Mythborn: Rise of the Adepts

by Lakshman, V.

  She stood, looking down at the dead assassin, breathing in gulps. Incandescent anger flamed within her, a blinding rage that reflected in the orange-white intensity of her flameskin. Slowly, the fire along with the anger within her ebbed as she saw the dead man at her feet.

  There was no pity in her, but she didn’t feel any better. She wouldn’t until every one of Prime’s team was dead, but a mistake she had just made needed to be addressed. She quickly knelt and put a hand to the assassin’s forehead, cursing her own rashness.

  She had to act quickly if there were any chance to mindread this one and gain critical insight into Prime’s plan. Slowly, her vision went black and she dove into Five’s fading memories.

  Prime went after the null, which could only be Arek. Two led the second strike team to the king himself, but the details were jumbled and difficult to understand and getting worse. Unlike Tamlin, who had still been alive, Five was already dead because of the virulence of the poison and Kisan’s anger. She should have kept this assassin alive and incapacitated, and cursed herself again. She knew Silbane would never have made such a mistake. Now she was forced to make a few educated guesses.

  She moved over to the doorway and took a moment to think. It was no surprise that Prime would go after the primary target. Their orders were to kill him, and Prime would not chance that to anyone else. Kisan didn’t hesitate in coming to a decision, for her mind had been turning it over ever since her contact with Lore Father Giridian. Arek made his choice when he killed Piter, and for that reason she abandoned him to Prime. It saved her issue with Silbane, but still accomplished her mission.

  Her mind turned now to the king and his family. She had no love for the Galadines, but would not help assassins who had killed the children of the Isle to kill again. Her best chance to find information on Sovereign lay with interrogating Two, who was privy to Prime's intelligence reports but not as experienced as the leader of these assassins.

  Kisan decided not to change back to look like Tamlin. Prime knew she was an imposter and had left Five to end her. The disguise was a waste of valuable energy, something she was using quickly, and the strike team would be suspicious of any dwarf that showed up at their location.

  She decided instead to conserve her strength and track the larger team led by Two. She moved out into the corridor and looked in both directions.

  Prime had been smart. He followed mission protocols and hadn’t shared anything with Five that could lead to him, except his target. That made tracking him impossible through the jumble of memories, but Two hadn’t been so careful. He and Five were friends, and he had shared their path.

  Kisan smiled, then set off at a fast but silent run, her form fading from sight like a shimmer of heat. She would find and kill this team, extract whatever information she needed to put an end to Prime after he finished Arek, and find out what she could about Sovereign. Then for Piter, Thera, and all the children of the Isle who had fallen to these assassins' blades, she would end Prime's life in the most painful way she could devise.

  FALCON’S PREY

  A Bladesman never interrupts,

  While his enemy is making a mistake.

  —Davyd Dreys, Notes to my Sons

  Ash and his men were assembled in a ready room, a smaller octagonal room that resembled the great council chamber, except there was only one statue and sphere here. The room was dominated by a table like the one in its larger counterpart, around which clustered soldiers of Bara’cor, each with varying expressions of awe.

  They looked upon an enchantment that had suddenly sprung to life, causing this table to display images of a miniature map of Bara’cor and the surrounding area. The enchantment seemed to change the map as necessary, so as features changed in the land around Bara’cor, so too did the table. It was as if the rock itself knew what was happening around it. However, unlike the table in the larger war room, this displayed the images hanging in the space above the table in three dimensions.

  Another aspect of the table was that it showed the nomad army like a red stain of blood spread before the fortress walls. This had begun not too long ago, and clearly not in time with any attack launched by the nomads. Still, whatever magic allowed the table to mimic the landscape of the terrain, also considered the nomads an enemy. Though it was not detailed enough for small scale tactics, it was useful to understand quickly the disposition and concentration of the enemy forces. Talis looked at it now, while Ash flipped a small leather belt to Chandra.

  "This will be good for your knives," he said. "The king will be here shortly."

