Mythborn

by Lakshman, V.

  Thoth nodded, then disappeared in a flash.

  Giridian turned around and looked back out the window at the door Tomas had disappeared into. Fear could also be a disabling force, causing even the best to falter. He would have to find a way to guide Tomas, or he was doing nothing but leading the boy to his death.

  Perspectives

  “A thousand words will not leave as lasting a mark

  as one good deed.”

  - Duncan Illrys, Remembrances

  Dragor awoke slowly, his head pounding in time with his heart. It was like a metronome outfitted with hammers beating on the inside of his skull. He lay on a makeshift pallet cocooned in darkness within a small tent. Next to his bed was a canteen, which he unstoppered and sniffed. Water! He quickly drank, his thirst growing as he became fully alert. The cool liquid tasted fresh and sweet and his body absorbed it like a sponge.

  When he’d drank his fill, he took better stock of his surroundings. The tent was bigger than he’d first thought. Then he was paralyzed with shock as an indistinct shape took form, seated off to his right. The shape didn’t move, giving the adept time to take a breath and think. He adjusted his vision to compensate for the darkness. The profile of a man jumped into sharp focus, lounging in a chair seated in the tent’s corner.

  The man was clearly asleep, his sonorous breathing interrupted only by a few coughs that turned into lip smacking sounds. Dragor didn’t know who the man was, nor did he care as he carefully slipped out from under his covers. When he’d gained his feet, however, he was hit with sudden vertigo, and had to hold out his hands for balance. The mindread had taken a greater toll on him than even he’d care to admit. He slowed his breathing, calming himself. Then he made for the tent flap, exiting as noiselessly as a soft breeze.

  Outside, groups huddled around small fires in threes or fours. The fires were shielded, telling him whoever these folk were, they were not in friendly territory. Though they went about what looked to be routine activities, their movements were small and hushed, as if they wanted to be careful not to attract any attention. Then the shape and size of these “men” gave him his second shock in what had been so far a very short day. Dwarves!

  He felt again that subliminal snap as his body prepared to run or fight. His breathing deepened, his senses became hyper alert and his mind blazed through permutations of possible reactions to his every action.

  “You’ll pull something if you stand like that,” Jesyn’s voice piped in from his left with an undercurrent of amusement that couldn’t be hidden.

  Dragor spun and was greeted with the sight of his former apprentice flanked by two dwarves, a man and a woman. “What…?” he began lamely, going from surprise to annoyance.

  Jesyn smiled. “You can’t be angry at my powers as an adept. Hearing you rise was… interesting.”

  She smiled, then turned to the two dwarves and said, “Dazra and his men are friends. We have some catching up to do.” She gave him a slight bow, a subtle way of telling him she was not under duress, then nodded back at his tent. Then, without waiting, she made her way in.

  The two dwarves with her stood by patiently, as neither seemed in a hurry. When Dragor didn’t move the woman gestured with her free arm at the open tent door and said, “Be welcome, Adept. Jesyn speaks well of you, and we share a common enemy.”

  The after-effects of the mindread were only starting to dissipate, but now would come the confusing rush of memories and information. It would take time for him to sort through it all and make it useful, time he hoped he’d have given this turn of events.

  He thought of Kisan, surrounded by enemies. The fact that the master had managed to assimilate the memories of the man she’d replaced and maintain an illusion of him while on the run now awed him. It showed him just how much more he had to learn before he could walk in her shoes.

  “Your name?” was all he could muster.

  “Tarin,” she said simply. Then she looked to her left and said, “And the man standing here looking grim is Dazra, our leader.” She smiled, and held out a hand.

  Dragor stepped forward and shook it, his own hand dwarfed by her own. When the man named Dazra didn’t move or offer his hand, he gave a short, uncomfortable nod and walked back into the tent where he’d woken up not too long ago. The interior was brighter as Jesyn had taken the opportunity to light a few lanterns. They burned with a cold white light that seemed too steady to be flame. Dragor marveled at it, until the guard who’d had been stationed was awakened with a swift kick by Tarin.

