by Lakshman, V.
MYTHBORN
Rise of the Adepts
Copyright © 2012, Vijay Lakshman
All Rights Reserved
All characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to any persons, actual or fictional, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or unauthorized use of the material or artwork contained herein is prohibited without the express written permission of the author, Vijay Lakshman.
Cover art by Raymond Lei Jin and Na Sun
Map by Ralf Schemmann
Certificate of Copyright Registration: TXu 1-796-339
ISBN-13: 978-14936039-8-5
For more information please go to:
www.mythbornbook.com
Dedication
This book is dedicated to Wendy, Aidan, & Noble.
They are my first champions, the joy in my life,
and I am grateful for their love, faith, guidance,
and unending support.
I love them with all my heart.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
EDITOR’S PREFACE
AUTHOR’S PREFACE
HISTORIES: SOVEREIGN’S FALL
THE LORE FATHER
JOURNAL ENTRY 1
THE NOMADS
THE MASTER
HISTORIES: MAGEHUNTERS
THE KING
THE APPRENTICE
JOURNAL ENTRY 2
THE PRINCE
COUNCIL’S CHOICE
RESPITE
IN HARM’S WAY
JOURNAL ENTRY 3
POWER AND DEATH
ASSAULT
AFTERMATH
THE PRINCESS
JOURNAL ENTRY 4 (EARLY)
SHADOW VOICE
AREK’S STAND
LEAVING THE ISLE
JOURNAL ENTRY 5
THE WALL
DRAGON VISION
BLADE DREAMS
JOURNAL ENTRY 6
SOVEREIGN’S HAND
HOPE
CONFLICT
JOURNAL ENTRY 7
A FINAL ILLUSION
DUEL IN THE WASTES
INTO BARA’COR
JOURNAL ENTRY 8
THE SCYTHE
CAPTURED
DEBRIEFING
JOURNAL ENTRY 9
TORTURE
THE TEAM
OBSESSION
JOURNAL ENTRY ... UNSURE
HISTORIES: SILBANE
THE NEXT MISSION
A CHANGE IN PLANS
JOURNAL ENTRY 11
TEMPEST
A NEW LORE FATHER
JOURNAL ENTRY 12
FALLS OF SHIMMERENE
REBORN
JOURNAL ENTRY 13
FIRST COUNCIL
GUARDIAN OF THE WAY
JOURNAL ENTRY 14
THE CATACOMBS
FORGING THE ISLE
JOURNAL ENTRY 15
HISTORIES: KISAN
HAVEN
JOURNAL ENTRY 16
INTO THE DARK
JOURNAL ENTRY 17
FIND AND KILL
FALCON’S PREY
JOURNAL ENTRY 18
THROUGH THE DOOR
THE MEASURE OF A MAN
JOURNAL ENTRY 19
ASCENSION
BLACKFIRE
JOURNAL ENTRY 20
LAST STAND
ONE DIES, TWO LIVE
JOURNAL ENTRY 21
BROTHERS IN ARMS
THE EYE OF THE SUN
JOURNAL ENTRY 22
BERNAL’S QUEST
LILYTH’S GATE
JOURNAL ENTRY 23
CLOSE THE BREACH
DEVASTATION
JOURNAL ENTRY 24
YETTEJE TIR
TRAPPED
JOURNAL ENTRY 25
THE OLD LORDS
PLANEWALKERS
JOURNAL ENTRY 26
DAZRA
READER’S GUIDE
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
EDITOR’S PREFACE
I have been working in the publishing business as an editor and author for more than twenty-five years, and spent fifteen years as an editor of fantasy novels for Wizards of the Coast, which is one of the biggest fantasy publishers in America and a subsidiary of transmedia giant Hasbro. I have worked with some of the most significant authors in the genre, and brought to publication more than a dozen New York Times best sellers. I am myself a best-selling author, with fifteen published books to my credit, including The Guide to Writing Fantasy and Science Fiction (Adams Media, 2010), which is currently the number one book on the subject.