  True to his word, King Bernal Galadine came into the room, followed by his firstmark. He reached into a small pocket and retrieved the Finder, which he placed on the table as he came up to stand next to Talis, his eyes on the map. "Anyone come up with a reason for the table to start doing this?"

  "No, my king," answered Talis. The older warrior turned his attention to the map, interpreting it for the king. "Their forces are still groupin’ here, sir," he indicated with a cracked fingernail to a spot just outside of arrow and catapult range. "It seems the darker areas mean more troops, though I can’t say I understand how this blasted table knows that."

  "Have you ever seen the likes of this?" asked the king. He looked askance at the firstmark and the armsmark.

  Jebida moved a bit closer, displeasure plain in his eyes. "The damn thing has been a simple table through countless military encounters and now lights up like Haven on Winters Feast. It’s clearly magical, and the only people using magic against us are either camped at our doorstep or a spy in the form of a kid."

  "To what end?" asked Ash. "More likely this is some dwarven enchantment that has recently come to life."

  The king asked the armsmark, "But why now?"

  "It hasn’t been doing this for very long," Ash replied. "King Bara may have created it as an aid if the fortress would be breached."

  "Waiting till breach does not make military sense, whether you be dwarven or not," the firstmark huffed. "No, something else is causing this." He leaned forward, a hand on his chin looking at the table, "I'll admit though, seeing the enemy like this is useful, if the information can be trusted. Never throw away an advantage in a fight."

  Ash looked at the assembled men and motioned to the king. "With your permission, I’d like to go over the final preparations before we infiltrate the camp."

  The king nodded, but then looked around. "Where’s the boy, Arek? We’ll need him to activate the Finder." He motioned to a waiting runner and ordered, "Fetch him... and my son for that matter." Looking back at the armsmark he said, "A moment, no sense in repeating yourself."

  As the runner took off, Talis bent over, inspecting something on the section that showed the translucent image of Bara’cor’s interior. "Now... what’s this?"

  Three small blue dots moved through the fortress. They followed the hallways and corridors and moved with alarming speed.

  The king and his men came closer to look. "What is that?"

  Ash took a look and his eyes narrowed. "Whatever it is, it’s coming towards us." He turned to the door and drew Tempest, who sang a clear note of fine steel as she cleared her scabbard. His team, the king, and Jebida followed suit. "Prepare yourselves."

  Talis drew his short blade and kept his eyes glued on the map. "It’s coming down our passageway." A few heartbeats went by and then he whispered, "It’s right outside the door."

  With a deafening crash and a flash of blinding light, the door burst inward and chaos ensued. The king and Jebida fell back as Ash and his team moved forward out of instinct, the party able to act only because of the warning they had gotten from Talis and the table. However, the explosive entry had served its purpose and disoriented the defenders, who still moved without coordination.

  Their disarray cost them, and Sevel took the brunt of the first attack. A black shape slammed into him. Three punches that sounded like granite hitting flesh sent him flying backward across the table. He landed in a crumple
d heap on the far side, unmoving.

  Two knives flashed past Ash’s ear as Chandra whipped them at her attacker. Both scored a hit, sticking into the chest of the man, but not as deeply as Ash expected. The man slapped them out of his body, then threw his stiletto at Chandra, who ducked and rolled at the last instant. The knife stuck halfway to its hilt in the stone behind her.

  Behind the leader came two more black shapes, fast as lightning. They arced over the point man, landing lightly on either side of the table to engage the defenders, who had fallen back along the sides.

  Talis moved forward, slamming into the man on his side, and put him into a wrestler’s hug. It wasn’t until he tried to get his arms around his opponent that he seemed to realize his mistake. The man was bigger than he looked and his body did not give at all.

  Two crushing blows slammed down on Talis’s shoulders as the attacker’s elbows smashed into his back. His grip loosened. Then a fist cracked into his skull and he fell back, half conscious.

