Mythborn: Rise of the Adepts

by Lakshman, V.

  "And give up a weapon just like that?" The firstmark snapped his meaty fingers. "Why don’t we just give him some of our rations as well?" Jebida looked to the king and said, "Bernal, think about what you’re suggesting. Even if our team gets to Silbane, he has certainly been captured and may have been killed. How do we even know what it glowed like when he was alive? Ash’s team could appear in whatever serves as their prison," Jebida turned to Ash, "or a fire pit, where they dispose of their dead."

  He paced around the table coming to stand before his king. "You understand that anyone might see this portal? It could attract their entire army down on Ash and his team. You cannot be taking this seriously."

  The king measured the firstmark’s words. He was right, they were making many assumptions without enough information. Still, what was their alternative?

  After a moment, he asked just that. "The Firstmark speaks the truth. However, I believe his master still lives or, according to our prisoner, the charm would not glow at all. What other choice do we have? We have a chance to surprise the nomads with a small"—and he looked meaningfully at Ash—"but deadly team. They have the chance to kill the nomad chieftain and end this siege."

  The king then asked Ash, "Do you think your chances are better trying to sneak past the nomad lines?"

  Ash thought about it, then said, "I think his master is captured and they will not be expecting our arrival. It could be an easier way in, regardless of where we appear. Remember, we will be dressed as them."

  The firstmark stepped forward and faced Ash. "Forget betting your life. Are you willing to bet Bara’cor’s life? If you are wrong, the mission and our best chance, ends with you."

  Ash met the firstmark’s eyes, his mind clearly in turmoil. He drew a breath, then ticked off with his fingers his reasons. "This talisman seems designed to bring Arek and his master together in an emergency, which would be done with little noise and fanfare or the idea of maintaining a stealthy mission would be lost. If Arek thinks the sword can heal his foot, then he will have no choice. I go first through this ‘portal’ with the sword, then the team follows. The boy stays here till our return." Ash paused then added, "It gives us a way to get back here without going through the nomad lines."

  "You’re suggesting leaving the portal open?" the king asked the armsmark.

  "Only if we can adequately guard it from this end," answered the armsmark. "I think Stemmer can hold that line until our return, assuming she recovers."

  "Girl has a hard head," remarked the firstmark, "she’ll be fine."

  Ash nodded, then added, "Of course, we might be able to close it by tossing the charm through without Arek."

  "And once you’re in, you’ll be wherever this Silbane is. Jebida is right, what is your plan?" asked the king.

  "Remember, if he is one of those seen by our scouts, he was captured while trying to defend his apprentice. He’ll no doubt recognize Tempest, proof we have Arek. I think he’ll help us, if for no other reason than that. Furthermore, if Arek is this formidable, imagine what his master must be like."

  "Even better," Jebida retorted, "now there’ll be two of them." The firstmark moved over to the table, looking at the relief map and thinking. "And what if he refuses to help, but instead wants to return here, to see to his apprentice?"

  "I suppose I’ll let him return, Ash replied. "I never expected to have his help in the first place, but getting in without daring the nomad line is help enough, right? Besides," Ash added with a smile, "why would Silbane abandon me? Aren’t I charming enough?"

  "Not funny," retorted the firstmark. "Clearly I’d have better luck talking sense to Bara’cor’s walls." After a moment he shook his head and said, "At least this plan is better than the one that had men dying to get you in."

  "I agree," Ash replied.

  The firstmark shifted his feet uncomfortably, then looked to the king. "I am not against this plan, it’s just..."

  When the firstmark trailed off, the king asked, "What? You may speak freely here."

  Jebida shook his head, then threw his arms open and said, "Trusting magic is forbidden, by your very own forefathers! It was a decree that held our people safe, and now you would flaunt that. I say we’re better off without the boy or his master. Nothing good will come of it."

  The king faced his firstmark and said, "I rescinded that decree years ago, Jeb. The Magehunters are disbanded. If they operate, they do so outside my law. Persecuting an entire class of people because of how they are born is wrong. Who are we to judge the good or ill a man may bring to this life?"

