The Silent Tempest (Book 2)

by Michael G. Manning

  Layla clucked in appreciation, “That was a three layered trap.”

  Tyrion nodded, amazed by their cleverness. If he had been one of their opponents, he might well be just as dead as Laeri was now.

  “Remind me never to take on your son in a serious fight,” added Layla.

  The destruction of his shield had nearly rendered Daggoth unconscious, losing most of one arm made matters even worse for him. In a smaller match the best option would have been for Ryan to pursue his advantage and finish Daggoth before the other mage could recover his senses.

  But this wasn’t a small match, and the wardens knew what his most likely course of action was. Ryan created a new mist even as he started toward Daggoth. Three intensely focused beams of fire-like aythar ripped through the mist from different directions as Braden, Tibbon, and Shayla used their swords to direct attacks at Daggoth’s location.

  Seconds later they dispersed the mist, but Ryan wasn’t there, he was fifty feet above, falling toward the ground. Daggoth was dead, having been skewered by at least one of his comrade’s attacks.

  “I didn’t know they could jump like that,” said Kate.

  Tyrion was worried about something else, though. While he fell, Ryan would be unable to change directions, and the three wardens were already taking aim once more. There would be no more dodging now. And Hesta is nowhere to be seen…

  That confused him, until his mind found her, she was at the far end of the arena. She had teleported as far as possible to the area she was least likely to be noticed during the confusion. In the heat of a battle with multiple foes, it was almost as good a method of hiding as invisibility.

  Emma stretched out her hand toward her skyward brother, using her aythar to jerk him back for real now, barely in time to avoid the fresh attacks that tore through the air where he had almost passed. She had no time to react to the female warden who appeared behind her. Hesta’s wooden blade pierced her shield and tore through her back before erupting from her abdomen.

  The attack had been intended for the heart, but Hesta had dropped a foot farther down after she teleported, splashing into a hidden pool of water surrounding Emma. She and her blade vanished immediately after the attack as she teleported back to her comrades before Ryan landed beside his sister. His counterattack missed her completely.

  Hesta laughed, standing beside Braden now. The male warden reached out his hand, and the two of them disappeared. Braden was a Prathion by birth, although he was owned by the Mordan Grove. A second later Tibbon vanished as well.

  “Tibbon isn’t a Prathion,” muttered Layla.

  “Hesta teleported herself and Braden to him,” explained Tyrion. “Now Braden is making all three of them invisible…”

  “… and if she’s teleporting them, they could be anywhere,” finished Layla, understanding suddenly.

  Ryan caught his sister as she began to crumple. The feedback from her broken shield along with her terrible wound had overwhelmed her. He was careful to avoid stepping in the newly revealed water that surrounded them like a moat for several feet in every direction. He knew he had only seconds before the wardens might renew their attack.

  Even a circle reinforced shield would be of little use against whatever power the wardens were using to focus their ranged attacks, and it would put him at risk of being stunned if his shield were destroyed, so instead he raised a thick dome of earth from the ground just beyond the water around them.

  “That won’t protect them for long,” noted Layla.

  “It’s better than nothing, though,” said Tyrion. Before he could say more, Hesta reappeared. She was standing close to Ryan’s earthen defense, but she wasn’t attacking. Instead she fell to the ground, screaming and writhing. She scratched at her legs as though she was trying to get something off of them.

  Then Tyrion saw the blisters appearing on her legs in places where her leathers had started to come apart. Smoke was rising from her boots.

  “I don’t think that was water,” muttered Layla.

  “Lye maybe?” said Kate. “Where would she have gotten something like that?”

  Whether it was caustic lye or some sort of acid, it was clear that Hesta wouldn’t be able to focus on matters at hand. The warden was desperately trying to remove her boots and scrubbing at her legs with handfuls of dirt. The skin was coming away under the rough treatment, and her hands were beginning to burn as well, for she had gotten some of the liquid on them in her haste.

