Mythborn

by Lakshman, V.

  “You offered him Sonya?”

  “In a manner of speaking, yes. We cannot offer him what has been taken, but I offered him a lens and told him where Sonya could be found.”

  “Avalyon.” Baalor nodded, considering Duncan’s objective carefully. He finally looked up and said, “His skill may yet unravel a way past Valarius’s blood magic.”

  “I leave to him to sort out the hows and whys in whatever fashion suits his fractured mind. He need only get the lens within its walls, and his wife and son are his. Doing so will give us Avalyon’s position in phase.” She turned to him and smiled. “Once done, we must be ready to move quickly.”

  “Who leads then?”

  Lilyth paused, then said, “Deft.”

  Baalor laughed. “You set the pieces on the board nicely, my queen. There’s no better whip to drive this particular horse.” He waited, then asked carefully, “I understand about the wife, but his son?” Baalor thought for a moment. “If he realizes we don’t have him, you will not compel his hand.”

  “True, but by then it will change nothing.”

  Baalor cocked his head at that. “Why?”

  “You truly don’t understand people, my Lord of Storms?”

  “Of course I do… they’re children—curious, petty, and vile,” answered Baalor, feeling like he may have missed something obvious. Though his queen was right, he seldom cared to understand the things the people of Edyn scurried about praying for, so long as they remembered him in their prayers. His own aloofness had made him a favored deity for those who believed the gods were capricious, seldom intervening on behalf of mortals.

  The demon-queen put a hand on Baalor’s arm and said, “Love. He cannot resist going to Avalyon now that he thinks Sonya may be there. He will risk anything.”

  Baalor considered that. Love was a siren’s call, a type of madness he understood, though in the archmage’s case it had turned to something darker. No wonder Sonya survived. If survival hinged upon Duncan’s blind faith, she would live forever in Arcadia. Baalor knew one thing without doubt: Duncan would find only misery and heartbreak should he venture to the magical isle of the elves. He looked at his queen and simply said, “It will be difficult for him.”

  “His sanity hangs by the barest of threads. So lost was he that the merest wisp of clarity is almost more than he can bear. It is painful to watch,” she agreed. One hand slowly came up to rest delicately under her chin. “What will he do when faced with Valarius, a man who has taken the only thing that ever mattered to him?”

  The Stormlord chewed on his lip, and he could not help that a hint of sadness crept through to his features. “It will break him. He will be unpredictable at best, a maelstrom of carnage at worst.”

  “And at that moment, I will use the lens to anchor Avalyon, and send our forces through.”

  Lilyth looked away from her second-in-command. “The archmage will serve our needs. Choice is nothing but an illusion, a warm blanket for those who believe they have control over their insignificant lives. Duncan has only one purpose in life or death and that’s to spread ruin. Let that ruin be far from us.”

  Baalor bowed, fist to chest, and took a half step back. “As you wish, my lady. May your blessings be upon us all.” She gave him a smile in answer, to which he bowed his head in reverence. Then he offered, “I hope this one proves a worthy replacement.”

  Lilyth looked at him for a moment before saying, “You cannot be replaced, but I hope he proves worthy of life.” She waited until Baalor acknowledge her with a nod, then commanded, “Come before me,” to the empty room.

  The air in front of the dais shimmered and sparkled, materializing into a kneeling man of massive proportions. When he’d fully coalesced, the figure stood and breathed out a long exhaled groan, his head still hung with his chin to his chest. At the second breath, he raised his head and opened his eyes, now shining blue with the power of the Aeris queen suffusing him.

  It was a temporary reprieve, Baalor knew. Whether this man lived again or not would depend very much on what he did next. His queen appraised him as one did livestock, her expression one of careful consideration. Perhaps, thought Baalor, he might indeed be worthy of the honor to continue the assault on Bara’cor. First, he would be tested, and would have to prove his mettle.

  The demon-queen’s lips parted and she said softly, “You once worshipped the sun.” It was not a question.