  Ash stepped to the firstmark’s side and said, "Dead is not better off. Not for us. Not for the people of Bara’cor." The armsmark laid a hand on his commander’s arm, "Many will be taken again by these demons."

  The firstmark shrugged off his second’s hand, "You presume too much, armsmark," he said gruffly.

  He looked back to the king and said, "You may have chosen to overturn your family’s law and I do not question that. You are correct, it is your law and your judgment and I will always follow. I just don’t have to like it." He paused, about to say something else, then instead said, "If I may be excused, sir? We’ll need to get the boy bandaged and cleaned up."

  The king nodded, empathizing that Jeb's mind must certainly be on his dead family. He was surprised Ash had taken that route to try and convince the firstmark, but these two had a way of communicating that the king trusted would lead to a good end. "Yes, see to it. I’ll finish up here with the others."

  With a nod and salute, Jebida left the room and an uncomfortable silence followed. Finally, Yetteje, said in a quiet voice, "So, where does this leave us?"

  The king watched the back of his retreating commander and said, "We need to speak with Arek."

  Journal Entry 11

  Of the Titans and gods I know to walk this world, I have seen a few. I thought I saw Lilyth in the distance, the Lady of Flame in all her splendor. I’ve seen Petra, and mighty Heraclyes. Each ignore me as if I do not exist. Am I too inconsequential? If they are the creation of our legends, truly powerful in the Way, perhaps it is better not to come to their attention. Still, what kills a god?

  We cannot stop the creation of new Aeris, but they are not the true danger. They are consumed by incantation or spell. They are fuel, and while they create problems in diplomacy with the Aeris Lords, they are not the true reason for our downfall.

  It is these Aeris Lords given life by our thoughts, who concern me. We cannot stop their Shaping so long as we believe higher powers are at work and a god heeds our prayers. It is a difficult problem to solve, especially in the face of the masses who sit cow-like, chewing their mental cud and praying for divine intervention. I sigh when writing this.

  It will only be a matter of time before these Aeris Lords enslave us. It is inevitable. Once given life, they begin to dream. Their dreams span the entire heart of our kind, from the basest treacheries to the highest ideals. They are our gods and our demons and demand our fealty. It is their nature.

  In their place, what lesser station would you accept?

  TEMPEST

  Attend an ancient wisdom;

  If your woman runs away with another man,

  There is no better revenge, than to let him keep her.

  —Altan proverb

  King Galadine waited in the council chamber, joined by the armsmark, his team, Yetteje, Niall, and the royal guards. He expected the firstmark shortly, with their prisoner. Bernal reflected on his choices.

  The torture was unavoidable and he would not regret that. Frankly, Arek’s injured foot was their key bargaining chip now, and though he had not anticipated it, a powerful advantage for them.

  He’ll want to be reunited with his master. It won’t take much for him to decide to leave Bara’cor’s hospitality. It occurred to the king that Ash was correct. Arek’s master had real reason to cooperate, mainly because he could depart with his apprentice. He would try to reason with the boy first and leave intimidation as a
last resort. Satisfied, he waited for the firstmark to arrive. He did not have long to wait. A few moments later, Jebida entered the council chamber with their prisoner in tow.

  The boy hobbled in supported on crutches, escorted on either side by guards. He clearly could put no weight on his injured leg, which now ended in a stump. He looked haggard, devastated, and in pain. Dark circles stood like half-moon bruises under each eye, and to the king the boy looked young and frail. It was hard to believe this was the same person whom Ash held in such high regard.

  Behind him came Sargin, the man who had led the interrogation of their prisoner. As the group slowed, Sargin moved around the boy and came to stand next to the king. They had agreed on this tactic earlier, a way to apply added pressure to the boy during these critical negotiations.

  The king acknowledged Sargin with a nod, accepting that men like him were unavoidable in times of war. When the king looked back, the boy was looking at his interrogator with a gaze of hatred so pure that for a moment it startled him.

