Centyr Dominance (25 page)

One of the metal counters that lined the walls opened
and from within its recesses something moved. A swarm of insect-like metal
creatures issued from it, crossing the floor and heading in her direction. An
even greater fear filled her then, as she realized Celior’s true intention. Despite
her desire to flee, she was held immobile and her mouth opened of its own
volition.

She was to be served up to the outsiders as a gift.

“Before you start your new life I should share one
more thing,” said Celior, still using Gram’s mouth. “Everything you did here
was pointless. This entire exercise was nothing more than an experiment for
the ANSIS. They wanted to test the abilities of a human wizard. All those
people died simply to provide information to them regarding your family’s
magical abilities. Apparently they don’t have anything like our magic on their
home world. Now they intend to see whether you can be a useful tool.”

A sharp pain cut through her fear as Moira’s broken
cheek bone shifted suddenly back into place. It was done with the tiniest
currents of aythar, an act of subtle healing that would be difficult to see in
the shifting energies that surrounded her already. She recognized Myra’s
agency behind the act. Hope rose suddenly within her.

Gram’s face twisted into a frown as Celior noticed the
subtle change in her, “What is this?”

Moira’s mouth remained open and the metal parasites
were only inches from her,
Now!
She wasn’t certain what her spell-twin
had planned but she was sure they were out of time.

A warm blanket encompassed her soul and Celior’s
crushing will was gone. It was a feeling of immense relief as Myra interposed
herself between Moira’s mind and the cruelty staring down at them.

Moira seized the moment of respite and clamped her
teeth together, snarling,
“Tyrestrin!”
The entire room flashed white
for a second as lightning leapt from her hands to engulf the metal creatures
crawling toward her face. After it passed sparks continued to dance between
the small metal parasites for long seconds as they twitched, and then they were
still.

“Bitch!” yelled Celior, furious, and his anger struck
at Moira like a hammer.

Myra howled in Moira’s head as his rage tore at her,
the pain was incredible, but she took it all, shielding her creator with her
entire being.

Moira smiled at her tormentor, even as her assistant
writhed in agony under his assault, “You can kill me, fiend, but you will never
control me.”

Gram’s hand closed around Thorn’s hilt and he brought
the blade up, laying the edge across her throat. “I am losing patience, girl.”

“As if I care,” she spat. “I’d rather be dead than
have those
things
inside me. Just admit defeat and kill me, for you
won’t have me unless you come in here and take me yourself.”

Myra’s screams of pain increased as the Shining God
pressed even harder on her mind. Moira didn’t think her spell-twin could last
much longer, but she forced herself to laugh anyway. Madness sparkled in her
eyes, hiding the hastily conceived plan that was her last hope. She sent her
thoughts to her spell-twin,
Help Gram. Get him out of here. Don’t stop
running until you get to Cassandra and then go home.
Moira used her new
freedom to push Myra aside, letting Celior’s wrath plunge once more into her
heart.

No!
cried Myra, but it
was too late.

Moira opened her mind to Celior, giving up any attempt
at resistance while simultaneously pushing Myra out.

Shrieking in victory, the god’s spirit dove into her,
leaving Gram to fall limply to the ground.

The world vanished then, and Moira found herself once
more on the battlefield within her mind. Celior stared at her from ten feet
away, shining and beautiful despite his true ugliness. His eyes widened in
surprise as he beheld the secret image of Moira’s soul. She stood before him
covered in black scales and armed with razor sharp talons, a monster of spirit.

What is this?
he
asked.
I’ve never seen a human that looked like this on the inside.

Moira grinned, her mouth splitting impossibly wide to
show an impressive display of dagger-like teeth.
Who said I was human?

The god was undeterred. His face took on a look of
determination and his body changed. Now he was clad in golden armor. Stepping
closer he told her,
You cannot win. Your power is but a drop beside the
ocean within me.