  Shayla had been left unmolested for some time, and now Tyrion noticed that the Centyr mage was still standing close to where she had started. Beside her were two enormous bear-like spellbeasts. Grinning, she started across the field to join her remaining comrades; her aythar was much weaker, for she had invested most of it in her new guardians.

  Given more time Shayla’s aythar would recover, and with the beasts by her side she would be difficult to deal with. Time was never a friend when facing one with the gifts of the Centyr.

  “It’s over,” said Layla. “Ryan can’t face three of them alone, especially not with those monsters in play.”

  Hesta was still screaming, begging her allies for help as Shayla joined Tibbon and Braden.

  Tibbon laughed and mocked her misfortune. “That’s what you get for trying to hog the glory, Hesta!” jeered Tibbon. Braden and Shayla ignored her completely, they had no use for a wounded companion.

  Inside the earthen dome Ryan still held his dying sister. Tyrion thought he might have been working to seal her wound, but it was hard to tell and as he focused on them Ryan brought up a tighter inner shield. This one was small, encompassing just the two of them, with the deadly liquid outside of it.

  The spellbeasts were tearing at the earthen dome, and Tibbon and Braden were preparing to help them. Rather than use their swords, they leveled broader blasts of aythar to help shatter and disperse the tightly packed earth.

  Then the dome exploded. Ryan’s will drove the explosion outward, flinging the dense earth and small stones in all directions. The strange liquid followed immediately after it. Tyrion’s son had heated it to boiling, and now his power tossed it into the air as a steaming, caustic fog.

  Hesta screamed even louder, clawing at her eyes. She had been unshielded, and the mist was killing her as she inhaled it.

  The other three were still protected, keeping the mist from reaching them, but as they flinched away from the assault of soil and mist Ryan followed his attack with a blow like a battering ram, shattering Tibbon’s defense. The warden who had been laughing only moments before began to choke and cough as he collapsed.

  Braden went invisible before a second attack could do the same to him. Shayla was backpedaling quickly, trying to get out of the deadly mist as well. The spellbeasts were tearing at Ryan’s circle reinforced shield, putting a serious strain on Ryan’s reserves. The mist didn’t affect the magical creatures at all.

  The greatest risk now was that either the spellbeasts or one of the remaining two wardens would penetrate Ryan’s protective shield, letting the mist back in to kill the two young mages. Shayla was raising her sword even as she retreated, preparing to use its special ability to focus her remaining strength into an attack that would almost certainly do just that.

  Before she could fire, she fell back, collapsing to the ground. A fine hole had been drilled through her head.

  Tyrion recognized Emma’s handiwork. She was much more capable of such precision than Ryan was, in fact it had become her signature attack in the arena over the past month. Still, he was unsure how she had managed it. Within another mage’s shield, she should have been unable to attack the outside.

  Then he noticed that they were holding hands once more. By joining their wills, they had somehow timed it perfectly. Ryan had opened a tiny hole in the shield just as she had sent a fine lance of power through Shayla’s head.

  With Shayla dead and Braden in hiding, Ryan took a necessary risk. Raising a powerful wind, he scattered the deadly mist around them. Once it was gone,
he lowered the circle shield and used a wide blast of aythar to toss the spellbeasts away. Before they could charge back, he stepped outside the circle and then brought the shield up again, protecting Emma and trusting to his enchanted body shield to save him from the beasts.

  Long experience had taught Tyrion that Centyr spellbeasts were troublesome to deal with. They survived the death of their masters, and they were notoriously difficult to kill. Very little affected them. Most common attacks passed through their aythar bodies without harm, but Ryan’s enchanted armblades would do the trick.

  Ryan moved forward to meet their charge.

  Invisible and therefore blind, Braden chose that moment, by pure chance, to reveal himself and attack. He appeared some thirty yards distant and hastily leveled a sword enhanced attack at Emma’s position.

