Mythborn (31 page)

Sonya fell to her knees, her hands up and said, “Please have mercy? Leave him be. Mikal is right. If fate had not twisted as it had we would never have found each other. If you ever loved me in life, have mercy.” Her eyes glistened as she said this, and Valarius saw the fear for Duncan manifest in those tears, but it did not sway him.

He nodded but said, “I did love you, but I love Edyn more.” The statement fell like a rock, silencing any reply. He turned to Gabreyl, “Tulien will bring him here. Then we will see what Duncan Illrys has to say about choices made when concerning our family.”

He then turned to the shade of his former wife and said, “Do not doubt that if you betray me, if you inform Arek or Duncan of what we have planned, I will know. He held up his blade and said, “I will give you true death, and while that may not deter you, it will also mean you will never see Arek again.” He did not wait to hear her answer but gestured, banishing her. When she’d disappeared he turned to the table.

“You feel I pushed too far?”

“Yes,” nodded Mikal. “What you did is incomprehensible.”

“Really?” asked Valarius. “Do you find hope in the hearts of traitors and sycophants?”

Mikal’s eyes flared at that but Valarius continued, “She loved another but chose to be with me for expediency! Do not lecture me, for you forget that we spent many years together in life without so much as a word. Her ‘love’ for me grew here, only when her and her son’s survival hung in the balance. Is that love? Is that something you pray for, O King?” Valarius was silent then, looking at Mikal with the intensity that demanded an answer.

Mikal turned to his brother and said, “Have you not done the same?”

Valarius slammed the table with his palms. “Do not question me!”

They stared at each other, but it was Mikal who dropped his eyes and said, “You are our highlord. I do not question your love for her or us.”

There was silence at that, until Valarius said, “King Mikal is right. Our family is bonded by love. I pledge that to each of you now, and ask you to follow me through this last, most difficult part. We are the salvation of Edyn. If anyone doubts that, I welcome your departure from this table.”

There was silence but no one looked even close to ready to leave. He looked at each lord and was satisfied that they met his gaze without hubris. Still, there was a hesitant chorus of ‘ayes’ at his stare, as each king reaffirmed his fealty. Valarius looked at everyone, taking measure. Without a doubt summoning Sonya was not sitting well with them, but his actions had also shown him their level of commitment to his cause.

He turned his attention back to Gabreyl. “You told Arek that the highlord was his father, yes?”

“As you instructed, my lord.”

“And his response?”

The armsmark thought about it, then answered, “He seemed quite perturbed that I would not tell him your name.”

Valarius chewed his lip, thinking. “We have not lied to him? It is important that no vow has been broken. Our power lies in the integrity of our faith, and that faith is eroded if we suborn his allegiance to our cause.”

Gabreyl quickly reassured everyone by saying, “Nothing was said that would cause the Way to challenge us, or him. He is still unsullied.” He looked around the table, then carefully said, “But there is more to discuss.”

The armsmark turned to Ureyl, who continued to stare at his own hands. Clearly the elder warrior was reluctant to speak, but when Valarius cleared his throat, Ureyl risked a quick glance at his ruler.

Something in the highlord’s expression must have convinced him to continue. “There are rumors,” he said.

“Of what?” Valarius demanded.

Ureyl raised his eyes and met Valarius’s own. “Azrael has returned.”

Valarius sat back, stunned. That he’d once been subject to the unholy union of Aeris and flesh abhorred him, but he knew it had been a necessary evil. Only the Ascended could battle the Aeris. That is, until Valarius had discovered the means to create the purebloods, his elves.

Now he could wage war without the need to give his mind or body over to any other spirit, however well-intentioned. These unbonded Aeris called themselves Furies, and represented a fundamental danger as they enticed powerful mages to complete their ritual. It was true there were only a few left: Petra, Heracles, and a few others. But Azrael was one of the most powerful and could not be left unchecked.

“Where was he seen?” Valarius asked, looking at the warrior known for his pragmatism.

Ureyl opened his hands. “Our scouts say near Olympious. He was bonded at least, so in that there is some small measure of justice.”

“Justice? All that means is we must kill the avatar, an innocent mage of Edyn tricked into believing Ascension is the answer.” Valarius leaned back, his frustration becoming a long exhale that ended with a fist slamming into the table.

