Mythborn

by Lakshman, V.

  The figure took the helm and handed it to a waiting yeoman, then stepped forward, smiling. “I greet you, Lord Arek. Your arrival has been a cause for eager anticipation, and celebration.” He stepped back and bowed, looking at Arek from the tops of his amber eyes.

  Arek looked at the man with confusion. “You’re with Lilyth?”

  The man smiled, a flash of white teeth. “We serve what is best for our people, and you are most important to that end.” The man paused and turned back to his yeoman to whisper something. The blue warrior bowed and ran off, his sprint barely leaving a trace or sound.

  Arek began to feel these “men,” whatever they were, lived in complete harmony with their environment. Their steps did not disturb even a blade of grass. Then he felt Niall grab his arm, pulling him closer.

  “Don’t trust him.”

  “Why?” Arek whispered back.

  “Don’t tell him who—”

  The man turned back, interrupting whatever Niall would have said, and explained, “Forgive me, but we must make haste. We are your escort.”

  He then seemed to notice Niall and turned to address him with a formal bow. “It is a great honor to meet one of the old blood, Prince Galadine.”

  Before Arek could say anything Niall answered, “You know me, too?”

  The man paused, his eyes flitting to Niall’s hands before answering, “Of course, Your Grace. We have been instructed to escort both of you to Lord Arek’s father.”

  Shock brought silence to both of them, but Arek spoke first. “My father?”

  The man in armor nodded. “He has been most eager to meet you, but until now circumstances have made your reunion all but impossible.”

  “Circumstances?” asked Niall.

  The man looked rueful when he answered, “The war has exacted much from our forces. Guaranteeing your safety was paramount and required immense forbearance. Your father is most patient to have let his love for you wait this long.”

  Arek felt confused and asked, “War? Lilyth said there’s no war in her realm.”

  An uncomfortable silence grew as the man seemed to be searching for an answer. He finally said simply, “You did not appear within her lands. There is danger, and we must make haste.” He looked to his men and issued commands in a language neither of the boys understood. The blue-skinned warriors moved quickly into formation.

  When they had assembled, the man turned back and said to Niall, “Your Grace, may I beg your favor?”

  Confusion ran across Niall’s features, but he nodded for the man to continue.

  “Many envoys were dispatched at the news of your arrival. Whoever greeted you first was to send back proof of your identity, something specific to you. Upon confirmation, soldiers will be sent to protect our passage.”

  “Proof?” replied Niall. “What kind of proof?”

  The man in silver flexed his wings, a smooth motion that started and ended with the casualness one would use to move an offending lock out of one’s eyes. It was this very casualness that made the gesture seem inhuman, causing both Arek and Niall to take a step back. He tilted his head and gestured to Niall’s hands, still smiling.

  The prince looked down, at first not understanding. Then he noticed the glint of his signet ring, and asked, “My ring?”

  “I can appreciate your confusion, Your Highness, but in a realm where thoughts are reality—” he raised his hand and a sparkle of air coalesced into a flute filled with an amber colored drink—“the highlord must be certain he’s sending his forces to the right place.”

  He took a long swallow then tossed the glass into the air where it disappeared into a scintillating cloud of particles. “Your signet is something unique to you, and difficult to conjure because of its exactness. It is more than a simple aperitif.”

  Arek could feel Niall look at him, clearly hoping he had an answer to this strange angel’s demands, but said nothing. The cloud of particles still held his attention. They dispersed quickly, but for a moment swooped and dived like a flock of birds or a swarm of insects. Why would these particles have intelligence? The young adept thought for a moment, then looked at the man and asked, “What is your name, sir?”

  The man bowed. “I am Gabreyl, and I promise Prince Galadine’s ring will be returned safely to him. It is the highlord’s greatest wish that you come to no harm whilst under his aegis.” He bowed again, his wings curving around his shoulders to drape him in a regal argent cloak.