The strength of Mythborn rests on three essential foundations: characters, worldbuilding, and the writing itself.
The author’s characters are richly-realized and strongly motivated. Each of them possess a unique personal attachment to the world, the other characters, and the story at hand.
The creation of a compelling fantasy world, what we refer to as “worldbuilding,” is the single element that differentiates fantasy from the other genres. It is absolutely at the heart of it. Mythborn presents a world with exceptional depth and imagination that draws from the archetypes of the fantasy tradition, which are vital touchstones for the fantasy audience, with a subtle and thoughtful hand, thoroughly avoiding cliché.
The author’s writing exhibits an entertaining balance of action and adventure with emotional clarity. The story has a fascinating ethical dilemma at its heart. There is never a dull moment in the pacing, language, and truly surprising twists and turns.
It’s been a delight working with Vijay and Mythborn, and I am this book’s, and this author’s, biggest fan.
Philip Athans
Editor
AUTHOR’S PREFACE
As a first time author, I want to thank everyone for their help and support with the Mythborn series. It’s been an amazing road, and you, my fans, are my biggest motivation to write.
This story is about an assassin-in-training, a boy named Arek, being led to his death. Armed with this knowledge, what will Arek do over the next seven days? What would you do?
It’s the exploration of the villain’s arch that most interests me, and I hope entertains you. The story may seem to start off like every other fantasy novel, but don’t be fooled. I’m using things that look familiar to open you up something truly different and unique!
If you stick with it, you’ll see a world unfold unlike anything you’ve read before, with dwarven assassins, ultra-lethal combat, and no simple clichés; a place where death is only the beginning, and gods of our making walk amongst us.
I've enclosed a sneak peek of the next book, Bane of the Warforged, at the end of this book for your enjoyment.
I hope you enjoy reading Mythborn as much as I did writing it.
Thank you all!
V. Lakshman
24 November 2013
“Any sufficiently advanced technology is
indistinguishable from magic.”
—Arthur C. Clarke
HISTORIES: SOVEREIGN’S FALL
“War is not about who is right.
It is about who is left.”
—General Valarius Galadine, High Marshal
The final battle lasted for days, leaving the ash slopes littered with dead. Bodies lay strewn about with the casual haphazardness of violence passed. King Mikal Galadine stepped his horse forward carefully, mindful not to trod upon those who had fallen in his name. His gray eyes drank in the scene, the dark earth of the volcano’s slope now stained with the blood of men. In that gaze, the toll the past years had taken was there for all to see. New lines creased his face, and his shoulders slumped with the weariness of a man
who had labored far too long at the task of war.
Too many sacrificed, he thought, and now one final duty. He motioned to his armsmark.
“My lord?” the armsmark grunted.
Mikal sighed, then ordered, “Bring your men forward.”
“At once, sire.” The mounted armsmark turned and cantered back to the lines, barking commands at the assembled soldiers.
The ground shuddered. Mikal’s horse whinnied, then stepped to the left, the animal’s senses attuned to the minor rifts occasionally snapping into and out of existence around them. He’d been told to expect small quakes, by-products of the magic that allowed a space between their world and the demon plane to open. The tremors would pass, now that the Gate was closed.
Mikal gave his horse a few pats on the neck then turned his attention back to the slope and the ragtag band of men and women descending it. They stumbled along slowly, supporting each other, with barely the energy to breathe, much less walk. Hundreds had gone up to do battle with the demonlord Lilyth, but barely twenty staggered down from that final struggle, their black uniforms gray with soot.
But they had succeeded, and the demon was dead, buried in the volcano’s smoking pit. Lilyth had destroyed vast stretches of the land in her quest to subjugate and rule, and much work remained to bring back what her all-consuming hate had perverted. An army of lore-masters had bought new hope, but the price of their service had cut deep.