He looked up at the five men arranged around him and barked, “Why do we sacrifice?” There was no answer and he’d expected none. He answered his own question, “Each life we take gives us one more soldier against these Aeris. Each consecration gives us one more of the pureblood, a warrior who can leave this realm and start anew as a defender of Edyn.”

Valarius rose and walked over to the open wall, his golden amber eyes tracking to the horizon. “We do not celebrate when we kill Ascended for they are victims of lies. It is for only this reason that I have kept myself unbonded, so that the sacrifice of Arek can have meaning.”

He turned and met each of their eyes before uttering his commands. “We will accelerate our plans. Have our men stationed at every henge within Avalyon. Arek, Duncan, or both will come here, and we must be ready.”

Ureyl asked, “How can you be sure?”

Valarius thought for a moment. There were many variables to consider. He did not know if the boy knew of his true father. He asked Gabreyl, “What were the two boys like when together? Close?”

Gabreyl tilted his head. “Close, but not inseparable. It was clear Niall depended on Arek more so than the other way around.”

That made sense. Valarius knew Arek had been crafted to be independent. Any bond that grew between the two could not be counted on to bring them together. Still, Gabreyl had done his job well, and Arek believed the highlord to be his father.

And am I not?
Valarius asked himself. It had been his power, his indomitable will, which had shaped the boy as he grew in Sonya’s womb. It had been his love that had given the boy a chance at a life, a life with a greater destiny. That love would bring him here more surely than anything else.

He looked at the assembled kings and said, “The boy seeks to understand who he is. He will bring himself here, following the path I have laid out for him.” Valarius looked back out over Arcadia and said, “Once here, he will be our final and greatest sacrifice, as was always intended.”

He looked back at Mikal and finally answered, “Duncan will stay alive long enough to see his son possessed by me, and then my vengeance on him will finally come to an end.”

Blood Magic

Honor has its place, as does ill repute,

Justice has its place, as does corruption,

Mercy has its place,

Alongside cruelty and vengeance.

-
          
Rai’kesh, The Lens of Leadership

D
uncan inspected the henge, thinking how form followed function, the archaic structure a reflection of the simple spell it contained. The stonework served as a physical reminder to a mage, a concrete guide to channeling the Way. This allowed the transitional gate to open between two places, not unlike a finder, except a finder focused on a person rather than a location. When one realized the power it took to be able to visualize a path without the henge, one could appreciate Lilyth’s more powerful ability to gate almost anywhere without the use of such physical aids.

It was doubtful someone of Valarius’s power would need anything like a henge to effect a transfer, but it was clear the elves were different. They needed the physical location and the belief of blood sacrifice. The knowledge of gates was one of the foundations of the Old Lore, something any true mage would know. Tying it to a blood sacrifice however was both ingenious and heartless. Without that key, travel to Avalyon would be impossible.

The utilitarian solution Valarius had devised to protect his lands spoke not just to the man’s mastery of the Old Lore, but also his ability to use his elves’ superstition and faith for his own benefit. The blood sacrifice acted as a key because his people believed in it, and that fact reminded Duncan to never underestimate the archmage he knew so well.

If the shade of Sonya was to be believed these elves were born of Valarius’s own blood. That would make them all related, an army of elven Galadine brothers loyal to each other until the very last one fell. Knowing how each Galadine had enough hubris and bloodlust to be named conqueror in his own right, he wondered what a horde of them would be like. Duncan couldn’t help but shudder at the thought.

Sonya had said for him to wait, and wait he had for the rest of the afternoon. Now dusk approached and he grew tired of being at the constant behest of others. His impatience for finding Arek grew with his worry. The boy would doubtless attract attention with his unique talent. Had he not already done so in Edyn, as Rai’stahn and the Conclave had so amply demonstrated? Still, he was careful to shield his thoughts, letting nothing become so consuming as to draw real phantasms from the ether of the Way.

The sun dipped to shine through the henge gate posts, casting long rectangular shadows across the center of the barren circle it inscribed. These described short semi-circular arcs, and to pass the time Duncan began postulating what rotation the island would have to have in order to describe such arcs.

He’d just come to the conclusion that the island must rotate along two axes when the henge flared to life. From the blue-white burst of energy from the circle’s interior strode a squad of men, no elves, he corrected himself. Their distinct blue skin and silver armor looked black as they stood silhouetted by the bright light of the tunnel behind them. Once that was gone, the loss of light at dusk painted the scene in an unrelenting monochromatic orange.