  “Get up, Halp.”

  The man’s body spasmed from whatever deep dream he’d been having to sputtering awake and clutching a makeshift throw over his chin. “What?”

  Tarin grabbed the blanket away and said, “You’re supposed to be making sure he’s all right, not catching extra sleep.”

  The man seemed genuinely annoyed when he said, “Ach, the halfling weren’t in no trouble. He was sleeping deeper than…” his eyes tracked over to the bed, realizing only now that it was empty, then back sheepishly at Tarin, “well, didn’t think he’d wake so soon.”

  “Get up,” she shoved him out of the chair and out the door, “we’ll talk about it later.”

  While the exchange had clearly been Tarin admonishing the man’s dereliction of duty, the manner in which they’d interacted spoke of a deeper friendship. The undercurrent was not officer to enlisted, but more sister to brother. Dragor took note of that and of the sense that the man seemed more a nurse than a guard. Interesting.

  Jesyn plopped down on his pallet, motioning for him to take a seat anywhere, which he did. As the two others joined them, she launched into the events since their capture of the assassin. She told him of meeting Dazra and his dwarves, of hearing their plight as his people went missing. She also told him of their strange entats, and pulled her sleeve back to reveal hers, only a small symbol compared to the full body whorls and sigils decorating Dazra and Tarin.

  When she was finished she asked, “You might find this hard to believe, but we’re sort of in Dawnlight right now.”

  Dragor was not the type to meet everything with skepticism. He tended to believe his own eyes and they told him that thus far, everything Jesyn said was true. Certainly if she’d been captured and controlled by these dwarves it would have been evident to him by now. Still, that they were in Dawnlight was something he felt suspicious of, if for no other reason than the images he was starting to see from the assassin’s mind did not match this place.

  It seemed Jesyn could read that from his expression. She turned to Dazra and asked, “May I show him?”

  The dwarven leader’s blue eyes pierced Dragor’s own, as if judging his soul. Then, hesitantly, he nodded and Jesyn reached forward and took hold of Dragor’s hand. “Relax… this unsettled me a bit the first time too.”

  Dragor could feel her warm hand and a small itch in his palm, like ants crawling between their grasp. Then his vision shifted almost imperceptibly and the tent seemed to dim.

  Just then, a dwarven man walked through the tent wall and past the shocked Dragor, going out the other side without touching or moving the walls. Another came through, walking right through Tarin and the chair she sat upon. More appeared, moving about their day, oblivious to their presence. They were ghosts, walking through their area without disrupting anything they touched.

  “What’s happened to them?” he asked, his eyes wide as he watched a woman bend over something unseen, then straighten and walk through the form of Dazra before disappearing out the tent wall.

  Jesyn smiled again and said, “It’s not them, it’s us. We are stuck here in Edyn. Dawnlight exists in between this plane and others.” She looked to Dazra, and Dragor noted that the dwarven man had still not said anything yet. His eyes told the adept he was not done assessing him even as Jesyn spoke, evaluating him through every question and gesture Dragor made.

  The adept thought for a moment, then said, “I appreciate your hospitality, especially caring for us wh
ile I was incapacitated.” At the same time, he risked a quick mindspeak to Jesyn, Let’s talk alone, before continuing, “Perhaps the information I gleaned from the assassin’s mind isn’t as useful as we thought.”

  The younger adept did not bat an eye, but replied, “Oh no, his memories are critical to our quest.” She stood slowly, and then turned to Dazra and said, “Do you mind if Dragor and I had some privacy?”

  Silence from Dazra, into which Tarin thankfully stepped in and replied, “Not at all. We’ll be outside making sure camp is set. Be careful not to wander too far or the centrees will intervene.” She took a still silent Dazra by the arm and pulled him out the tent door. In a moment, they were alone.

  “Happy?” she asked, clearly frustrated.

  Dragor looked sidelong at the other adept and said, “In fact, yes. Now, what’s really going on?”