  The lance of power ripped through the shield protecting Tyrion’s daughter, but it missed the girl herself. Unfortunately, the destruction of the shield had far worse consequences on the one who had created it. The feedback drove Ryan to his knees, and his power faltered. The spellbeasts reached him just as he lost consciousness, his enchanted body shield winking out.

  Emma’s return stroke killed Braden instantly.

  Tyrion’s children had won. The lights changed, and a chime rang out. The match was over.

  But the spellbeasts didn’t know or care about such facts. The first one to reach Ryan clamped down on the youth’s shoulder, crushing his collarbone, while the second took one of his legs in its terrible jaws.

  Emma struggled to stand, but she no longer had the strength. Her mouth was stretched wide in a feeble scream as she tried to reach her brother, but her wound made yelling impossible.

  Koralltis stepped onto the field, moving placidly toward the spellbeasts as they engaged in a grotesque tug of war with Ryan’s body. He would destroy them as a matter of course, but the She’Har never hurried. The boy didn’t have the luxury of such a delay.

  Tyrion leapt forward, but the spellwoven shield that protected the arena would not admit him. Only Koralltis could enter until the match was called, and he had given permission. Activating his enchanted arm blades, Tyrion cut at the spellweaving, but it was far too powerful for one man, even him, to destroy.

  Lightning flashed, slamming down from the sky to strike the mighty shield around the arena. Once, twice, then a third time in a matter of seconds. The arena’s protection shattered with a sound that rang out so loudly it seemed as though the world itself had broken. Running forward, Tyrion raced past Koralltis.

  He didn’t dare use his power to fling the beasts away, for fear of tearing Ryan in two, and agonizing seconds ticked past while the monsters savaged the boy, until at last he reached them. Tyrion’s enchanted arm blades ripped the beasts apart, heads from shoulders, and then he cut into the bodies as well, trying to make certain he cut the central point that animated them.

  Koralltis began spellweaving, sending long tendrils of vine-like aythar to wrap around Ryan’s still form.

  “Is he alive?!” Tyrion was shouting at the arena master, unable to help himself. If it weren’t for the nature of his task, he might have killed the uncaring She’Har on the spot.

  “Barely,” said the arena master calmly.

  Tyrion lost it then. Taking the She’Har by the throat, he shook him like a doll. “If he does not survive, you will be next!”

  Koralltis studied him with wide eyes. Somewhere within the She’Har’s cold demeanor lay a flicker of fear. “Let me attend to the girl. Her wound is yet mortal. She needs help.”

  In a rage, Tyrion lifted the She’Har and flung him bodily in Emma’s direction.

  Standing alone now, he raised his eyes to the crowded balconies in the god-trees surrounding the arena. The crowd was silent even as the sky grew darker. The voice of the wind was screaming in his ears, and Tyrion raised his own voice to join it, “Is this what you want? Are you happy now? When will you have enough of my blood? When will you be satisfied?” His words boomed out, louder than the wind which was beginning to move with frightful speed.

  The sky above was twisting, rotating as if on some invisible axis above his head. The world had grown almost as dark as night, and the force of the gale was causing the trees to groan under its pressure.

  Tyrion’s mind was fading, disintegrating into the uncaring wrath of the wind. He stared senselessly outward, but his eyes were not working. He was elsewhere, and his body was growing lighter.

  Kate had run out screaming at him, but his ears didn’t report her words and the wind tossed her back. She flew through the air to strike one of the holding cells. Despite the wind, she struggled to rise, but one of her legs refused to support her weight.

  Somewhere, deep within, only one thought remained to him. This is the end. He would destroy it all, or as much as he could reach at least, and his reach had grown very long indeed. I will scour the world clean.

  Pale hands caught his head, one on either side, and blue eyes stared into his. Lyralliantha had him now, her silver hair whipping around the two of them. A spellweaving held her firm against the rushing air, while her mind sought his.

  Stop! Peace, my Love, your children are safe. Let go of your anger or we are all doomed. Her thoughts echoed through his mind as if they had passed through a vast cave.