Casually, Moira raised one talon and raked it across
his chest, shredding the armor there as though it were made of tissue. Golden
blood welled up and ran down his chest.
Within you? Within me! The aythar
here belongs to the victor, and you don’t even begin to have the skill to
contest me.

Confusion was written in his features,
What?

Celior tried to step away, but she stayed with him.
Slashing sideways she tore through his breastplate and opened his belly before
bringing her clawed hand up to show him the vital fluids that covered it.
Staring wickedly into his eyes she licked the golden ichor from one talon.
Welcome
to your nightmare, puppet.

He shoved her back and a golden sword appeared in his
hand. It came down on her shoulder in a powerful overhand swing, crunching
through the black armor there. Red blood dripped down Moira’s chest.

Try again,
she
told him as the pain shot through her.

The Shining God decided to retreat and take the battle
back to the physical world, but when he tried to remove himself he found the
way blocked. Midnight mountains rose around him, filling his vision in every
direction and enclosing the battlefield that was Moira Illeniel’s mind.

You were the fool this time, puppet-god.
You will remain here until you are no more, or I am. This is my realm, and no
one, not man, nor god, nor even beast, will leave it until I give them leave.
I am the last of the Centyr and this is the one place you should never have
dared to come.
She dove at him and gripped him with
clawed hands that had become impossibly strong. Struggle as he might, Celior
could not shake himself free of her.

He turned on her in a fury, letting his fear and anger
lend him strength. Daggers of gold appeared in his hands and he stabbed at her
over and over, but no matter how many times he drove them into her she never
wavered. Red blood ran freely from her blackened form as she held him tightly,
laughing all the while.

How did you feel after my mother made you,
puppet?
she whispered softly into his ear, careful not to tear
it free with teeth that had grown far too long.
Did you think she loved
you? Did you think she cared? How long was it before you realized that you
were trash, created for one purpose before being abandoned to suffer for
eternity?

Celior screamed in rage, but he found himself growing
weak, exhausted. It was a feeling unfamiliar to him. Agony such as he had
never known blinded him when he felt her teeth clamp down on his skull, ripping
away his ear and much that had lain beneath it.

She tore his body apart, rending him limb from limb,
but the god could not die. The immortality enchantment would not allow it, nor
could she remake his personality while it kept his mind chained within it.

But she could hurt him, and so she did. She gave him
as much pain as he had given her and still she continued. It went on for a
long time, his body healing and reforming in her mind’s eye, whereupon she
would start all over.

Occasionally he found the will to fight again,
wounding her before she resumed her torture, but he was beaten and he knew it.
Moira kept at him relentlessly, until the only thing left to him was pain.
After an eternity he began to beg,
Please, no more.

She wasn’t ready to stop yet, though. She had begun
to enjoy it.

Anything… just let this end!

Moira ignored his pleading. Even when he fought back
her own pain just reinvigorated her. She hadn’t truly expected to win. She
hadn’t known what would happen when Celior first entered her mind. The
discovery that her abilities gave her all the advantages had been
exhilarating. Her opponent was no more difficult to deal with than a normal
human; he was less challenging than her spell-twins had been by at least an
order of magnitude.

He whimpered and cried, and she punished him more.
He
killed my father.
The anger made her feel powerful.

Only indirectly,
said
Myra, who hadn’t done as she had been told. She had stayed close by and now
she returned, to witness the torment firsthand.

He led him into a trap!
Moira
snarled.

Myra remained silent and Moira continued, enjoying the
vicious nature of her work. It felt like eons had passed before she finally
grew bored with the task.
Give me the new key,
she commanded. There
was no doubt in her that he would give her whatever she asked for then.

Celior complied, babbling the key phrase out as
rapidly as he could manage.

She repeated the phrase back to him, and then he was
hers.
Now give your power to her,
she ordered, indicating Myra.

The humbled god began at once, and new pain washed
over Moira’s awareness as her assistant began to burn with the intensity of so
much power.
Outside, both of you out. This is too much,
she told them.