  The man shrugged without looking away. “If ‘worship’ is the best choice of words.” His deep voice spoke in Altanese, the guttural language of the desert-born. Baalor smiled, the man’s language no barrier for the Aeris.

  As if underscoring his thoughts, Lilyth smiled and shrugged, then said back in the same language as if it was her mother tongue, “The light you worshipped is the god, Mithras, and his benevolence shone upon you and your people for eons. His warmth held your people up, kept you fed and unharmed, as the multitudes upon the world of Edyn grew.”

  She looked directly at him and asked, “Tell me, have you felt his touch? Have you felt the Sunlord amongst you?”

  The man looked up, his expression narrowing. He stood there, silent and massive, like a statue made of living flesh. Then he looked down and said, “No, not as others say they have.”

  Baalor smiled as Lilyth glanced quickly at him, for the man had passed his first test.

  “You speak truly, for Mithras fell on the battlefield of the last war, long before you were birthed. His spirit lives on, but there has been no flesh that could withstand his purity and might.”

  The man looked up at that. “And this flesh?” he asked, stabbing his chest with a meaty finger.

  Lilyth shrugged again. “Worth is found in deed. You failed before, even with the help of the red mage.”

  “I was betrayed,” was all the man said.

  “Excuse is the armor worn by fools and cowards,” replied Lilyth, looking down at the man. Here came the second test.

  For a moment, he thought the man would attack. His fists clenched and muscles rippled up his forearms to his shoulders, threatening violence. Baalor prepared to strike him down at the first sign of action against his queen. Yet something besides Lilyth’s power stayed his hand, a strength to bear the truth, even when delivered as an insult. He nodded, but said nothing.

  This was Lilyth’s test, to see if the man could be led, a test his queen used to separate the mindless brutes from those who had the ability to think. Many had strength of arms, few had the ability to control themselves. Had the man acted rashly, Baalor knew he would have watched him die again and fade into oblivion.

  Instead, the massive figure slowly fell back to his knees, then placed gnarled fists on the ground. He bowed, touching his forehead to the dais, and said in the common tradespeech of Edyn, “One chance at life, and I will destroy Bara’cor and all who live within her. I will follow wherever fate leads me.”

  Lilyth did the same, switching languages with the ease of drawing a breath, “You may perish, obliterated by the pure light of the morning sun. Mithras is the Dawnbreaker, and I cannot rescind that which is freely given by you.”

  The man did not move from his place, but asked, “Will I be who I am now? Will I remember?”

  Lilyth paused, and it was here that Baalor knew the true judgment would come. The third and final test was at hand.

  “You will become more than you can comprehend. Do you submit?”

  The man raised himself to kneel before her, looking up without fear. “No.” He paused, took a deep breath as if tasting life for the last time, as if he knew the truth may kill him, and felt compelled to utter it anyway. “I will not submit… yet, I will serve you.”

  Lilyth smiled and said, “You have shown truth, control, and now humility. I ask you this only once, for you still have a choice. Once it is done, you will be born again as a lord at my side, or you will be truly dead. Do you wish to continue?”

  The man shrugged, “Everything dies, not everyone truly lives.” He then leaned back
and rested on his haunches, waiting for whatever the Lady chose to do next.

  “Mithras.” The word echoed out, magnifying until it filled the entire room with a resonance that became a deafening thrum, shaking Baalor’s very bones. The vibrations grew stronger, and knew the Dawnbreaker approached.

  A golden glow appeared above the man, who in response looked up. It intensified, bathing him in a yellow pool of radiance. As the glow expanded, a spear of light stabbed up through the open top of Lilyth’s stronghold and through the spire at the very top, striking the blood red sky and painting it golden from beneath.

  Then a column as bright as the sun itself struck back down that spear, engulfing the man in its incandescent brilliance. The man arched backward, his form disappearing as the light and heat intensified into a yellow-white sphere of power, as if the sun itself had come to rest upon him.