  Though there was nothing about this man that made Arek trust him, he also understood they were alone and at the mercy of Lilyth’s forces. Better to be aligned with them than not, he thought, rationalizing it as simple expediency. He turned to Niall and said, “If this land is dangerous, it might be prudent to have soldiers with us.”

  “Do I know you, sir?” Niall asked the angel.

  Gabreyl smiled and said, “Perhaps. Do I remind you of someone?”

  Niall seemed to consider that for a moment, then shook his head. “I can’t place it but you seem familiar in some way.”

  Arek looked at his friend in surprise, having thought the same thing only a moment before. Perhaps the prince was more astute than he’d given him credit for. His regard for Niall’s attention to detail went up a notch.

  “Here.” Niall slipped the ring off his finger and handed it to Gabreyl.

  The messenger took it gingerly then made a strange sound, almost a whistle. The sound echoed out, becoming louder. As if in answer a deeper whistle similar to Gabreyl’s echoed back. Whatever made that sound, however, was big.

  Gabreyl turned back to the two young men and said, “A wingblade has been summoned. They are fearsome to behold, but mean you no harm.”

  The approaching sound grew louder, a whump whump of stomping feet running at a fast clip. Even as the two young men watched, the crowd of soldiers parted and a rider on what could only be described as a giant running bird appeared. The rider was horned and tattooed the same as the rest of the blue-skinned warriors.

  It was the bird however that caused both Arek and Niall to hold their breath in shock. The wingblade stood almost nine feet tall from the ground to its majestic crest. It was resplendent in iridescent colors that shifted from a deep cerulean blue to a bright turquoise, depending on the angle from which it was seen. Arek thought it strangely colorful in an already vivid landscape, something a predator would likely appreciate.

  As if hearing his thoughts, Gabreyl said, “Wingblades have no natural predators. In addition to their speed, they are armed.” He gestured to the bird’s feet, which revealed wicked crescent-shaped talons, each adorning a toe. It was clear the bird could disembowel a man with one slash.

  It turned its black eyes on the pair, blinking as its rider reached down. Gabreyl handed over the ring and said something else in that strange, almost musical sounding tongue. The rider nodded then turned and kicked the bird into motion. It shot off in a blur, almost faster than the eye could see. Another rider joined her. Soon they were out of sight.

  “Sparrow will ensure your ring is properly delivered.” He smiled and motioned to his men again, who promptly fell back into formation.

  “Is that the bird’s name, or the rider’s?” Niall asked.

  Gabreyl didn’t look back but he laughed and said, “The rider’s. She has been riding since she could climb onto a saddle. Nothing will stop her.”

  “How far does she have to go?” Niall asked.

  Gabreyl smiled and said, “No farther than we do, Your Highness. She makes her way to a henge not too distant, along with her sacrifice. From there to Avalyon is only a step.” He looked at his men and then back at the two young lords. “As I said before, we must make haste. May I give the order?”

  Arek nodded slowly, not understanding the context of the word “sacrifice” just used, but nonetheless feeling it sounded somehow ominous. He also wondered if they truly had any choice. He did not know where Lilyth’s realm started or ended and wandering the countryside, beautiful or not, seemed count
erproductive. Better they had these blue-skinned “men” escort them, especially if they meant to take him to his father. At that, a thought occurred and he turned to Gabreyl and asked, “What do you call yourselves?”

  “They are the seed of your father’s work, born from his blood and indomitable will, bound to protect and serve all those of his House,” Gabreyl said with a smile. “They name themselves ‘elves,’ and serve your father faithfully as defenders of his realm.”

  Arek didn’t miss a beat and asked, “And you don’t count yourself amongst them?”

  Gabreyl tilted his head as if acknowledging Arek’s insight and offered, “Though I share kinship with these elves, I am bound by more than flesh to my House, my lord.”

  “Who’s my father?” Arek asked directly.

  “Ah, I regret I cannot answer that yet, my lord. Your father has asked that he be the one to properly introduce himself.”

  Niall addressed Gabreyl then, saying, “That doesn’t seem right.”