Duncan raised a hand in greeting, watching carefully to determine who the leader was. He emerged within moments, his hand raised as well.

“We offer ourselves as escort,” he said in a clear voice. His men moved to either side, half a dozen or so, equipped for moving quickly. He dipped his head and added softly, “Sonya bids you farewell.”

Duncan’s heart skipped a beat at the reference, but he kept his face carefully neutral. Still, the revelation did confuse him. These elves acted as if she were not a shade and some undercurrent of hope flared to life at that. He also watched the men carefully. Betrayal had been a bitter companion of his for centuries. Vigilance, he reminded himself, was the key to survival. For him, that at least had always been true.

He turned to the leader and asked, “And you are?”

“Captain Tulien Galadine of the Queensguard,” he replied, saluting with fist to chest.

“Well met, Captain.” Duncan looked at his men and then asked, “You have served the queen for how long?”

The captain smiled. “Each Queensguard may only serve for three years, sir. I am lucky to have just been appointed.” The pride was plain in his voice.

Duncan nodded at that. Smart to send him someone new to the ranks, someone who would not question orders for fear of losing his newly earned commission. He looked at the captain sidelong and asked, “You call yourself a Galadine?”

Again that pride when he answered, “We are all children of the one Father.” As he said “father,” the men all thumped their chests once and punctuated it with a ‘
harummp’
.

Duncan smiled, “I’m lucky to have been given such men and accept your sacrifice with honor.”

The captain tilted his head, something in the tone of Duncan’s voice not sitting right with him. He could not know that for him and his men, it was already too late.

Lightning burst from Duncan’s hands in a conflagration that encompassed the entire squad, flooding the area in blue-white brilliance. The energy ran through them, locking muscles rigid, clenching jaws so hard more than a few teeth broke. One man screamed until it was cut short, a spasm so violent it cracked and broke his ribs, but the horror befalling these men was not done.

Duncan looked at the group, satisfied they were held fast, then approached the captain. “Your highlord has much to answer for,” he said, with acid in his voice, “but know that your men sacrifice themselves so that my son can live.” He gestured and Captain Tulien floated apart from his squad, watching in horror as events unfolded before his eyes.

Slowly, Duncan brought his hand up and closed it into a fist. As he did so, the lightning tightened its grip and the sound of bones snapping began, like branches breaking. At first there were more screams, wailing sounds forced out of the men as their bodies were crushed and air driven out of tortured lungs. The screams slowly gave way to moans and wet popping sounds as joints dislocated. The elves were slowly crushed, their forms jerking like puppets on strings.

Duncan brought his other hand up and clenched it over the first, squeezing as he drove the spell to its ugly conclusion. The bodies of Tulien’s men were pressed together, so hard that blood and fluids spilled out of them as if squeezed from a sponge. It collected below, hanging in the air in a ball of red and milky white fluid mixed with bits of bone, flesh, and hair.

Duncan shook his hand and the bodies mirrored his motion, shaking the last drops from the now empty husks. He flicked one hand and the carcasses were flung away. He then concentrated on what was the most important part of the bloodspell and looked at the captain, whose only possible reaction was for his eyes to widen in fear.

Duncan grabbed Tulien’s face and pulled him closer to the ball. Closing his eyes, he dived into the Way, separating what was Tulien with what was animal instinct. The elf was surprisingly easy to mold, as if he’d been made for that very purpose. Duncan had suspected as much from his conversation with Sonya and the revelation that Valarius had crafted these creatures, not unlike the blood gholem he now sought to create.

He ripped whatever was uniquely Tulien from the man’s mind, drinking in the knowledge in such a way that it could never be returned. He understood now more of what Valarius planned, more of how these elves came into being, though only from the elves’ point of view. The knowledge made his next act easier to carry out. Valarius’s blood flowed within these things, and he meant to have it.

It had been the key, the moment he knew a way to find Arek. Even the most basic lore of the Old Council warned of blood magic being used against its creator. Yes, using it had safeguarded Avalyon, for who besides Valarius and Sonya would know how to do what he was doing now? It had been a safe bet on the highlord’s part, given his foe of Aeris, but one Duncan was now using to his advantage. If there was some part of Valarius in the making of Arek, then it stood to reason that there was some part of Arek within these elves. Duncan would use that connection to find his missing son. He drew his knife and in one quick motion cut off his smallest finger.

