Mythborn (7 page)

She grabbed his hands tighter and her voice became insistent, her eyes wide and searching his. “We have a chance now, a chance to free ourselves! Join me in this fight. Our people, yours and mine, deserve better.”

Duncan closed his eyes, his newfound grip on clarity finding its first challenge in this world, slowly cracking like the top of cooled magma when the hot caldera below bubbled. He began to shake, the quest for his wife and child threatening to overcome any semblance of fortitude this place had carefully propped up.

He rose and in a voice echoing his grief he said simply, “Give me my wife. My debt is paid in full.”

The Lady watched him, her eyes seemingly measuring the tenuous hold he had on his own control. Then, as if understanding his precarious place, she let out a breath and said, “Sonya is a captive of Highlord Valarius on the isle of Avalyon.”

“What?” he screamed, unable to control himself any further.

Her guards reacted, as did the children, scattering behind the protective legs of their guardians. Everything in the throne room came to an awkward halt.

“Careful, Archmage,” she admonished, her eyes flashing like living sapphires, “you are not the only one here with power.” Slowly, the room regained its balance and things returned to normal. When he’d calmed himself enough, she continued, “I said, ‘all may not be as you wish.’ ”

“You expect me to believe Valarius Galadine survived the battle against your forces two hundred years ago? That he still lives, here?”

“Yet you believe the same of your wife? How is your quest any less foolhardy?” she asked in a tone that managed to somehow be both genuine and condescending.

Duncan stayed silent, the idea that Valarius had somehow survived had never occurred to him. Oh, the man was irritatingly full of himself, but if anyone could have cheated death it would have been Val. That thread of logic led him to his next realization. That would mean he and Sonya had spent the last two hundred years together… alone.

“You look ill, Lore Father,” said the blue-skinned demonlord. “May I get you something?”

Duncan ignored her, trying to catch his breath. Was Sonya truly his captive? They had stood against Lilyth together, and fought for the safety of Edyn. The three of them had been friends once, but that had been so long ago. “Where is Avalyon?” he asked carefully. Then he forced himself to smile, for he knew he was very much at Lilyth’s mercy.

Lilyth paused, searching his face, then said, “It stays between realms, appearing only when necessary, else my Furies would have found it by now and destroyed Valarius. He and his elves distract me from the more important battle with Sovereign. But you,” she looked at him calculatingly, “can accomplish a critical need in my efforts.”

“What?” he barked, the idea of yet another task laid at his feet irritating him beyond reason. Had he not been her agent in good faith these many years? The measure of their bargain had been the return of his wife, and Duncan was quickly coming to the conclusion that he may have to visit Val and secure Sonya’s release on his own.

She blinked once, then said something that seemed unrelated, startling him out of his reverie. “Did you know you have a son?”

Duncan felt the world tilt beneath him. He knew Sonya had been with child, but to know the truth… the baby had survived! Then the reason for her comment became clear. “You have him.”

“Born of Sonya, raised by me. He’s a fine boy, one that may yet make his father proud.”

Duncan moved forward with a snarl, but Lilyth raised her hand and he felt himself clenched in a hold so tight it was just short of crushing his ribs. He gasped, feeling his feet lift off the ground as the demonlord held him in her grasp.

“Do not tempt me, Lore Father,” she said icily, and for the first time true malevolence bled through her regal demeanor. “You’re nothing to me, a means to an end. If you become unmanageable, I will discard you like a useless tool and raise your son as my own. Having been born here in my lands, am I not also in some way his mother?”

He knew he could call upon the Way, but to what end? What was the chance of one man prevailing against a demonlord who had withstood the combined might of the council and the armies of Edyn? Here, she was all-powerful, and the threat to his son was very real if measured by the conviction he saw in her eyes. Her sudden display of power had the same effect as a bucket full of cold water splashed in his face, returning a modicum of control over himself and what he could objectively see now as his own madness.

“Release me,” he said calmly.

