Betrayer's Bane

by Michael G. Manning

  “It’s trees we’re after,” she reminded him.

  “The She’Har are resourceful. They may find a way—if given the chance. We must not allow that. That’s why it’s important that they are contained until the proper time. If I don’t return, you must obey your sister.”

  Brigid wasn’t happy with that answer, “Why?”

  “Emma is the only one that can create the proper time. Obey her as you do me, in everything. Make certain that the others do so as well,” he said firmly.

  “From what you said, I may not be going back for some time. You think she can control them that long?”

  Tyrion smiled, “You were the only one I worried about.”

  Brigid knelt on the ground beside him and looked at the dead man across his chest. Reaching out she dipped the first two fingers of her right hand in the warm blood and wiped them across her lips. “You were right to worry. There’s only one thing I love more than blood, Father, and that is you.” She kissed him lightly. “I love you more than the others, more that Kate or Lyralliantha.

  “They love you for what you were. I love you for what you are, for your hatred and spite. You are something purer than they could ever understand.”

  He grimaced, tasting the blood she had left on his mouth, she’s completely insane, and brutally honest. “I don’t have much time…”

  “You will return from this,” insisted Brigid.

  “If possible, my body is almost done. I’m not sure how that…,” he began.

  “You will!” she interrupted, “Or I’ll cut your tree down and give it to grandmother for firewood.”

  Tyrion smiled, “That would…” His voice failed him. That would probably be fitting. There was no more time. Focusing his mind, he tried to relax as he sought the memory of the trees. The earth’s drum beat solidly beneath him but he shut it out, he needed something different. He had to become again what he had once become by accident.

  Roots and sunshine… The world faded away, replaced by a comforting darkness.

  ***

  A knock at the door drew Helen Tennick away from the trousers she was trying to mend for what was probably the hundredth time. They had been patched so often they were composed more of patches than the original material. Alan worked hard, and it showed in his clothing.

  The young woman at the door was both familiar and frightening. She had long dark hair and seemed clean, in a haphazard manner, as though she had taken a dip in a stream and simply let herself dry. She wore a simple tunic that reached to her thighs but there was no evidence of clothing beneath that. A dark smudge around her lips hinted at something feral and reminded Helen of a cat that had just eaten.

  It was her eyes that frightened Helen. They were calm but hinted at horrors unspoken.

  “Good afternoon, Grandmother,” said the young woman, before she could ask.

  Helen studied her face closely. Her vision was no longer sharp, but it was good enough, and she knew that voice. “Brigid? Is that you? I haven’t seen you in so long.”

  “It’s me,” said the dark-haired teen. She stood several inches taller than her grandmother. “May I come in? I brought you something.” Stretching out her hands she held the cittern in front of her.

  “A cittern?” asked Helen in confusion. “Isn’t that Daniel’s? What happened? Oh, no! Don’t tell me he…”

  “It’s alright,” said Brigid soothingly. “He’s fine. He’s taking a long trip. I’m to wait here for him and he thought you might take better care of it.”

  Helen’s heart had jumped in her chest and now it was beating fast. She breathed deeply to try and calm her nerves. “A trip? Of course, you can stay with us, but there isn’t very much room. Are you sure he is alright?”

  “Well, no one is ever sure of that…”

  “Especially when it concerns him,” finished Helen wryly. “Will you tell me what he is doing?”

  Brigid shook her head, “I’m afraid not, Grandmother.”

  Helen didn’t like the answer, but something cautioned her not to pursue a better one. She had given up on understand her son years ago and the strange air about Brigid made her wary. There was something seriously odd about the girl. It felt like being in the same room as a big cat, one that might turn on her at any moment.

  She changed subjects, “How long do you think you’ll be staying?”

  “Several weeks at least,” answered Brigid promptly, “possibly months.”

  “Oh my,” said Helen. “What a pleasant surprise.” In another life, it might have been. In truth though, she felt only dread.

  Chapter 25

  “No,” said Emma firmly. “Your work is finished.”

  Ian smirked, “What does it matter? They can’t even speak, surely you wouldn’t begrudge me a little fun…”

  Tyrion had been gone for months, seven to be exact. There had been no word from him or Brigid. Not long after he had left she had taken it on herself to finish the task, collecting another five She’Har women from the Mordan Grove.

  Ian had been disturbingly enthusiastic about his particular ‘task’, but all of their captives were now well into their pregnancies. Emma had cut off his access to the women as soon as she was certain they were all with child.

  And yet he never missed an opportunity to beg for another visit to them.

  “You’re done,” she growled. Despite her hatred for the She’Har she had never been able to reconcile her conscience to her brother’s job. Emma had been tempted to kill him after seeing the bruises after his last visit.

  “But surely…”

  Emma snapped and Ian fell back, screaming in pain and clutching at his thigh. Fresh blood trickled down his leg, staining the leg of his trousers. It had happened so quickly he hadn’t had a chance to register her gathering her will.

  “What the fuck!? You crazy bitch!” he shouted as he regained his capacity for words.

  “One more word, Ian, just one more,” said Emma softly. “The next hole will be through that empty head.”