  Ash held Tempest, who pulsed green. He drove his attack forward, spinning a deadly web of steel around the attacker facing him. The man used his forearms to block the blade, and Ash was surprised to see Tempest spark and skitter off. Then his foot caught. The very stone of the room seemed to trip him.

  Shieldrock! she cried. These aren’t men, beloved.

  Ash didn’t reply, recovering from the trip and continuing his deadly dance with his attacker, who moved with the fluidity and grace of one borne to combat. Each of his cuts and strikes met a forearm block or an ingenious dodge, leaving the armsmark tired and frustrated.

  The king had only his short sword, but knew its use intimately. He started to move forward, but a meaty hand closed on his shoulder, pulling him back. Jebida stepped in front, armed with his blade, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "Stay behind me," he said, not looking back at the king.

  Jebida swung his blade, but the man was incredibly fast, moving in with one kick to block his arm, then another to his midriff, before dancing back out of reach. The firstmark let the kick hit him, obviously expecting his greater size and bulk to protect him, but had to have regretted that decision—his resulting grunt of pain from the normally quiet firstmark enough of a clue. Jebida was picked up and slammed into the wall on his left.

  Ash pivoted around a punch-kick combination, then aimed a strike for the intruder’s head. As he did so, he felt a sting in his neck and saw the man who stood behind the others firing some sort of metal tube. He started to raise his hand, but his muscles involuntarily tightened and he hit the floor, paralyzed. As the poison worked its way into his body, Ash began to convulse and his vision dimmed.

  Poison! Tempest exclaimed through her connection to Ash, but he could feel nothing. He sensed the sword desperately searching the room for something as he lay there paralyzed, watching the scene unfold through glazed eyes.

  The man turned and shot another dart at the king, who wasn't moving quite fast enough to evade it. But Jebida’s arm pushed him down at the same moment Talis stepped in, putting himself in the way. The dart hit Talis in the neck and the gruff old warrior clutched at it, his features locking into a grimace of pain, his hands becoming claws. He fell back, gurgling, even as the life left him. Talis fell, looking dead before his body hit the ground.

  The assassin flipped himself up over the table, then jumped and rolled as two more knives from Chandra flashed past him. He threw a stiletto, catching her in the midsection, and Ash heard her gasp as it drove through her stomach and out her back. The assassin continued his roll across the table and landed lightly in front of her. Then his fist crushed her sternum before she could draw another breath and she hit the back wall with a wet thud. He could hear her bones snap under the assassin’s fist, and knew she was dead.

  Then the man pivoted, flipping back to land near the king and his final bodyguard, the firstmark. Another held his position while the third circled around until they faced the last men standing in the room.

  "Surrender and I will let the others live," the lead assassin said, indicating the firstmark and the fallen. He looked at the king with glowing blue eyes. "They have no need to die here, King Galadine." Then he flashed some kind of sign to his men.

  Ash lay on the ground, his vision nearly gone, his body wracked in pain. Then something happened and the pain began to lessen. He saw a clean green light in his mind’s eye, suffusing his body with energy, beneficent and healing. It neutralized the toxins and drove it from his blood. The tiny dart fell out with a small sound, as the glass shard hit the floor. Ash looked to his left, where the sound of labored breathing ceased. It was Sevel, his eyes frozen open in death. Ash carefully levered himself over and was about to stand when a voice from the door stopped him.

  "Two."

  There in the doorway stood a woman, dressed in the same style of clothes that Arek had been wearing, but darker. Her lean frame hinted at violence, but controlled and focused. She was younger than Ash by his reckoning and spoke with authority. Her voice cut into the room like the keen edge of a blade.

  "I know death means little to you, but failure...." The woman walked slowly into the room. "The Adepts on the Isle live. Six and Five are dead. Your team will not survive meeting me."

  The man seemed to know instantly who this woman was. He signaled his men, and though Ash had no way of understanding the meaning of the gesture, he noticed the assassins imperceptibly readying their dart weapons. The smile on the woman’s face said she knew exactly what would happen next.