  The winged man in armor bowed and replied, “Nevertheless, I am under very specific orders. May we continue this discussion as we make our way to the highlord’s abode? I promise all your questions will be answered, but we are in danger if we linger here too long.”

  Arek turned to Niall. “What do you think?”

  “What choice do we have?” replied the prince of Bara’cor as if completing Arek’s earlier thought. Niall continued, “We can’t just wander around.”

  Arek pursed his lips, his eyes running over these “elves” assembled as their escort. Despite the claim that this area was not safe, Gabreyl seemed unwilling to rush them along without their consent. That made him cautious. Arek was aware the man in armor had skillfully avoided answering any questions too directly.

  He thought about it a moment longer, then nodded and said, “Very well, you may escort us, but please provide us your station, sir, so that we may address you properly.”

  Gabreyl bowed once and said, “Armsmark Gabreyl, Your Grace… the highlord’s messenger.”

  Archmage

  It is said a man is only as smart

  As a woman half his age plus seven years.

  A simple thing to remember in conversation

  Harder still when your life is at stake…

  - Alain the Farflung, A Guide to Westbay

  The pain of transition was welcome, a sharp reminder that he was still alive. Duncan appeared where he’d expected, the invitation from Lilyth depositing him almost at her doorstep. He stood some thousand paces from her castle, a white structure that rose out of the ground like daggers pointing at the sky.

  He took stock of his surroundings. The smell of pine and a cool crispness permeating the air marked the season as Spring. The sky was lit orange by a sun that looked larger than the one he was used to. The analytical part of his mind immediately wondered if he was still on Edyn, or some other world connected by Lilyth’s Gate.

  It likely did not matter, as getting home was not a matter of distance but of his own perseverance. Almost there, he thought with a clarity he found refreshing. It was as if his time on Edyn had been a fugue, a mental lassitude Lilyth’s realm cleared away. He was seeing things now with a crystal acuteness that extended as much to his thinking as it did to his vision. The world before him was unambiguous in its reality, defined by sharp edges and clear outcomes. Suddenly choice had relevance, consequences had meaning.

  Before he could spend much more time appreciating this simple fact, two figures detached themselves from the castle’s wall, like gargoyles come to life. They flew toward him, angling downward to land lightly. Then one stepped forward and said, “Greetings, Lord Scythe. Welcome to Olympious. The Lady will see you now.”

  Duncan nodded, his pale eyes drinking in their details. They looked like twins, bearing bronze colored breastplates, greaves, and blades. Their features were essentially like his, except for the fact that their skin seemed to be made of a white stone, like marble. They waited patiently, evidently for his word of approval.

  “Lead on,” he gestured.

  The two bowed, and began walking to what could only be the main gates. Neither looked back, as if assured that he would follow. Duncan did, knowing his first task in finding Sonya would be to face the Lady. And, he knew, she would not have brought him here if their deal was done. There was something more she wanted, and he would have to play his hand carefully.

  It was not long before he was crossing a bridge that led to the main pyramid-shaped spire, the sunlight shining through the parapets to paint alternating stripes of orange and shadow on the white bridge’s deck. Normally a bridge without anchor points below would need to be suspended, yet he noted no cables or lines. Curious, for it bespoke a level of magic used that exceeded that found in Edyn. Regardless, the bridge and castle were beautiful to behold.

  Something blue caught his eye and when Duncan moved to look, he was surprised to see this castle’s “moat” was actually a chasm that fell past dark walls to blue sky below. They were floating!

  He looked back up and saw what he’d missed before, mainly because he’d not expected to see it, the sky dotted with small shapes. Were these islands like Lilyth’s, each floating in the serene firmament? None looked nearly as large, but that might have been a matter of perspective and distance.

  As Duncan neared the main entrance guards snapped to attention and he was handed off to two others who led him inside. These fell in ahead and behind, silent but implacable, like living statues leading him inward and up.