The shock of pain gritted his teeth, but no sound emerged. His lucidity gave him a control over himself, something he’d not felt in years. No blood magic could occur without sacrifice. He ignored it, bending his hand into a fist so that the blood welled into his cupped palm.

There was a danger here, he knew. In order to use blood magic, he too would have to open himself to the same hazard Valarius did. His blood would mix with the blood used to seal the gates. His blood would also act as a key, making him susceptible to any counter spell Valarius might craft. Once he unraveled what Duncan had done, the highlord could move quickly to neutralize him. Duncan would have to act swiftly and decisively. Thankfully, two hundred years of betrayal had taught him well.

Duncan focused his considerable might, bending the blood to his purpose, infusing the elven captain’s body with a combination of the blood of Valarius and himself. The body filled, the skin peeling off as it stretched to almost three times its size. Then the archmage began the arduous process of molding it to his purpose. He drew out the limbs, shaped the beast that was within. When he was finished, a creature of blood and raw flesh stood towering over him, a creature that would grow stronger and wilder with each thing it killed.

No life stirred its hulking limbs, no breath moved its massive chest. It was a creature born of violence and sacrifice, and looked able to inflict its birthright upon others without thought. He looked upon it and raised his uninjured hand, lightning dancing on his fingers. First, he cauterized his still bleeding hand. Though he could heal it, the Way demanded he live with the loss for as long as he wished the blood gholem to survive. Then, breathing deep, Duncan channeled his full might into the creature, his power magnified by the sheer purity and abundance of the Way.

The blast hit with a concussion that shook the ground and a circle of force spread out from the impact. Lightning danced over the creature’s form, arcing over it until it gathered at its dead black eyes. Those now began to glow, a pure blue-white that promised pain and violence. Two vertical slits that were nostrils opened below those eyes, widening.

Slowly, the creature breathed in, the sound a dead rasp of air that filled something within its chest. A mouth split open, revealing bone daggers as teeth. Fists clenched and tightened, with bone spurs growing from the knuckles and forearms, lengthening into deadly sharp shards. More bone spurs erupted from the thing’s forehead and down its back and bone armor appeared, covering the naked blood flesh in its protective embrace.

Duncan opened his eyes and stepped forward without fear, touching the creature’s arm with his blood-soaked palm. He followed the ritual, filling the blasted mind he’d consumed with thought and purpose of his own. Any command could be given at this delicate time, but only one, and it forever shaped the gholem’s purpose.

He gave this thing its bonding command—“You will obey only me, wherever I am. I name you Vengeance.” His blood ignited against the skin, infusing and calling to that which ran within the creature’s body.

That command and thought raced throughout the gholem, aligning it with his sinister purpose and power. Gholems were extremely difficult to create in Edyn, the Way flowing less strongly there. Duncan considered the things he could do given the bounty of power around him and a wry smile lit his face. He finished his creation by adding something akin to a finder’s spell, allowing the gholem to come to him wherever he might be in Arcadia. It was a luxury of power he would not have ever considered in Edyn.

The blood gholem bowed and rasped, “I obey only you, Master, wherever you may be. I am Vengeance.”

Duncan stepped back, looking at his handiwork. Most gholems had been forged of mud or clay, and for those with true power, rock or iron, their only purpose to fight against the Aeris. This time, he had a far more satisfying thing in mind. In a place like Arcadia, so resplendent in the Way, this gholem would be truly unstoppable.

In the Demon Wars, gholems such as this had been shaped for many reasons, but never using blood. The power required was too great. Further, blood gholems were strictly forbidden, mainly because they grew stronger as they killed, soon becoming uncontrollable. Duncan gave a soft laugh. He had no intention of trying to control Vengeance, only to unleash him. A sudden understanding of Valarius crept in as the heady strength of the Way flowed through him, making him feel equal to a god.

He turned to the creature and said, “Where is the son of our blood?”

The gholem looked at its master, then crouched slowly. It closed its eyes, smelling the currents of the Way, its forked tongue flicking out to taste the air like a sky serpent. It spun slowly in a circle, still searching, then looked back at its master and said in a guttural voice, “There.”

It pointed to the henge, to which Duncan approached. He turned to the gholem made of the blood of elves and said, “Open it.”

The gholem made its way into the circle and placed a bloody palm on the center stone within. A moment passed in silence, then two, then a whirlpool of energy sprang into being, a tunnel leading to wherever Arek was, using both Duncan and Valarius’s blood to unlock it.