  Perhaps this boy has more steel than I thought...

  Still, Sargin’s presence would serve to remind the boy of the horror he had endured and make Bernal’s offer even more enticing.

  The firstmark and king had chosen to introduce Arek as if he were a guest, hoping it would set the tone of the meeting correctly. The king couldn’t tell if it worked, for the boy stood still, his face unreadable and his faded blue eyes distant. Bernal marveled again at how similar the boy looked to himself, years ago. For him, it was like looking into a mirror dimmed only by time.

  "Your Majesty, may I present Arek Winterthorn, apprentice to Master Silbane Petracles."

  * * * * *

  The king bowed and said, "I won’t waste your time with apologies or false platitudes of friendship. We caught you within our fortress during a time of war and could not hazard those inside. I did what I felt necessary to ensure our safety. Even if you cannot forgive this, I hope you can understand the position you put us in."

  Arek slowly looked up at the king, his mind numb. His foot throbbed with every beat of his heart, but when he looked down, there was no foot there. He only glimpsed it once after his interrogation, not willing to look again. Given his training on the Isle, he knew it was not repairable, for there was no foot left to repair. He felt pain in a phantom appendage that no longer existed, and with its disappearance he had lost the rest of his life. Gone, he knew, were his chances of ever being an adept.

  He didn’t know this "king." He couldn’t place him in the same reality as the pain he felt, though a detached part of him understood that someone who claimed such a title was ultimately responsible. That was not so for the man standing by the king’s side.

  Arek knew him, and both hated and feared the sight of Sargin. If he could have wished his pain on someone, it was the man who stood emotionless to the king’s left. He would find a way to make him pay.

  For now, though, the apprentice looked at the king numbly, not really knowing what to say. In the end, he decided there was no point in speaking. They knew everything he did and speaking freely now felt like a betrayal to the loss he had suffered. It made no sense, but it was how he felt.

  "I cannot fault you for remaining silent, but I have reason to bring you before me." The king looked to another man and motioned for a written report. Scanning the pages, the king looked back at Arek and said, "I’ve read your confession and I believe you. I am willing to offer you a chance to rejoin your master. Though you claim no ability with magic, perhaps with this sword, Tempest, your foot may yet be restored."

  Arek was shaken by what the king had just said. Tempest! He'd all but forgotten the blade. He looked around, his mind latching onto this possibility the way a drowning man will clutch at anything. Freedom was something he'd discounted, given the treatment by his captors. The chance to rejoin his master?

  He was sure Master Silbane could restore his foot, he had said as much when Arek had been given Tempest. He would be healed and he would be rid of these people forever.

  No, he vowed silently, I’ll be rid of these people until I have real power. Then I'll return, and there will be a reckoning.

  Then it occurred to Arek, this king wouldn’t just let him go free. That made no sense. Something else was going on and though pain dulled his thinking, he knew a bargain was about to be offered. He took a breath, then said in a timorous voice, "You know my master will come for me."

  The king nodded, acknowledging Arek’s ability to discern what had remained unsaid. He then handed the report back and drew forth Arek’s Finder. It hung from its thin chain, sparkling and glowing with its own light.

  The king said, "We know your master still lives. We also know he’s been captured by the nomads, so he won’t be coming for you any time soon. We want to insert a team into their camp. Their job will be to kill the nomad chieftain. Your Finder—"

  "I don’t believe you," Arek interrupted. He understood the king’s plan. They wanted entry into the camp. He wanted to sound sure, but couldn’t help it when his voice cracked as he caught the emotionless eyes of Sargin.

  The king shrugged, then said, "We know he was taken by the nomads, along with an armored knight. I offer you a chance to rejoin him, and so long as you do not seek retribution, we will give you Tempest. I will have my men..."

  Arek’s awareness tunneled in what he now recognized preceded the appearance of Piter. He was not surprised when he turned and saw the shade standing there, but there seemed to be something different about him.

