmer of recognition danced in the ghost's eyes. “Yes...” she paused, making an effort to recall memories that would have been top of mind in life. “The smith's daughter. She was... to take them.”

  Her gaze turned toward the river, and despite the houses, wall and distance in the way, it was as if she could see the bridge and the hidden exit to the run. It didn't take any special connection to the spirit world to understand that.

  “Thank you.” Brin murmured, reaching up toward the spirit's heart. In a flash, the shade was released from its fetters in the mortal world and was free to sink into the Afterworld where it would begin its journey to the Well. With a loud sigh, Brin hunched back to the ground, alone at last.

  Or so she thought.

  “The death of Bashurra the Crevasse. There will be songs about this one. I'll probably write a book about it when I get back to Harpsfell.”

  Kaiel was coming up the main path that led from the houses out past the fields and eventually to the gate. A sphere of light hung over his shoulder, shedding illumination all around him. The flute was in his hand and his rifle slung over his shoulder.

  Brin smiled, and not just for his presence. No matter how well and truly tapped she felt, there was also a goodness and a warmth there that always came with putting lost souls to rest. And, she had to admit, there was also some in seeing the handsome chronicler.

  That smile only lasted as long as it took for him to come close enough for his light to fall on her. It was only then that she remembered that she had the ring off and her true form was on display for Kaiel. With a troubled cry, she backed out of the light and dashed for cover. She found it behind a rain barrel.

  Kaiel froze where he was, confusion and traces of hurt evident on his shadowed face. “Brin?”

  Even concealed behind the barrel, she pulled her cloak up around her and over her head. “Kaiel, I... please say you didn't see too much.”

  “I can have seen as much or as little as you wish.” He said, the hurt draining away from his face. Taking a few more steps forward, he stooped and came up with something that glinted silver under the light hovering over his shoulder. “But I have to say that the efforts to obfuscate it might have been worse than you imagined.”

  After thoroughly patting her pockets, Brin muttered a curse. The succubus ring wasn't on her person.

  Kaiel examined the ring thoughtfully. “This must have been very expensive: it takes a very skilled spellcrafter to make a succubus ring that's undetectable.”

  Left with no choice, Brin thrust her hand out around the barrel. “Hand it here. Please.”

  He held the ring out in the middle of his palm. “Here it is. Come take it.”

  “You know I can't.” replied Brin. “This isn't something to jest about, Kaiel.”

  “No, I believe not.” Kaiel shucked off his coat and laid it out on the ground before sitting down on it to resume examining the ring. “Brin... do you know where the original succubus rings came from?” When the only response he got was an unhappy growl that a human or elven throat couldn't have managed, he shrugged and continued.

  “In the Age of Tragedies, there was an extremely vain King who ruled a kingdom in what is now Mindeforme. He had eight children, and all but the youngest daughter were, in his opinion, terribly ugly. So ugly that he refused to marry such as them off until they could be made beautiful. To that end, he offered the hand of the youngest and truly beautiful princess to whomever in the kingdom managed to make it so.

  “One of those trying to win the hand of the princess was an unscrupulous mage who specialized in summoning. With his power, he reached across the void to the red moon, Mayana and plucked from that most terrible and merciless land, seven demons.”

  Brin peeked around the barrel to watch him tell the story as only a member of the Bardic College could. It wasn't just the words, but the gestures and expressions that made them the best storyspinners on Ere.

  “They weren't like the creations of the Threefold Moon,” Kaiel said, playing with the ring in his hands, “These were creatures who mirrored the darkness of mortal hearts: vanity, lust, superficial avarice—that is what a succubus is; its very essence. The mage destroyed them and forged their dark souls into seven beautiful rings of fine silver. Whosoever donned those rings would not only become inherently beautiful to whoever saw them, but gained powers of persuasive speech like the demons trapped inside.

  “The mage won the princess's hand, and the king made his 'ugly' children wear the rings at all times, for every day of their lives.” He scowled down at the ring and closed his fist around it. “But all wasn't well. Because the demons in the rings couldn't truly be destroyed as long as the rings drew upon them for power, every person who wore the ring became twisted and depraved; reveling in harming others and destined to kill every lover they took.”

  Kaiel took a deep breath, keeping the ring tightly held in his fist. “Over the past two hundred years, dozens of people have been afflicted. Rich, stupid people still occasionally hire groups to seek them out, and spellcrafters still churn out these safe, 'minor' versions.”

  His grim expression melted away as he carefully set the ring on the ground in front of him. “Personally, I don't understand the need.”

  From behind the barrel, Brin's eye narrowed, but not in a glare. “I do.”