  Jesyn sighed, then said, “Did you think the two of us would find the lost city after centuries of it remaining undiscovered? We’re good, but we’re not that good. It’s obvious we’re only here because they let us find them.”

  “I have no reason not to believe you. But ask yourself: why?”

  Now it was Jesyn’s turn to look confused. He could see her thinking before she replied, “You captured one of their assassins and mindread him. I don’t think they can do that.”

  “So what?” he asked. “If they’re good enough to capture us, they’re good enough to capture them. I don’t think simple interrogation is beyond their capabilities.”

  “They’re missing people, many they know and love. They’re searching for these assassins just as we are, but it’s something more complicated. I think it’s important…” The girl just trailed off without finishing what she had started to say.

  Dragor sat back, closing his eyes. Even now the memories of the assassin were jumbled up with his own, impossible for him to decipher easily. He knew that clarity would come with time. Then he looked back at Jesyn and saw her lip tremble, the edge of her composure threatening to crumble.

  He reminded himself that Jesyn had been required to watch over him and discern truth from lie, knowing if she chose wrong it would mean both their lives. It must have been hard, but what he had to do next would be harder still despite the fact that he loved her like a daughter.

  “Are you going to cry? Check yourself,” he snapped. “The hottest fires are needed to…” He waited for her, his eyes demanding an answer.

  Jesyn drew in a shuddering breath, but then completed, “…forge the best blades.”

  “Exactly.” He looked around the room, then back at her. “Look at me.” When she did, he could see she’d reasserted her control, but he propped her up further by saying, “You did well and I’m proud of you.”

  He stood and gave her a small hug, then caught her eye before finishing, “I don’t doubt your instincts, but we don’t know everything yet. Though he may mean no direct harm to us, I get the sense that Dazra is very smart. We don’t know if he has other opposing needs that run counter to our objectives, so stay alert.”

  He waited for her nod, a sharp one given with steady eyes, then he smiled. “Come on, let’s find him and figure out our next steps.”

  Jesyn stopped him, looking around. Then she said softly, “The assassin we captured. He’s one of Dazra’s missing people.”

  Dragor looked at her in surprise, “And you trust him still?”

  Jesyn shook her head at the misunderstanding and said, “What I meant is that they recognize him, but he did not recognize them. They won’t let him phase into their Dawnlight because of this, which is why we’re camped here.”

  The elder adept thought for a moment, then asked, “Two things: ‘their Dawnlight,’ and you’re saying Dazra recognizes him as one of his missing men?”

  “We’re here in Edyn and this mountain is real, but it’s not their Dawnlight. Their home exists in phase, some place in between our realms.”

  Dragor nodded quietly. Then he said, “Though I can’t decipher everything from the mindread yet, I saw nothing of Dazra and his people, which is strange.”

  “Strange?”

  Dragor realized she’d never mindread anyone before. “The thoughts are scattered at first, until assimilated. I can’t tell before and after, but usually you see images across an entire person’s life.” He looked out the tent door though his mind was deep in thought. “I saw nothing like that.”

  Jesyn fidgeted, her hands wringing and her eyes darting left and right. She made a small gesture for Dragor to come closer. Leaning in she whispered, “I heard Dazra talking with Tarin and a few others. As I said before, his brother is missing.”

  Dragor nodded, not sure where this was going, but speaking was risky. He reached out and touched her hand softly, a gesture that would make mindspeaking easier for her burgeoning powers. He did not want the dwarves hearing what she said next, so he cleared his mind. It will be taxing, but use this, and he opened the Way.

  Jesyn gave him a brief smile of thanks, then mindspoke, Look at the face of the assassin Kisan killed on the Isle.

  The lore father had shared Kisan’s memories with them before their departure, standard procedure for a mission like this. One never knew when a piece of information might be valuable. Those memories had already been assimilated and were available for Dragor without much effort.

  He looked at the face Kisan saw when she’d pulled off the mask, the face he’d seen when they found the body. At first, he didn’t see it. The boy had blond hair and a slash running down one cheek. His eyes were light blue and dull in death. Then something clicked and he saw something of Dazra, younger but nonetheless eerily similar.