  He clamped his mouth shut, but she could see him weighing his options, considering whether to raise a defensive shield. If he could get the shield up it would be an ugly fight, but Emma almost relished the possibility.

  She leaned closer, “You are laboring under a great misapprehension, brother dear. For some reason, you think I won’t kill you, but what you have failed to appreciate, is that you are no longer needed. If I were you, I’d spend less time thinking about your dick and more time figuring out how to be useful.”

  He stared back at her, hatred burning in his eyes.

  “Do it,” she challenged. “Please, give me a reason.”

  Ian lowered his gaze.

  “Not as stupid as I thought,” said Emma with some disappointment. “Get back to work. I don’t want to see you again for at least a week. Just the sight of you makes me sick. I might do something rash.” She turned her back and continued on her way.

  Her destination was the newly finished council hall. It stood halfway between the first buildings, Tyrion’s home and their dormitory, and the new city construction. Just looking at it filled her with pride. It was Ryan’s most beautiful project yet.

  Built under his guidance, with the aid of several thousand slave-mages, it rose nearly a hundred feet into the air, but it was no tower. It was the heart of a fortress, composed of an uncountable number of enchanted blocks of granite. Someday, if Ryan’s plan was ever finished it might serve as the heart of the city, though Emma doubted that day would ever come.

  At its heart lay the council chamber, although it looked more like a throne room. It was a large circular area, elevated on one end to hold a massive stone chair, delicately carved. That was Violet’s work, using her keen eye and her aythar to sculpt the hard stone as though it was a softer material like wood or marble.

  They called it ‘Tyrion’s Seat’, but it was Emma’s place for now and it loomed over the large round table in the center of the chamber.

  The room was already fu
ll when she entered, except for two seats, Brigid’s and Ian’s. She smiled at Ian’s empty chair. One advantage of having lost her temper was that she wouldn’t have to look at him for a while.

  “Good evening everyone,” she addressed them as she entered.

  Her siblings stood, nodding at her and issuing a mixed chorus of greetings, chief among them being ‘First’, for that was the title they had agreed upon. Ryan was ‘Second’, and the rest merely went by their names or a simple, ‘brother’ or ‘sister’.

  Ryan was silent, of course, with most of his jaw gone speech was impossible for him. He remained standing even after the others had resumed their places, waiting for her to take Tyrion’s Seat before he sat. Sister, he announced mentally. He had become skilled at projecting his thoughts to multiple people at one time, since it was now his primary means of communicating.

  The reminder of their relationship irritated her, as it always did. He never referred to her as ‘Em’ anymore and only rarely used her title as First.

  “Second,” she responded, nodding at his silent figure as she passed.

  Once she was seated Ryan lowered himself into his own chair. Of the eleven siblings in the council room, he was the strangest to look upon. A shining silver mask covered his features, another gift from Violet, lovingly crafted to reflect the visage he had once possessed, but no amount of artistry could overcome the cold hard nature of even a beautiful metal. His left arm was metal now as well, black iron in contrast to the silver of his mask and chased with gold runework.

  The arm was purely his own work and while it lacked the smooth beauty of the mask, it was smoothly jointed and entirely functional. He had taken his inspiration from Brigid’s chain, enchanting it to resist any aythar but his own. It wasn’t actually attached to his body of course, but a harness and the enchantment itself held it firmly in place and he had become skilled at using his aythar to manipulate it as though it were his own hand.

  Some of the others had silently questioned his need to create the prosthetic limb, since as a mage it did nothing for him that his own power could not do already. Sufficient skill in magic could perform any function a hand might otherwise do. None of them had dared voice that opinion however, even the normally crass Ian had kept his thoughts to himself on the subject.

  “We will start with reports on the various projects,” announced Emma. She addressed Ryan first, “Second, what is the status of our building projects?”

  His words echoed in their minds, The repositories are complete, as you already know. We have sufficient space for all of Colne and Lincoln’s citizens. The city is still a work in progress, other than this building and a few other key buildings. We have enough housing for most of the current slaves, but no more.

  “How many slaves are living there now?” she probed.

  Slightly more than five thousand, he answered promptly. You will need to ask Ian or Layla if you desire a more exact figure. We will have room for five hundred more in a week’s time.

  “Where is Ian?” asked David. “He should be here.”

  “He isn’t feeling well,” she informed them.

  “If Layla was here she could update us,” David reminded.

  Emma frowned, “No. You know our rule. Only blood in this room.”

  “I think we can trust her,” argued David, “Father did, and any rule that puts Ian in here and excludes her is obviously flawed.”

  “We have already been over this,” she responded. “I don’t intend to go over it again.

  “But…”

  Emma stood, “Do you think me unfit to lead?”

  “No,” answered David immediately, “But some decisions should be reconsidered.”

  “This is not a committee. Do you wish to challenge me?” Emma let her eyes roam across each person’s face, “Does anyone?”

  No one spoke and most averted their gaze, but after a moment Abby raised her hand, “Sister, no one here disputes your right to lead us. But there are things we need to talk about.” She kept her tone demur.

  “Such as?” asked Emma.