  A moment later the sphere imploded, flashing into nothingness and leaving behind a black circular depression of superheated and charred stone, still glowing red. At its center knelt the figure of the man, motionless, his form smoking. His eyes opened, flashing yellow like the sun from which he had pulled everlasting life, then slowly turning to the white-blue radiance that marked one of Lilyth’s Aeris Lords.

  “You have slumbered for far too long, Lord of the Sun” intoned the queen. “Rise, and take this sacrifice, this flesh, as your own. Your legend is not finished, your story not ended. You are the star of the morning, the sun that breaks dawn, and will bring my light back to our world.”

  Lilyth looked to Baalor, kindly waiting for his nod. He gave it, loving his queen for her mercy and benevolence. Sacrificing Hemendra to possession had been necessary for this forging, an opportunity they could not overlook. Some part of the desert barbarian, as the Lady had promised, would survive within this new life. Some small part of what had made Hemendra would be kept within the Aeris who now took possession of his body.

  She looked down and her eyes flashed a final time, blue and argent with power as her command boomed forth, shaking the very firmament of Arcadia as she finished the forging of a god as powerful as Baalor, a god worthy enough to take his place.

  “Rise, Mithras the Morningstar. Thou art the Lightbringer and Dawnbreaker. Rise again and command my legions, for Edyn awaits its one true master.”

  Westbay

  Friends and lovers lie endlessly.

  Seek out your enemy if you would know the truth…

  - Argus Rillaran, The Power of Deceit

  War had come to EvenSea, and if the rumors were right, the fortress itself lay in a smoking ruin, its arched gates collapsed across the Galadine’s March. More than one local prayed for the Lady’s mercy on the Tir family, hoping they had somehow escaped the barbarians surging from the deep desert.

  The March had been blockaded immediately and Westbay’s militia had been put on full alert. Between them and the soldiers of EvenSea, who were stationed in the pass and the natural barrier of the mountains, a relative calm had been maintained in Westbay and Morninglight. Watching, one could believe Edyn was at peace.

  The Sunsetter Inn had its usual evening crowd; a mix of travelers, local fishermen, store owners, and dockhands, washing down the day’s work with the inn’s nutty and bitter brew. Trade flourished across the cities dotting the inland sea as people and goods made their way north and south from this bustling port town, nestled on the western tip of EvenSea.

  That was probably why no one paid particular attention to the slender figure who entered the Sunsetter and quietly took a seat. She was non-descript, but her vaguely exotic, gold-flecked eyes might have caused a second glance, if one were particularly attentive. Otherwise, eyes tended to flow over her like water on a leaf, never really pausing at her presence. It was a fact that suited Sai’ken perfectly, for she was no lady and attention was the last thing she wanted.

  “Can I help ye miss?” said the woman behind the bar, dropping a napkin and a forked blade in front of the traveler.

  “I—”

  “To the might of EvenSea, rising again to glory!” toasted a soldier at a table to Sai’ken’s left. He sat with a few others, into his drinks and maybe just a bit louder than necessary. His declaration was met with quite a few hearty, and a few disinterested, “ayes” from around the room.

  Sai’ken looked back at the bartender and added, “Ale, and something to eat, please.”

  “Got some chicken left. From the size of ye, looks like a quarter will be enough.” She smiled in a good-natured way and placed a wooden mug of ale down, then left to get the meal.

  Sai’ken grasped the mug and turned, taking stock of the room. So many people, she thought, and all so happily unaware. She smiled, sipping her drink, a bit envious of such blissful ignorance. She placed a hand on the wooden bar and leaned back, resting against the warm wood. To be out amongst the people of the world again!

  For almost two hundred years Sai’ken had been kept isolated on the isle her father called their home. Oh, she’d enjoyed the occasional quest and schooling with the other dragons of the Conclave, but true freedom had been a carefully shielded dream she’d only recently dared to take.

  Though Rai’stahn had never said it, she’d begun to understand that Sai’s were rare. So much so that when she’d suggested volunteering for this task, her father had forbade it immediately. Luckily, she’d determined he did not have all the facts and so had gone to the great dragon Rai’kesh to have a reasonable discussion. Her father had worried about her exposing herself, but finding Armun and the Phoenix Stone was paramount, and Sai’s were especially gifted at interacting with the prey inhabiting Edyn.