  The strange man snarled, "Kisan Talaris, you make this too easy." He signaled again, but the woman was faster than Ash—or the assassin—imagined. Even as all three brought up their dart weapons and fired, she was in motion, bringing her hands together in front of herself.

  The darts sped at her, their glass bulbs filled with the toxin that had nearly killed Ash, but they never reached their target. The woman’s hands came together in a single clap that detonated in the room like thunder.

  The sound was frightening in its intensity and the very air seemed to bend and flex, then every piece of glass and crystal in the room shattered. The darts, lethal messengers of death, exploded into tiny fragments, as did every dart on the assassins’ belts. So too, did every pitcher, glass, and plate in the room.

  The woman waited for the carnage she had wrought to end, then looked at the assassin. Her form burst in a flash of orange-yellow fire, surrounding her in an ethereal, protective flames.

  "My turn," she said simply.

  The man she’d called "Two" didn’t wait and neither did one of his comrades. Both moved forward with a speed that belied their bulk. Again, their adversary proved even faster than they anticipated. She met their attack with her own, a series of striking blocks that looked strong enough to break bone and shatter stone.

  Two moved to his left and tried to come up from behind her, but she grabbed the other man and flung him as if he weighed nothing at all. Both assassins went down in a tangled heap.

  The third man started to move, but reacted to a sharp pain in his back. He looked down and saw the point of a sword emerge from his chest. Then he was spun around to face the man he had seen die with a dart in his neck.

  Ash yanked his sword out, then in one fluid motion swung it in a short, deadly arc. The sword flashed emerald as it decapitated the man where he stood. The head flew off, but the body remained standing a moment longer before dropping to its knees and falling forward.

  Ash saw the woman at the door had begun her attacks in earnest now, moving through her opponents as one would when fighting children, her aim sure and true. Occasionally her flaming aura would flash orange or yellow as one or the other managed to get in a strike, but nothing actually touched her. She and these assassins dueled in a deadly dance of strike and counter-strike, something Ash knew well. It only continued for a heartbeat or two, then Ash heard the sound like a branch breaking and the leader fell back, his arm hanging at an unnatural angle.

  In the blink of an eye,
the woman spun into the opening created by the leader’s misstep. She swept aside two punches from the second assassin and struck with the tips of her fingers through that assassin’s neck, crushing his throat and spine. He fell to his knees, gurgling at the leader’s feet, unable to breathe through his pulverized windpipe. She didn’t wait for him to die. She slammed her elbow into the crown of his head, driving it down and crushing his neck. The man folded in on himself, the crack of his neck a clear indication that he died instantly.

  The woman took a breath, her form brightening with fire, then she exhaled. Only Two was left alive, his arm broken, his options limited. Without moving, she addressed the last remaining assassin, "Two, who is your Sovereign?"

  Beloved, shall we kill this one? implored Tempest in a girlish voice.

  No, Ash replied, we must have answers.

  * * * * *

  Two stared at Kisan with hate and said, "How do you know my designation?" Then it seemed to dawn on him.

  Kisan came eye to eye with the assassin and said, "I killed your men—" she making a slight motion to encompassed the room—"all of them."

  Two met the master’s gaze, a small smile on his lips. "Then they deserved it. What of Prime and the king’s son? Will you bargain for that information?" He began reaching with his good arm for something on his belt.

  "Stop." Kisan saw the dwarf begin the almost imperceptible motion and froze him with her voice. She knew what Two intended. There was a small point on his belt, behind which lay a sharp needle coated with the same poison as in the darts. One touch and the needle would scratch him, bringing instant death. "You know I can stop you before you kill yourself."

  "Then why haven’t you?"

  "Wait!" said the king, holding up both his hands to prevent any ill-conceived attack. He looked at the woman who had dispatched these assassins so easily and asked, "He spoke of my son. Where is he?"