  Then Jesyn mindspoke, His name was Tamlin.

  Dragor knew that name, he’d heard it from Kisan’s memories. A pit formed in his stomach. Had the dwarven leader been silent this whole time because he suspected? Had he been watching for signs of guilt? Kisan killed Dazra’s brother…

  Jesyn nodded, then said softly, “And somehow I think Dazra knows it.”

  Command

  It’s always good to tip your barkeep.

  They have access to your food when you can’t see them.

  - Alain the Farflung, A Guide to Westbay

  You did well.” Valarius looked back at his armsmark as they entered a more private meeting chamber situated at the very edge of Avalyon. One half of the room opened to look out over Arcadia, the sky and clouds a majestic backdrop to the room’s smoothly organic table and chairs. The other half stood with draped walls hiding passages in and out for servants and necessary aides. Every surface was polished to a high sheen, a veritable display of the health and power of Avalyon for anyone to see.

  His mind was still in turmoil at the news of losing Arek. It was a blow to their cause and worse, to his personal plans. Still, he could not entirely blame Gabreyl. Lilyth and her Furies were everywhere, and to run into two Watchers… the armsmark had truly done well in getting back here in one piece. That they had Niall was a pleasant and unexpected surprise. The boy would become a stalwart ally in the war, but first more pressing matters needed attention.

  Gabreyl shook his head, his thoughts clearly still on the events at the henge. “We were unprepared for the attack.”

  Valarius held up a hand. “Nothing unfolds as planned. You escaped with Niall and that has opened other opportunities for us.” He looked out over the magnificent expanse and said, “It is doubtful anyone survived the nephilim. You say they turn our elves dark?”

  “Yes, Highlord,” Gabreyl replied. “They were mindless, using teeth and nails to rend and shred our men. I thought I saw them… feeding on us.”

  Valarius thought about that. Though he was sure such creatures had existed since Sovereign’s Fall, he’d expected the possibility that Arek himself would hasten their creation given his dark gift. Indeed, the eradication of the Aeris necessitated the nephilim, but he had not expected his own elves to be turned. Their resistance to possession should have shielded them yet it had no
t. This was troubling. If the elves could be turned, it meant his timeline for leaving Arcadia would also be summarily accelerated. More reason to find Arek quickly and secure the gate at Bara’cor.

  He looked back at Gabreyl and said, “You blame yourself. Do not, for few would have survived such a battle. You must focus on the needs of our people now.”

  Gabreyl nodded but his eyes were downcast. “Do you remember my awakening?”

  “Of course,” Valarius answered, “you were the youngest of us, yet you heard my call.”

  “I came because I’m a Galadine and believe in you,” said the former king and armsmark. “I believe this world is a better place with our guiding hand. Yet now I question our choices. Have we done what is best by deed and action?”

  Valarius looked at his armsmark, struck down and reborn during the interim years between the Demon Wars and now. The young man was an idealist, the kind that stayed devoted as long as he believed in the cause. Now doubt wormed its way in, weakening Gabreyl’s resolve. Valarius would not let that happen.

  “The survival of Arcadia was never part of our plans, Messenger,” he reminded gently, though he could hear the edge in his own voice.

  Gabreyl must have heard it too. The man’s eyes did not meet Valarius’s own when he said, “I know, it’s just that…”

  When he trailed off, Valarius sighed and then put a firm hand on his commander’s shoulder. “We secure the gateway to Bara’cor. We leave Arcadia and the nephilim eradicate the Aeris. With nothing left to feed upon, they perish and Edyn is free. It is for this reason that we fight, no?”

  The simple summation had its desired effect. Slowly, the armsmark nodded but said, “I had not thought it to be so difficult, leaving my men behind.”

  “What you did was right.” He smiled then said, “Trust me.” His hand clapped the young commander’s arm. “Now summon the others so that we may take counsel and decide a course of action.”

  Gabreyl bowed, fist to chest, then executed a perfect turn. In moments the five Galadine kings who served Valarius filed into the room.