  "Revenge!" Piter looked at the frozen scene, his eyes finally coming to rest on Sargin’s form. "Retribution for what he did."

  "What do you mean?" In a way, Arek found himself happy for Piter’s appearance. Despite his abandonment before the torture, Piter was the only familiar face in the room, and Arek felt very much alone.

  Piter moved closer, his countenance reflecting barely contained fury. "Revenge for daring to attack an Adept of the Isle, and but for Ascension, you are that already! Make no mistake, you have the bargaining power here." He looked around again then nodded at the figure of the king. "He will do anything to get into that nomad camp."

  Arek thought Piter’s anger strange, but said, "What do you suggest, or are you going to just disappear again?"

  Piter smiled, coming conspiratorially close, but careful not to touch the apprentice. "I know a way." Then Piter leaned forward and whispered, and the smile spread to Arek’s face.

  * * * * *

  ". . . watching. So long as you make your way from this fortress peacefully, I will vow to let you go in peace," the king finished. The boy looked like he hadn’t heard the last part, but before he could repeat it, Arek hobbled forward on his crutches.

  "I am the only one keyed to use the Finder," Arek said. "And I can transport you and your men to where my master is. What is your plan?"

  The king looked at his assembled men, his gaze finally falling on his son. It was for Niall he even considered this. His survival was more important to the king than any other, and sending Ash and his men into harm’s way ensured that. He cleared his throat and looked back at Arek saying, "I will give the blade to Armsmark Rillaran for safekeeping during transport."

  Ash stepped forward so Arek could identify him.

  "If Ash and his team appear where your master is, the team will free him," the king continued. "And Ash will request his help in killing the leader of these nomads. If Master Silbane agrees, they will carry out that mission. Once accomplished, the armsmark will turn the sword over to your master, who can come back through the portal and collect you. From there, what you and your master do is of no concern to me, so long as you do not interfere with our efforts against the nomads."

  "If Silbane refuses, he may take the sword and return here to collect you." The king licked his lips, then added carefully, "Transporting our team into the nomad camp will be considered payment in full for your release. You may depart, but we hope you both will join our cause."

&nb
sp; Before Arek could reply, Bernal held up a forestalling hand and said, "Should you alone disappear when the Finder is used, we will consider Tempest held as fair ransom. However, if you wish your master to heal your injuries, you will do your best to make sure Ash and his team make it through the portal, or you will not have the means with which to heal yourself."

  Arek was silent for a moment, thinking. He then said, "You assume my master can’t heal me without Tempest."

  The king nodded, looking at his men. "We are all making assumptions, but these are desperate times for Bara’cor." The king met Arek’s look with a direct stare and said, "I saw the look on your face when I mentioned your master and the sword, so I believe you believe this could work. Am I mistaken?"

  "No, you are not, King Galadine," Arek said with a sigh. "Tempest, it seems, is my best chance of ever being normal again." Arek hobbled forward a little more. "I can transport your men to my master’s location and with that you will have a good chance of ending this siege. That means saving many lives, including those you hold most dear." He looked pointedly at Niall, who stood next to the king, so clearly his son and heir.

  "I, however, have one demand, or I will not help you." Arek’s eyes left the prince, meeting the king’s in a dead stare.

  Bernal too stepped forward. "You are not in a position to bargain. I could have you thrown into a cell to await the inevitable fall of Bara’cor to the nomad army, or perhaps there is more information we might extract." With that Sargin stepped forward and Bernal noted the boy visibly paled, but held his ground.

  "Do that and you will never have my help. This fortress will fall and your future will die with you." Arek nodded to Niall with that last statement, his meaning clear.

  In that instant, Bernal knew the boy understood his predicament, and what was dearest to the king’s heart. It was a moment of clarity, the knowledge that this boy had insight and cunning. If for no other reason than this, Bernal began to believe the boy might in fact be more than he claimed. A grave trepidation began to grow in the king’s heart, a fear he was about to make a terrible error in letting Arek live. Still, if he hoped for his line to continue, the hope rested on receiving his prisoner’s help.