The physical world made itself known to her once more
as they exited her consciousness. She was lying on the floor of the chamber,
still beside her father’s stone. Gram sat beside her, weary and panting. More
of the metal insects littered the floor around them. Apparently the enemy had
had more of them and had been trying to reach her while she lay helpless on the
floor.

Relief showed in his eyes when he saw her looking up
at him. That changed to alarm as Celior and Myra materialized beside him.
Despite his weakness, Gram raised Thorn protectively and found his feet.

“Relax, they serve me wholly,” said Moira as she sat
up. Gold light was passing between Myra and Celior as he gave her all the
aythar he had collected.

Gram sank back down beside her, too tired to remain
standing if there was no threat. “I thought you were dying,” he said without
preamble.

Moira studied him with a predatory gaze before
replying, “That might have been for the best, but I’m afraid not.” She wanted
to take him, but the armor prevented her from acting on the impulse.

Myra watched her with concern but she was helpless to
do anything while the transfer was taking place. She sent her thoughts out
silently,
Remember, he’s your friend.

“He’s whatever I make him!” cursed Moira.

“What?” asked Gram, confused by her sudden outburst.

She heard the trust in his voice. The obvious
interpretation of her words never even occurred to him. That realization and
the broken bodies of the parasites around her caused her to feel a faint pang
of guilt. Gram had been protecting her for a long time. Moira smiled as she
answered, “Celior. I can do whatever I like with him now. He’s given me the
new key.”

A heavy crashing noise rumbled through the ceiling
above them and Moira looked up.

Moira! Moira!

It was Cassandra, frantically trying to reach her.
Relax,
I’m fine,
she responded. “How long has that been going on?” she asked,
directing her question to Gram.

“I’m not sure,” he told her. “Since I woke up—a
quarter hour at least.”

“Why didn’t you tell her things were alright?”

The young warrior gaped at her, “It wasn’t alright!
You were thrashing about on the floor like you were possessed by a demon, and
for all I knew you were! Meanwhile those metal bugs were everywhere, like
roaches crawling out of the woodwork. What part of that was alright?”

His attitude provoked a surge of anger, but she saw
the warning in Myra’s face as she opened her mouth to respond. She paused and
took a deep breath, trying to find the proper answer. With an effort of will
she gave him an insincere smirk as she spoke, “Well, when you put it like
that…”

Sending her perceptions out and upward she surveyed
the remains of the Earl of Berlagen’s city home. The ground floor was gone.
Cassandra had completely demolished it in her panic. Luckily none of the
inhabitants had been present. Moira supposed they had all been summoned during
her battle outside the city, which probably meant half of them were dead
anyway.

The lower levels weren’t much better. The great
dragon had used her powerful claws to tear at the floors, ripping them apart as
easily as a dog might dig in soft garden soil. She had already dug through the
first of the lower levels and had made a good start on opening up the second
level. She probably would have reached the lower cavern within a few more
minutes.

Moira was impressed.

I’m sending Gram up to meet you, along
with my new servant,
she said, sending her thoughts to the
dragon.
I’ll be down here a while longer.

What happened? You were screaming. Are
you sure you’re alright?

Moira could feel the dragon’s concern and anxiety like
a palpable force. It annoyed her, but she kept her feelings calm as she
replied,
I’m fine. I’ve taken control of Celior, he’ll be accompanying
Gram. In fact, he’ll probably have to clear the way of debris after your
rampage up there.

But what about…

Silence!
she
snapped.
I will explain later, for now I wish to say goodbye to my father.
Moira had to force her hands to unclench. When she looked down at them she
feared that they might be covered in black scales and tipped with claws, but
they were simply her normal human hands.

Celior had only given a small portion of his power to
Myra by then but she didn’t feel like waiting any longer. “Escort Gram out of
here. Keep him safe. Myra will remain with me,” she commanded. “When you
reach the surface transfer the rest of your power to my dragon while you wait
for me.”

“Yes, mistress,” said the once proud god, bowing
meekly.