  “I know you do.” he sighed. “And if you want me to close my eyes now and let you come get your ring, I will. But I want you to know that whether my eyes are open or closed, the person I see when I look at you will be Brin, no matter what she looks like. And it's Brin who I felt for, Brin who I defended against Ru's accusations of treachery—accusations I now realize are because he sensed the succubus ring—and Brin who I will lose no respect for in any event.”

  Brin hunched behind the rain barrel and weighed her options. She didn't have any doubt that Kaiel was being sincere; even after such a short time, she knew
that much about him. But then, it was such a short time, and the truth about who she was had been with her for years. As much as she'd grown to like the chronicler, theirs had so far only been a relationship of flirtation and the normal camaraderie found in a group working toward a common goal.

  But was it even possible for it to become more when he knew that just by standing in front of him wearing the ring, she was lying to him? And not only that, but she would be lying to his adoptive sisters for the remainder of their journey together. She knew she wouldn't tolerate that if he were the one keeping secrets.

  “It isn't that easy.” She said, even though her mind was made up. “It doesn't matter who you see if the problem is what I see and what other people see. I bought that ring because I knew that without it, no one was going to take me seriously. I don't mean this to be cruel, Kaiel, but a human can't understand it.”

  Kaiel was quiet for a bit, and then said, “That is unfortunate but true in many places. But this place, where it's just you and me? This isn't one of those places. I never said to destroy the ring... I just want to see you, Brin.”

  The note of urgency in his voice made her throat tighten and cemented her resolve. “And you promise that you'll give the ring back?”

  “On my life and on my voice. That's how a loreman pledges their word.”

  “You aren't a loreman yet.”

  He spread his arms in an expansive shrug. “There isn't an oath for chroniclers. So all I can give you is my word.”

  “And you've yet to give me reason to doubt you.” Brin admitted as she stood from behind the barrel. For a moment, she hesitated on the edge of the illumination cast by his light spell. Then, drawing herself up with as much pride and bearing as she could muster, she stepped forward.

  There was plenty about her natural appearance that tracked with that generated by the ring. Her eyes, though now slightly larger, were still a deep, rich green that didn't happen in humans. Her hair was still ash blonde and hanging down past her shoulders in soft waves, and her ears were still pointed and stuck up instead of out like an elf's or half-elf's.

  But instead of flawless, brown skin, she was covered in a fine pelt that was the same san brown as her skin under the effects of the ring, and her hands sported rough pads on palms and fingertips. The fur was short enough to be almost non-existent on her lips, nose and the inner areas of her earlobes. And though Kaiel couldn't see, he could tell by how she walked in her boots that her stance had shifted onto her toes and that the arrangement of her spine was giving her a certain sway at the waist that neither human nor elf could achieve.

  And then there was her tail: a long, sleek appendage that twitched nervously behind her.

  Still forcing herself into a regal bearing, she closed the distance between them and reached out toward the hand holding the ring. But instead of grabbing it immediately, she laid her palm atop his and drew it back until their fingers interlocked with the ring between them.

  Kaiel looked down at the gesture; the same affectionate moment they'd shared back in Daire City when he asked her to accompany him to Solgrum's ill-fated ball. His eyes traced her arm back up to the shoulder, then along the slope of her neck to her face and up until their eyes met. There was sadness in those eyes, and hope, but there was also great defiance.

  “Half-miare.” He said quietly. “I-I wasn't expecting that. Not many...”

  “Not many non-miare find miare attractive.” She finished for him and took the ring from his hand. But Kaiel shook his head.

  “That wasn't what I was going to say at all. Not many survive. Even to be born. A human mother can't survive the... chemistry... involved in carrying a half-miare and miare have difficulties. I always thought you were a rare woman, Brin. I guess I wasn't just being poetic.” His fingers rubbed against one another, missing hers.

  Brin was rubbing the ring with her thumb without really noticing. “Elven blood. My father was half-elven. That may have helped.” Only then did she look away, a dark expression on her face. “Not that it helped life at home. They met after the Ashing. He was part of an envoy from Vini Tresolm rendering aid to the refugees of the Great Green Expanse. I suppose they loved each other, but from what I saw growing up, Mother was mostly Father's slave; doing everything he told her with a placid smile and a swish of her tail.” Her own tail flicked irritably at that.

  “Every miare I knew growing up was the same: so concerned with being liked, being accepted and welcomed that they would lie on a puddle and let anyone walk across them if it earned them a nod. People started expecting the same from me too, and I wasn't having any of it, so...” the ring slipped easily back onto her finger. With it came a cool wash of power that seemed to erase everything of her that was miare and left a half-elf who, now that Kaiel knew the whole truth, looked like a poor rendering.