She watched him, her gaze so direct it seemed to strip away any deceit he might harbor to peer at the control of the man underneath. Then, apparently satisfied, she dropped her hand and the crushing grip was gone. Duncan fell the short distance, stumbling to all fours.

“You do not doubt his existence?” she asked with a tone of curiosity, as if nothing untoward had just occurred.

Duncan shook his head briefly, “She was pregnant when she fell through. If she survived… let me see him.” He looked up at her from bent knee, but his voice still did not plea, it demanded.

Lilyth had turned away and put a gentle hand on one of the many children that, having remembered play was foremost, ran in and around her again. “And why would I do that, Lore Father? Shall I show him to you, giving you a face to suborn all reason? You will dedicate yourself to saving him, and then what of my needs? Anonymity seems a better hand for me to play right now. I will reveal him when it suits my purposes.”

His head hung wearily when he asked again, “Is there no end to your demands?”

She laughed, then turned to face him, her tone growing serious, “I have a mission for you, simple in comparison to your work in Edyn. Accomplish it, and I will release your son to you, unharmed. You and your family may go in peace and live out your days for as long as I’m able to hold against Sovereign.” She stopped, then said, “Though if I fail, you may regret not joining me when you could have made a difference.” Lilyth spun and made her way up the dais that led to her throne, the act of seating herself as much a command for him to come forth as if she’d ordered it.

Duncan watched her, and could hear his escort leave their stations to flank him. He could feel his will crumble, and knew he’d do anything for his wife and son, even though he’d never met the boy. For all his foresight that Lilyth would have demands, his newfound clarity had not been ready for her artful maneuvering. In a tired but determined voice he asked, “What do you want?”

Lilyth’s gaze did not waver from Duncan’s own when her demand fell from her lips. “Kill Valarius.”

Sacrifice

“The only measurable mark of love, is sacrifice…”

-
          
Duncan Illrys, Remembrances

H
ighlord Valarius Galadine stepped around the bend, his arm wrapped protectively around his wife. They had been together for close to two hundred years, and in that time he’d found his love for her had become deeper than he could imagine. Together, they had survived in a world that seemed intent on killing them, and that shared common bond had made them steadfastly committed to each other.

“Are your preparations going well, my lord?” she inquired.

Valarius smiled and nodded. “Soon we will walk again under the cool sun of Edyn, beloved.”

They walked down the wooden halls of Avalyon, the forest city that served as home to his elves. It floated by itself, a vast ball formed from a network of living trees and home to over ten thousand of his elven children. Life had not been easy in Arcadia. The Way flowed strongly here, so much so that thoughts had to be guarded lest nightmares give rise to real demons.

Valarius did not worry, for his disciplined mind had persevered and overcome his banishment since the Demon Wars. He’d created a new race he knew were utterly loyal to him. His blood had been the key, the power to shape his very flesh into these beings he’d named elves and giving him the means to defend himself from the Aeris demons that called this world of Arcadia home. His flesh, and sacrifice, for blood magic did not work unless the spell weaver gave something he cared deeply for, had been the catalyst for shaping a defense against the myriad of beings created by the dreams and nightmares of his people back home. The act of sacrifice powered the blood, gave it meaning and purpose. He knew here, with the power of the Way, that secret was faith.

Of course, blood magic was forbidden by the council, but whom amongst them was here to censure him now? They had chosen their fate the day they pushed him through the rift to this place and left him for dead. Now he and his wife were close to his final goal, to return to Edyn at the head of an army of elves and restore order to the land under his rule. No sacrifice, he reminded himself, was beyond him now.

He looked back at her as they entered a large chamber, her radiant gaze smiling back at him. This chamber was where they birthed their elves and entering it filled him with an undercurrent of hope every time he returned. On one end was a raised dais that led to a podium with a bowl made of wood, a piece of wood that had grown into that shape. No cuts or carpenter’s marks marred its simple beauty, just like the rest of Avalyon, for it had grown in answer to his will. Valarius stepped up and gazed at the thing hung on the wall behind it.