So many signs had been missed, and so many mistakes made. A younger Mikal Galadine might have dwelt on such regrets and allowed them to change his heart, but the elder king’s sense of justice took over, silencing any doubt. Mistakes had indeed been made, but some debts are paid for in blood.
The survivors came down the last rise. At their lead was Mikal’s friend Duncan, who raised his hand in greeting. The king could see the effort it cost him.
“Rai’stahn has pulled the dragon-knights back. The gods be praised, we were successful. Lilyth is no more.” Duncan lowered his pale eyes. “I am sorry… for the loss of your brother.”
The king brushed off the concern that was plain in his friend’s voice, and said, “Whatever was left of him died years ago. We do what we must.”
Duncan turned his attention to the people behind him, missing the look of determination on his friend’s face. “Your leave to move to shelter? Sonya is especially drained.” Pride shone in his eyes and a slight smile escaped, despite his immense weariness. His leaden arms moved automatically to support his wife, who stood a bit unsteadily beside him, though her eyes were clear and alert. “She truly is the Lore Mother to us all.” At his touch, she leaned into the comfort of his embrace.
“A moment,” King Galadine said, holding up a mailed hand. His armsmark cantered forward and handed him a scroll. After he’d backed away, the king undid the black ribbon and unrolled the parchment.
Confusion ran for a moment across Duncan’s face. “My lord, can this not wait?”
For the first time, the king met his eyes. “No, it cannot.” He looked down at the parchment and began to read:
“On this day, the twentieth of Peraat, I, King Mikal Petracles Galadine, proclaim the Way of Making false. It shall no longer be practiced in the lands of Edyn. Those who continue to adhere to and follow its teachings shall be put to death. Those who exhibit the Talent shall be sacrificed for the greater good of the land.”
The king met his friend’s confused gaze, “Never again shall we find ourselves under the yoke of the Way.” A breath passed, then two, and in that instant the two knew each other’s hearts. Then Mikal bellowed, “Archers, forward!”
The armsmark repeated the command and one hundred archers moved forward in lines on either side of the king.
Duncan looked about in alarm, then shook his head in disbelief. “What are you doing?”
“I killed my brother for the safety of this land, archmage. Why would I spare you?”
Duncan dropped all pretense of mannered speech and exclaimed, “We fought side by side! Now we are to be executed?”
“No. Just as my brother, you are a casualty of war.” The king turned and nodded.
Bows bent and released, their strings thrumming as deadly shafts sped to their targets. Having defeated Lilyth, few mages had any strength left to defend themselves. Arrows pursued the few who tried to flee, ripping through flesh and finding vital organs. Most died where they stood.
Sonya screamed, diving at her husband, who had not moved. She caught hold of his chest, placing herself in the way of coming death. In a moment the sound of bowstrings stopped. She cautiously opened her eyes and found the rest of her friends and compatriots scattered about. All were dead or dying. Only she and Duncan remained.
Duncan looked around in shock. “You... they defend you with their lives.” He looked up numbly. “They were heroes. They had children, families...”
“No,” the king said.
His answer caught the archmage off guard. The king’s dead gaze never shifted as he watched a sickening realization set in across Duncan’s features.
“You killed their families, too?”
Mikal remained silent, his eyes searching the blasted landscape for an answer. Then he looked back at his friend and said, “I cannot allow this to happen again.”
Duncan shook his head, “Women and children?” He paused for a moment, then added, “Why have we been spared?”
The king motioned with his hand and a runner came forward with Valor, the fabled bow of House Galadine. “You have not, for I share the burden of my law.” He grasped the weapon, rune-carved and ancient. Its black wood seemed to soak up the little light left. “Hold each other. I will make it quick.”
Sonya stepped forward, her hands protectively over her belly and said, “You’ll be killing three of us.”
It was simply said, but delivered with such intensity it swept aside any royal formalities, speaking directly to the man she had called friend these many years, instead of a king who now sat in judgment.