Myra sent a brief suggestion,
You might ask him to
finish healing Gram as well. He has a vastly greater amount of experience with
such things.

Moira growled. She should have thought of that
herself. Once, she would have. She relayed the order to Celior and then
waited while he and Gram left. When they were gone she turned back to the
stone outcropping that was all that was left of her father.

Myra spoke, she had enough aythar now to easily create
a physical form, “Would you like me to rejoin you?”

“No, make a circle and shield me. I don’t want to be
interrupted by any more of those little metal monsters.”

She stared at the stone thoughtfully. Her face still
throbbed despite Myra’s quick healing. At least the bones had been set in
place and fused together again. She would have a terrible bruise soon and she
could tell her face was already swollen. It would be much worse later.

Closing her eyes, Moira spread her arms and leaned
against the cold rough rock. It felt good against the heat coming from her
cheek. Something stirred in her heart, though it took her a moment to
recognize the emotion. Sorrow.

Anger was easier, but she had no one left to punish,
so she kept breathing and concentrated on the anguish that had been lurking
unseen beneath it.
I avenged you father,
she said mentally, sending her
thoughts into the stone.
I made Celior pay a thousand times over for what
he did to you.

There was no response.

I’ll find whatever’s left of these metal
beasts as well. They will regret making you do this. Can you hear me?

The stone gave nothing back. She might as well have
been trying to communicate with a mountain. Myra stood beside her.

“He said before that you might someday become an
archmage,” commented her spell-twin.

“It’s just cold stone,” said Moira.

“
He
could talk to stones.”

It felt as though her stomach had been filled with
ice. Bitter, she shot back, “Well
I
can’t! I hear nothing!”

“We can’t leave without trying,” said Myra.

“Why do you care!?” said Moira angrily. “You aren’t
even real!”

Her spell-twin’s eyes were wet with emotion. “Perhaps
I’m only a few weeks old from your viewpoint, but that’s not how I feel. I
remember everything. He’s my father just as much as yours. I don’t remember
being born in your mind. I remember growing up with him, with Mom, with
Matthew and Irene and Conall! They’re my family too, even if I’m not real!”

“If it bothers you so much I can unmake you.”

“No.”

“Then why do you stay?”

“Fear,” said Myra. “I’m afraid you won’t do
anything. I’m afraid you
can’t
, that you’ve become so warped you might
not even try to save our father.”

Moira wanted to kill her, but she knew the truth of
the words. Secretly she feared the same. Quietly she fought with her
conflicting emotions before closing her eyes again.

Calm, I must be calm,
she
told herself. She stood motionless for a long time, trying to find peace
within herself, straining her senses to detect something, anything. That yielded
no results, so eventually she abandoned her attempt to focus and let her mind
drift. She remembered him, not as he had been when she had last seen him, but
years before, a memory of a sunny day.

The air had been filled with the smell of summer grass
and her skin was itchy from rolling down the gentle slope behind their secret
home. It was hot but the occasional mountain breeze sent a shiver through her
when it touched her sweat damp dress. Looking up she wondered at the size of
her playmate. Her daddy was undoubtedly the tallest man in the world, or so it
had seemed at the time.

Laughing she had held out her arms, wanting him to
pick her up again, for the climb back up the hill. The roll down was always
fun, but the trip back up on his shoulders was even better.
“Pick me up
Daddy!”

Something touched her then and she was shocked back to
the present. Mentally she clutched at the presence but it slipped away like a
ghost.
No! Come back!

A guttural cry of frustration escaped her throat as
she saw her hands once more covered by black scales, clawing at the stone.
Moira’s anger rose fresh and sudden and she gathered her will, wanting to
destroy the cold rock that ignored her.

No, not like that!

It was Myra’s voice, warning her to stop. She felt
her spell-twin sliding into her, joining her and trying to soothe her rage.
Soft hands covered her own and she felt as though she were staring into a
mirror, her own face was before her, soft blue eyes staring back with
compassion, or perhaps pity.