  Stepping forward, Kaiel took her right hand, the one with the ring on it, and held it between them. “So you hid who you really are behind the ring.”

  Brin closed her hand over his, but shook her head savagely. “No. I hid what got in the way of people seeing who I really am.”

  Kaiel swallowed. She was right and he knew it. Especially in Novrom, people tended to take advantage of the culture of eagerness many of the refugee miare adopted after fleeing the Ashing of the Green and reinforced it until even the latest generation, who were raised in those areas, often grew up with that attitude ingrained.

  “I... can't argue with that.” He said at length. “But I do wish you hadn't lied—at least to me. Ru thought you were another sleeper agent or something and ash me if I didn't give it more credence than I'd like to admit.”

  She pursed her lips. “I understand. But now you know.” She looked around them at the dark and deserted village. “There's something else you should know: Layaka was real—a real girl from this village. But she didn't die here. They had a run and she was meant to take the children to safety.” The hope in her eyes dimmed. “What are the chances she survived?”

  The change of subject didn't escape Kaiel's notice, but he didn't point it out. He craned his neck to look at the night sky. “Assuming she had horses and a wagon? And assuming the bridge was destroyed after the attack...”

  “It was.” Brin said quickly. “I crossed it the day the homestead was attacked.”

  Kaiel nodded at the confirmation. “If all that's true, I like her chances. The bridge is the head of the South Coast Road and that takes you into the Principality of Sanga-Traad. All she'd need to do is make it south for about a day and she'd be on a route that's regularly patrolled by folks with ash chalk and fireballs. There's any number of enclaves, fishing villages, and trading posts she could reach from there. If she had a mind to, she could even have reached Rivenport along the long path in the time since the attack.”

  “So there's hope.” She said, making it almost, but not quite a question.

  Their faces had drifted dangerously close, but Kaiel didn't draw away when he nodded ever so slightly. “There's hope.” Then he lifted her hand, the one with the ring on it, up between them and kissed it. “But we need to go now. Raiteria is waiting on the path with the mounts.”

  Brin took a step back and collected herself, pulling the ring-bearing hand close to her body. “Yes.” She said with too much resolve in her voice. “And we should see how Taylin and Ru fared.”

  After Kaiel pulled his coat back on, they left Idarian Homestead, walking as close as they could manage, occasionally allowing an arm or hand to touch in passing.

  Chapter 10 – Sins of the Hailene

  'Six months have passed and I find myself having doubts. When the project began, we were endeavoring to create new hope for a people abandoned by the gods they once served. But now the Office of the Defense Chancellor and the House of Advancement speak of the subjects only as tools or weapons.

  I fear that we have done a terrible thing. What I fear more is that we shall do worse before it is over.'

  ~ excerpt from the journal of Lena Hiddakko.

>   ***

  The command tent was far smaller than the commandeered pavilion Percival employed back on the night of the attack at Daire City. The table inside was low, elevated on spare boards meant for repairing wagons, and was only high enough for a person sitting on a cushion to fit their legs under it. Two lanterns lit the space within, their light amplified by a lensing effect conjured by Tal Eserin. Aside from a few cheap cushions and Percival's kit, the only other furniture within was a portable iron stove; a luxury Percival inherited from his predecessor.

  The atmosphere was quiet and tense as the occupants waited.

  Percival, having refused to be drugged into sleeping just to temper the pain of his gored and cauterized leg, sat at the head of the table. His wounded leg was extended to one side and draped with his spare uniform jacket to conceal the balmed and bandaged wound. He was wearing a robe, as it was the only thing he had that could cover him without pinching his injury.

  At his left hand sat Tal Eserin, Jaks, and Liytheed. Of the three, only Liytheed, newly promoted to Warden, was in the dark about the reasons for the late night meeting. She and her scouts had been absent from the battle, and had only seen the drama unfolding from afar.

  Tal Eserin sat placidly, one arm tucked into his armpit while he sipped from the shallow bowl of liquor rationed to officers with their meals. Beside him, Jaks sat stiff and implacable, one hand on his gigantic daizaku greatsword. He would not relax until it had been proven to him that those across the table from him were no threat.

  Those in question, sitting at Percival's right, were Taylin and Ru. The former sat on her knees with her arms folded insecurely and her gaze averted to stare at the table. She hadn't touched the bowl of liquor set before her and had placed herself near the stove, almost huddled against it even though the night was warm enough that the others had worked to avoid sitting near it.

  Beside her was the Rune Breaker, who had immediately downed his own proffered bowl in a single gulp, and who was now engaged in a glaring contest of sorts with Jaks. All the while, he wore a mockingly confident smirk that dared the minotaur to draw his blade against the dark mage.