  The wind faltered, and his eyes snapped to hers. Slowly his rage began to subside, and he became aware of his own labored breathing. She repeated her thoughts, more softly now, and his mind registered their meaning with some difficulty.

  “Love?” he mumbled with lips that felt strange. “You don’t understand the word.”

  “Yes,” she replied, “I do now. You are my kianthi, and the Illeniel have found love again.”

  Chapter 36

  Kate limped as she walked from the hearth to the cutting board laid out on the counter. With each step Tyrion felt guiltier.

  “Why don’t you let the others take care of that for a few days?” he suggested.

  Abby was already helping Kate in the kitchen, but she ignored his comment. She knew Kate wouldn’t be receptive to his idea.

  “I need to do something, Daniel,” said Kate. “I’ll go crazy if you try to make me sit down all day.”

  Abby nodded in agreement and gave Tyrion a look that clearly meant he should leave well enough alone.

  “The bruising should get better in a few days,” said Tyrion for what might have been the tenth time.

  Kate pursed her lips as she began chopping onions, “You mentioned that already.”

  Brigid came through the front door and poked her head into the kitchen from the entry hall, “She’s here, Father.”

  Kate nearly cut her finger. Dropping the knife, she started to smooth her hair but then realized her hands smelled like onions. “It’s too early! You said she wouldn’t be here until noon,” she said to him in an accusatory tone.

  “Relax,” he said, trying to soothe her. “She’s not worried about things like that. You saw what I looked like when I returned home the first time.”

  “Easy enough for you to say,” said Kate waspishly.

  “She’s already met you twice now,” he reminded.

  Kate’s expression made it plain how dumb she thought that remark was. “And both times were after you tried to destroy everything in sight with a monster storm. I’d like to meet her once without looking as though a family of rats was nesting in my hair.”

  “Your hair is beautiful.”

  “No, she is beautiful. Let me be, it’s none of your business,” said Kate.

  “She healed your leg…”

  “Again—not helping, Daniel,” she replied sourly. “Go distract her while I wash my hands and fix my hair. Abby can you take over here?”

  Abby smiled, “I’ll be glad to. Brigid would you like to help me?”

  Brigid cast a dark glance in Abby’s direction. Cooking was her least favorite activity, and it wasn’t her day to help, but if Kate was abandoning the kitchen, someone would have to
step up. She nodded silently.

  With his magesight, Tyrion could see Lyralliantha in the front yard, but she was making no move toward the house. Instead, she was talking to the young men and women there, moving from one to another. What is she doing?

  Then he saw. She was removing their collars. He made his way to the door and walked out to confront her, “What are you doing?”

  “Good morning, Love,” she said with a faint smile. With a touch, she dissolved the collar around David’s throat.

  Her use of the word ‘love’ caught him off-guard once more. It was impossible to imagine her, or any other She’Har for that matter, using it in such a familiar manner. “What’s going on?” he asked.

  “I am rectifying a mistake,” she replied. Walking past him, she paused to kiss him on the cheek before removing Violet’s collar next.

  “Shouldn’t we talk about it? Your people will not accept this.”

  “They already have,” said Lyralliantha. “Well, the Illeniel and Prathion Groves have, but I am confident the others will be made to see the truth.”

  He blinked. The words were simple enough, but the meaning was hard to accept.

  Lyralliantha had finished with everyone in the yard, so she started toward the house.

  “Wait,” he told her.

  “There are still a few more.”

  Tyrion shook his head, “They can wait a few minutes; Kate isn’t ready yet.”

  Her forehead wrinkled with a faint frown, “You already removed her collar.”

  “No, she isn’t ready to meet you yet,” he explained.

  “We met yesterday,” she reminded him. “After you broke her leg.”

  He sighed in frustration, “That wasn’t really me. Well, I suppose it was, but I wasn’t in my right mind. It was an accident. Anyway, that’s not the point. She wants to brush her hair, or something like that.”