She didn’t want to think about what Myra might be
seeing in return.

He heard you!

Moira covered her face,
He pulled away. He saw
what I’ve become.

No,
said Myra,
he
barely knows himself. You have to show him. Remember for him, think of him,
not of yourself. He will love you regardless.

Moira sincerely doubted that.

Remember when Sterling died?

Sterling had been a massive tomcat that had lived with
them when she was smaller.
Why?

We asked him why…

Her father had been tucking her into bed that night,
and he had been spending extra time talking to her while he did so. She
remembered staring up at him, his face showing nothing but love. She had been
crying.

“Everything dies eventually sweetheart,
it’s part of life, but he still loves us,”
he had said
quietly.

“Why did he die?”
she
had asked.

“He was old. He lived a long and happy
life, for a cat.”

The answer hadn’t been particularly satisfying, but
she had accepted it. His hugs had been far more comforting than any amount of
words. Her father had stayed with her for a long while after that, until her
tears had dried and she had felt better. Then he had settled her in once more
and stood to leave.

She had noticed his beard then, and wondered at all
the white hairs in it.
“Why is your beard turning white?”

Her father had laughed,
“I’m just getting old,
that’s all.”
He hadn’t been thinking carefully.

But Moira’s mind had made the connection immediately,
“Old,
like Sterling?”
Her eyes had begun watering already.

Her father began shaking his head, but it was too
late.

“You’re going to die?”
It
had been her first true realization that her parents were mortal and she had
dissolved into tears once more. Her father had had to hold her for a long
while after that.

“It will be a long, long time before I’m
that old, sweetheart. Humans live much longer than cats,”
he
had said, but what she remembered most was his arms around her, and the smell
of his shirt.

She could almost feel them now.

She could definitely smell him. Startled, she opened
her eyes. He was there, holding her. “Dad?”

He looked at her, confused, “Mm...” He gave up after
a second.

Give him a while, he’s still coming back
to himself.

I know that!
shot
back Moira irritably. She squeezed her father tighter.

After a minute she started to disentangle herself.
The hug had begun to get awkward, especially once she realized that her father’s
clothes hadn’t returned with him.

Recognition had dawned in his features, though.
“Moira?” he said hesitantly.

She nodded, looking at the ground. She was more
embarrassed by what he might see in her eyes than she was of seeing his state
of undress, but it was a good excuse. “I think you’ve lost your tunic,” she
commented.

“Tunic?” he mumbled, staring at himself. “Clothes!
That’s what I was trying to think of! I knew something was wrong.” He took on
a look of concentration before producing an illusion to cover himself, a large
pointed leather hat paired with a rich grey doublet.

Moira put her face in her hands, stifling a laugh.
Not only was the hat ridiculous, but he had neglected to add hose or trousers,
much less shoes.

“Is something wrong?” he asked sincerely.

“You need something for the rest of you,” she
explained, fighting a smirk. The expression felt strange on her face, and only
partly because it sent a throbbing pain through one half of it when she moved
the muscles in that cheek.

He looked at his bare knees before returning to study
her face, “No, not that, Moira; you seem different somehow. What’s happened to
you?” There was concern in his eyes.

Shock ran through her, like ice in her veins.
He
knows!
He could see what she had become. She almost shielded herself, to
hide her shame, but it was too late. A shield at this point would only arouse
more suspicion. “Father, it’s been an ordeal finding you…”

His hand touched her swollen cheek gently, “Who did
this to you?” The words concealed a simmering anger.

Technically, it had been Gram’s fist, but she knew
better than to answer with his name. It had been Celior controlling him after
all. Seeing her father’s protectiveness made her feel both warm and sad. She
loved him, but she knew, bone deep in her soul that he could no longer protect
her. He was just a man, and for all his power he could no more guarantee her
safety than anyone else could. The experiences of the past few days had ended
her childhood. They had done more than that…

“The one that did it suffered far more than I did, I
made certain of that,” she told him with a certain hardness in her voice.