  Neither task would be easy. Though her conversation with the new lore father had given her a place to start, following the Conclave’s orders concerning Armun put her at odds with not just one but two Adepts of the Way. Clearly Giridian had understood that, since he’d not volunteered more information than he had to, and who could fault him? Even now he may be telling them to prepare for her arrival. It was not a situation she took lightly. These adepts were potentially dangerous, especially to a young Sai without the benefit of the Rais’ more predatorial mindset.

  What concerned her more was the fact that the last place she knew for certain Armun had been was inside the mountain itself. Given that it now was the home of Sovereign’s forces, she’d likely have to collaborate with the adepts to gain entry. The mountain was known for being less than hospitable to intruders. While she could mask herself for a time, Sovereign would eventually sense her. By then, she’d better have figured out a plan to achieve her primary objective.

  Likely that when all was said and done, she’d have to neutralize one or both of the adepts, a fact she found particularly unpleasant given their allegiance to the Way. Still, she reminded herself, gardens needed tending and culling to grow. With a sigh and another sip of the inn’s ale, she quit her daydreaming, focusing instead on the task at hand. Time enough for dreams later, she semi-chastised herself.

  The woman came back, plopping the plate down behind Sai’ken, who did not turn in response. The innkeeper stomped like a buffalo and eating was not Sai’ken’s purpose in ordering food. She’d found that many a person would be more willingly talk to someone over a meal, as food seemed to be what most of these prey created bonds around. The idea of sitting around a meal was a silly thing, but again these halflings were silly folk.

  In fact, Sai’ken was astonished at just how elaborate meal time was, with social rituals, prayers, even sharing! It made no sense, but she reminded herself again, who knew how prey thought? Maybe their habits were a result of the fragile nature of their existence? To her continued amazement, sharing food seemed to be a signal to drop all pretense of defense, as meager as they were. Perhaps they thought it safer because of the size of their group? The behavior was both puzzling and useful, as this “safety in numbers” kind of addled reasoning opened opportunities to talk. And talk was something they certainly loved to do.

  Sai’ken smiled a
t that and had she been in her true form, one would have seen razor sharp fangs in that smile. Instead, a diminutive girl looked over the group of people, marveling again at how easy they made it for the hunter, staying together like a herd of cows.

  “Not to yer likin’?”

  Nay, thought Sai’ken looking out at the tavern, thou art quite to mine liking. She then turned and reached for the bladed fork, stabbing a piece and eating it, still smiling. “No, just wondering what the latest news is.”

  “Latest news? Unless yer from a cave the news is all about Bara’cor,” the woman said, revealing a gap-toothed smile. She leaned in close and added with a conspiratorial authority, “Sure we’ve heard EvenSea rises again, but they say the demon-queen is back and this time she’s taken King Galadine as her own. They’re consorts now…” she said with a knowing wink.

  “She could do better,” Sai’ken replied in a disinterested way.

  “Ha! I guess she could at that.” The woman looked around, then leaned in a bit more and said, “You heard about Lastpoint? They say there’s nuthin’ left. The Blue just swallowed her up like she was never there.” She said this as if trying to prove her sovereignty over gossip, waiting with baited breath for Sai’ken to say no, but the dragon in disguise disappointed her.

  “Indeed? I’d heard the same, and worse,” returned Sai’ken, matching the woman’s tone.

  “Worse! Tell me. If it’s good, your next drink is free.”

  Sai’ken swallowed another sip, liking the taste, then said, “Heard dwarves have been showing themselves again.”

  The woman screwed her eyebrows together, “Someone’s been pullin’ yer leg, or yer pullin’ mine. Tain’t no such thing!” The woman leaned back as if to leave, then turned back and said, “Dwarves you say… where?”

  She saw the hunger in the woman’s eyes for news of any kind and tapped her mug on the bar. The woman’s eyes dropped down, then with a sigh she pulled a pitcher out and refilled it.