  Lilyth’s castle was more than a simple stronghold, it was made up of multiple spires and surrounded by a small city that rose like a stepped pyramid. Each level up led to a single spire of white, a needle that pointed to the sky. Everywhere he looked, he saw people milling about, and children running around under the watchful eyes of their parents and city guards.

  The soldier in the lead motioned and they turned to enter an open courtyard, following a paved road that led in an orderly fashion around Lilyth’s city. What he’d taken for the main spire had, in fact, been merely an entrance in the outermost wall. Concentric rings circled the castle grounds, each “ring” a living space filled with markets, houses, and more children accompanied by their parents. Life here did not seem so different from a city in his own world, yet something nagged him, like a book that did not close because a page had folded upon itself. It was just enough to keep him cautious and alert.

  In moments, they had entered a thoroughfare that was wider and more ostentatiously decorated. It sloped upward, bisecting the rings and cutting a line directly to the center of the palatial grounds. His escorts picked up their pace as the speed of those around them became faster.

  Soon, they stood in front of massive doors flanked by winged guards, the wings a sign Duncan had begun to associate with being Aeris. No doubt a preferred method of travel in a world of floating islands. At some unheard signal, the guards opened the doors and backed away with a bow.

  “Be welcome and enter,” Lilyth’s voice echoed out clearly. The room was filled with courtesans and other folk, and even more children. They ran in between the legs of adults, scurrying about like mice at play. Clearly whatever laws the demon-queen enforced, she did not impose any limits on where children were allowed to play.

  He took a step in and looked around, unable to identify Lilyth, for the throne seat was empty. Looking to his right he caught his first glimpse of the Lady through her royal retinue, standing near an open arch by herself. Her aura of power was unmistakable, bringing a certain coldness to her beauty. While that did not surprise him, her blue skin did. Wherever bare skin showed from beneath her simple silver gown, he saw a soft blue that seemed to shimmer with its own light.

  Her form was lithe and tall, though not quite as tall as he. The curve of her back ended in a long, delicate neck, and a face framed by dark hair swept up her head into a small mountain of curls. Her large eyes shone from a heart-shaped face, deceptively young for a demonlord reputed to be man
y centuries old. When she turned those eyes upon him they glowed blue, but he wasn’t sure if it was magic or just the light from the setting sun.

  She leaned casually on the stonework, gazing at the world spread out before her. On the other side was a vast stretch of land, so vast that Duncan could not see its end. He realized with a surprise that they were in the spire, so high that looking down gave him vertigo, though he had no fear of heights. The immense lands of Lilyth fell away from the city and downward, continuing the pyramidal slope until it hit a vast flat plain that continued for as far as the eye could see. He had not recalled climbing stairs of any type, yet the vista spread outside the arch was a silent testament to the fact that he was indeed overlooking her lands from a vantage high above the ground proper.

  He bowed and said, “My lady.” A calmness had descended over him, so unlike his near frenzied state inside Bara’cor. Another byproduct of Lilyth’s power? he wondered. Perhaps, yet his purpose had not wavered, and in a voice laced with deadly intensity he asked, “Where is she?”

  Lilyth looked at him, her gaze casually straying from the red gold sky to appraise him through half-lidded eyes. “Welcome to Arcadia, Lore Father, home of the Aeris. We meet at the moment when small actions have great meaning.”

  Her voice was filled with a kind of melancholy, as if the simple words of welcome had drained from her any interest she might have had for discourse. He found himself moved to sadness, though he did not know why.

  She traced a single finger on the rough stone of the sill upon which she sat, then rose slowly, moving away from the arched window. Her blue skin caught the light in such a way that it seemed almost iridescent, changing from its deep blue to a color tinged with an almost aqua green. She smiled softly, revealing perfect white teeth, and said, “We are both blacksmiths, you and I.”

  Duncan moved closer to the window and the spot she’d just vacated, his eyes searching the verdant landscape. Her unwillingness to be straightforward irked him, but not so much that he wasn’t willing to be pleasant. “How so?”