Mikal’s gaze fell to her stomach, her meaning instantly clear. Slowly, his chin dropped to his chest and he slumped forward, every part of him physically echoing the grief he felt. He sat there for a moment in silence, then answered her from under his helm, his voice sounding hollow even to himself. “It is the worst thing I have done,” he said, even as he slowly nocked an arrow. “But not the worst I will ever do.”
“How can you live with yourself?” she accused.
The king took a deep breath, then raised himself and met her incredulous stare without flinching. “Make no mistake, my lady, for I am damned as well. I have killed the innocent, those pledged to my service, even children. Unborn shall be put to death for no crime they can control. Is this justice, fairness, or misery I now spread in the name of safety?”
Neither answered, but the battlefield replied with the moans of the dying, and the cawing of crows. Then, Duncan turned to his wife and held her close. Their eyes met, the years behind their gaze speaking more than any words could. Their hands touched tenderly, and in that briefest of moments a small blue spark jumped from her to him, unnoticed by anyone else. Duncan looked at her, first with astonishment, then with anguish.
She grabbed him tighter, then whispered something in his ear, to which he slowly nodded. Their embrace lasted only a moment before Duncan met Mikal’s eyes and said, “Nothing dies.” It was an age-old adage, warning of the ghosts injustice always raised.
The king’s grip tightened, but he said nothing. He sighted down the shaft, his hands steady, and slowly drew back. Valor groaned, as if the runebow knew what was about to happen and ached for release. Then, its twang-thrum echoed across the battlefield, the sound scattering a few black-winged thieves, their bellies full of the flesh of men. Two bodies fell, pierced by one arrow.
The king looked down, drew a shuddering breath, then turned back to his handiwork. His eyes, however, did not waver with remorse or regret, for there was none. They remained hard, like the granite rocks surrounding
him, and just as dead.
Many years passed while King Mikal Galadine descended further into grief. Some heard a cawing of crows whenever the king was near. Others heard screams echoing from a far off battlefield. The word, ‘scythe’, was cautiously whispered, but no one knew why. Perhaps none wanted to say, ‘curse’ – that the king now reaped what he had sown.
Madness soon overcame grief, ghosts of a friend’s last words haunting Mikal’s every waking moment. No one knew exactly when he decided to take his own life, only that the deed was done after an heir had been born.
Darker times, though, were still to come...
Part 1
THE LORE FATHER
In combat, make every intention
To kill your opponent.
Every cut, every strike, every breath,
Must feed victory.
—Kensei Tsao, The Lens of Blades
You ask me to put my apprentice in harm’s way,” Silbane Petracles addressed the council, his voice firm. Second only to the lore father, none doubted his wisdom or power. That power now ran through his voice, echoing with an undercurrent of anger.
His hair stood cropped close to his head, and a goatee framed a lean face. His body followed suit, with dark clothing, functional and well-used. Silbane’s flesh, where it showed, had the weatherbeaten look of a man who spent much time in the sun, with corded muscles bunched tightly around a thin, tall frame. His eyes sparkled with intelligence. Normally they would be laughing, as if an unspoken joke lay forever at the tip of his tongue. But the mood of the council now reflected in Silbane’s eyes: hard, cold slate.
“We have not interfered in the land’s business since Sovereign’s Fall,” Silbane continued, turning to address the lore father directly, “and now you want us to help the Galadine royal family? You and Thera suffered the most under their rule. Are not two hundred years of persecution and loss enough? What madness is this?” His arms opened, demanding an answer.
The other adepts stared at the lore father. Though they mostly agreed with Silbane, a hesitation hung in the air, an unspoken acknowledgment that if Lore Father Themun Dreys himself petitioned the council for action, the need must be dire indeed. Themun picked his weathered frame up and took hold of his runestaff of office. He made his way around the table until he stood side by side with Silbane who, with a respectful bow, released the floor and retreated.