A man—or the mummified remains of was what left of a man—was crucified there, his tattered robes now musty as centuries had slowly eaten away at the cloth and leather. The highlord’s head tilted to the side, his contemplation of the figure wistful. So much had been sacrificed to give his people life. He quickly blinked away any emotion and turned, a smile once again on his narrow, angular face.

“Are we creating another archangel?” asked his wife.

Valarius shook his head. “No beloved, I’m waiting for Malak and his men.” He gestured with an open hand and she walked up the dais to join him. “Stand here with me,” he said, kissing her gently on the forehead. “We’ll address the men together as highlord and queen.”

A few moments passed in silence, then Firstmark Malak entered along with a platoon of men, all clad in light armor and armed with spear, sword, and shield. The firstmark bowed to them both. Then he smiled and said, “We have it.” He reached into his belt pouch and withdrew something. He threw the highlord a ring, which glinted gold in the soft light of the chamber.

“When?” Valarius asked, inspecting the rampant lion embossed on the ring’s face.

“Sparrow—” Malak gestured and one of elven warriors, a slim woman with fierce eyes—“recovered it less than a day ago.”

“Then he’s here?” asked the queen in a whisper as hope, love, fear, or perhaps all three stole her voice.

Valarius watched as Malak risked a quick glance at his queen, knowing she did not mean the ring’s owner. She spoke of their son, a boy who had been sent to Edyn for the safety of all of Arcadia. Now he had returned and with him came the need for desperate measures.

Malak gave a brusque nod saying, “He’s here. Gabreyl brings him along with the king’s son. Sparrow came ahead so that we could act in time.”

Valarius nodded, saying, “Gabreyl has done well.” Then his eyes hardened as he met Malak’s own and said, “This portal comes at great cost. Remember, I cannot bring you back, and we cannot follow unless Lilyth’s gate is aligned with Avalyon. Succeed or we are lost.”

Malak nodded and replied, “We’ll not fail you, Highlord.” He caught the ring Valarius tossed back to him deftly, putting it back into his pouch.

Valarius gave a curt nod, then turned to his wife. “You know we will save them, right?”

She nodded. “I cannot believe Lilyth would risk everything by bringing him back.”

“She’s desperate, and her foolhardiness will cause the death of us all.” He held her at arm’s length. “If not for you, I would have been lost forever.” He pulled her in, squeezing her in his warm embrace. “I love you so.”

She closed her eyes, “Beloved, you do not have to—” Her eyes opened wide and her mouth made a smal
lO
. A strange sound, a keening like escaping air, hissed out of her but nothing else.

Valarius slowly bent his left hand down, forcing his wife’s head toward the wooden bowl using the slim dagger he’d pushed through the base of her skull. When her neck was over the bowl, he took another blade with his right hand and slit her throat.

Black blood gushed out into the bowl and despite his preparedness, a sob escaped his lips. At that sound, the platoon of elves went to a knee as one, paying homage to the sacrifice their highlord paid to open this one-way gate back to Edyn.

Highlord Valarius Galadine turned to the assembled men and said, “Sonya’s death must mean something. Defend Bara’cor and find Lilyth’s gate. Give me a path back to you. You are Avalyon’s last hope.”

A flash of blood red fire flashed from the bowl then, lighting the entire room in a crimson glow. That glow flooded the chamber and a vortex opened below the platoon, painting their blue-skinned faces purple in the blood light. Malak looked at his highlord and Valarius saw the love shining in his firstmark’s eyes. The elven commander saluted, fist to chest. “We stand eternal.”

Valarius didn’t answer. Instead, he looked back down at his wife, her form now still in death. His heart was near breaking, but he finished the spell.

Sacrifices had to be made, and his love for her powered this single escape from Arcadia. Though he could not take it yet, he knew what he did offered life for all his people. In a red-white flash the entire platoon, fifty of his best warriors, disappeared.