  “Father has not returned, neither has Brigid. We should examine the possibility that they may never return. We need an alternative plan,” replied Abby calmly.

  “We can’t do this if he doesn’t come back,” agreed Blake.

  Everyone stared expectantly at Emma and she could see that the issue could no longer be avoided. “I think it is too soon for this, but very well. What alternatives would you propose?”

  “We may have to figure out how to live with the She’Har, rather than destroying ourselves with a hopeless war,” said Abby, jumping straight to the point. Several gasps could be heard. No one had expected her to be so direct, although many of them had been thinking the very same thing.

  Emma fought to control her anger. Abby was probably the closest one to her, aside from Ryan, or had been. They had grown more distant over the past year. “That is not an option,” she ground out between clenched teeth.

  “Then what would you have us do if he doesn’t come back?” asked Abby softly. “You know yourself that we need his weapon. There are too many for us to fight in any conventional sense, even if they are weakened first.”

  “If it comes to that we will find another way,” said Emma.

  “How?” replied Abby directly. “We don’t have the information he did. He had the loshti, we do not.”

  Emma had, in fact, been considering that very thing, but she didn’t like being forced to reveal her hand so soon, “We can take the knowledge we need. The She’Har have many lore-wardens.”

  “We don’t have any way to…,” started Abby.

  Emma cut her off, “We have Centyr mages and we’ve proven time and again that we can take their people without getting caught. We simply have to be more selective about our target.”

  “The Centyr slaves that you put in storage?” interjected Blake incredulously. “The ones that are too dangerous to allow them to mingle with the other slaves?”

  “The same,” she confirmed. “If we release only one, and work together to keep him or her closely controlled, I think it can be done safely.”

  “It’s too dangerous…,” began Blake, but Ryan lifted his iron hand to forestall his objection.

  It is risky, but it can be done. We would only do this if Tyrion does not return, he said in his silent voice.

  Sarah spoke up, “I would rather take a chance than give up, but we also have to worry about the schedule. In a few months the villagers are expecting to begin moving here. If we change our plan it will likely take us much longer to find a solution. What will the She’Har think when they notice that all the ‘wild’ humans have vanished?”

  “We may have to change our timetable,” said Emma, “but we have months before we need to consider these options. For now, we stick to the original plan. Tyrion may yet return.”

  Abby nodded her head in acceptance and the tension at the table eased. After a moment Emma went on, “We can return to this in a month, let’s return to the matters at hand. How close are we to finishing the stasis boxes we need?”

  Ashley and Anthony looked at one another, silently deciding which of them should answer, then Anthony spoke, “We are done. The slaves have already produced a surplus.”

  Emma raised one brow, “So soon? That is good news.”

  “Where should we focus our efforts next?” asked Ashley.

  I could use your team’s help with city construction, opined Ryan.

  Emma nodded, “Very well. David, Ashley, and Anthony, you will join the city team. I would like to retain Violet, though. I need her assistance with smaller projects.”

  Something new? asked Ryan.

  “A new weapon,” said Emma. “Violet’s metalworking artistry would be useful.”

  Violet shifted uncomfortably, “I would prefer to assist with the construction. My talents would be more useful there. Besides, Ryan is a better metalworker than I am.”

  “Your delicate touch and fine eye wi
ll be very helpful in this,” declared Emma, her tone ending the discussion.

  The rest of the meeting was routine and within a half an hour they were done. Emma dismissed them, but as they were leaving she called Abby back, “Stay. I would have a word with you in private.”

  Once the room had emptied Abby gave her a curious look, “Sister, what do you need?”

  Emma didn’t answer immediately. Rising from her chair she smoothed her skirt gracefully before walking down the few short steps that elevated her seat above the table. She stopped when they were only a couple of feet apart. “The next time you have questions like that, come to me first.” Her eyes were calm, but the tone was menacing.

  Abby shrugged, “It seemed like a matter for everyone to discuss.”

  “So you could undermine me in front of the others?” snarled Emma.

  “That was not my intention…”

  “Don’t play stupid with me Abbs! And don’t for a minute make the mistake of thinking I am stupid. Test me again and you’ll regret it.” Emma had lost her composure and there was fire in her eyes.

  Abby held up her hands in a placating gesture, “We are on the same side, Em.”

  “We had better be,” threatened Emma. “Next time, talk to me first. I like to be prepared fully before bringing something up with the others.”

  Abby nodded, but she wasn’t done, “You’ve changed, Em. You’re too angry. If you don’t find some way to relax you’re going to do yourself harm.”

  “My emotions are my own business,” Emma said, rebuking her. “And don’t even think of bringing Ryan into this.”

  “I wasn’t,” said Abby calmly. “He has already accepted what happened to him, but you bringing him up is telling. You have to let go of that and move on. You won’t help him, or yourself, by becoming more bitter.”

  “I don’t recall asking your opinion.”

  “Em, please…,” began Abby.

  “I’m not your friend any more Abigail. I’m not that person. I’m your superior, and I no longer have the luxury of having friends. It’s time for you to leave.”

  Abby’s face was a picture of sadness and compassion, “Emma, listen to me…”