Mageborn 05 The Final Redemption

  Mageborn:

  The Final Redemption

  By

  Michael G. Manning

  Cover by Donna Manning

  Editing by Grace Bryan Butler

  © 2014 by Gwalchmai Press, LLC

  All rights reserved.

  Printed in the United States of America.

  For more information about the Mageborn series check out the author’s Facebook page:

  https://www.facebook.com/MagebornAuthor

  You can also find interesting discussions and information at the Mageborn forums or the Mageborn Wiki:

  http://www.illenielsdoom.com/

  http://magebornwiki.com/index.php/Main_Page

  Chapter 1

  “The King is in a delicate situation,” explained Rose. “There are rumors that Celior and Karenth have returned, and the church is feeling bold now that…” she let the words trail off, unfinished.

  The Countess di’Cameron was irritated. Her friend Rose’s continual reminders were unwelcome, and she was tired of the delicacy that the other woman continued to show whenever the topic of Mordecai’s death came up. “Now that Mordecai is dead,” said Penny, finishing the sentence for her. “Just say it, Rose. I’m tired of everyone tip-toeing around the tragedy.”

  Rose’s eyes flashed with anger for a moment, but she suppressed the emotion. “It isn’t easy for me either, Penny. None of us really know how to proceed under these circumstances.”

  “I don’t care how delicate the situation is, I’ll gut the first pompous fop that even hints that I should remarry!” barked Penny.

  “No one has suggested that,” replied Rose hastily, trying to placate her. “It’s only been six months, no one would dare. I just want you to be aware that it will happen, probably within days of the anniversary of his death.”

  “Damned vultures!” spat Penny, not making any attempt to seem lady-like. “The very notion of a bunch of insipid lordlings sitting around, waiting for a full year to pass before they begin making attempts to steal his lands—makes me sick.”

  Lady Rose blanched a bit at the harsh words, though she completely understood the sentiment. “Your son will still inherit, but they will be clamoring to put someone with proper breeding and experience in charge of your estate.”

  “Because I’m a woman.”

  Rose nodded, “That—and the fact that you were born a commoner.”

  “I still don’t care. I’ll castrate the first one to suggest it,” said Penny menacingly. Her hand drifted unconsciously to her sword as she spoke. Since Mordecai’s death she had taken to wearing it constantly, along with the enchanted mail he had made for her.

  “You should care!” said Rose emphatically. “If you stick your head in the ground and try to ignore this, you won’t like the results. You have to plan ahead if you want to get the best out of this situation. You have children to consider.”

  “This has nothing to do with the children, and everything to do with greed,” insisted Penny.

  “That’s where you’re wrong,” argued Rose. “James will be forced to act if you don’t find your own solution after a year or so has passed.” She was referring to James Lancaster, the King of Lothion.

  “He wouldn’t dare. Genevieve wouldn’t let him,” countered Penny.

  Lady Rose took a deep breath. “The Queen understands the political situation just as well as he does, her personal feelings won’t be a factor.”

  “He’s the King, Rose. If he doesn’t go along they can’t force me to marry.”

  “The four churches are coming back into power now that Mordecai is gone. James’ seat on the throne is already growing precarious. He can’t afford to be stubborn now, or the Lords will rebel. Rather than make things worse by sheltering you, he will want to make use of you to strengthen his position,” explained Rose.

  “That’s absolutely disgusting,” declared Penny. The King had been Mordecai’s uncle. She and Mort had been close friends with the entire royal family. “I can’t believe he would try to use me that way.”

  Rose sighed, “You’re looking at this backwards. It’s an awkward situation for everyone. James loves you, but circumstances will force his hand. You should be thinking ahead, to find a way to help him and simultaneously put your children in a more advantageous position.”

  Penny closed her eyes and gritted her teeth, trying to hold back tears of rage and frustration. Once she had herself under control, she replied in a quiet voice, “We should talk about something else for a while.”

  Rose pursed her lips, sensing her friend’s dangerous mood. She knew it would do little good to push Penny any further. “How are the twins doing today?” she asked. Talk of children was often the easiest way to shift their conversations to more comfortable topics.

  Letting out the breath she had been unconsciously holding, Penny relaxed slightly. “Moira still seems to be handling it well. She cries now and then, but she has accepted the situation. Matthew—I’m not sure if he will ever understand. He still insists that his father is alive.”

  “It’s natural to want to deny something so terrible,” observed Rose, “but he will have to face the truth eventually.”

  “He won’t listen to me,” added Penny. “The last time I tried to explain it, he got belligerent and angry. I’m afraid if I keep insisting, it will only drive him farther from me. He won’t say it, but I know he believes I somehow forced his father to leave.”

  “That’s nonsense,” declared Rose. “Even at his age he has enough sense to know that simply isn’t true.”

  “I’m not so sure. The last thing he saw was me pushing Mordecai away, right before Dorian drew his sword to protect us. How is a child to understand that?” asked Penny.

  “Perhaps it would help if Dorian talks to him,” suggested Rose. “He might respond better to a man, and he knows that they were best friends.”

  “I think that would be a good idea. It certainly couldn’t hurt,” agreed Penny.

  “He doesn’t want to believe that Daddy is dead,” said Moira unexpectedly from behind her mother. She had entered so quietly that neither of the two women had noticed her presence.

  Penny turned and pulled her daughter close. “You shouldn’t be sneaking up on your mother. How long have you been listening?”

  Moira rubbed her cheek against Penny’s shoulder, “Just since you said that Matthew thinks you made Daddy leave, but I know that isn’t true. My other mommy told me what happened.”

  This was the first time she had mentioned anything about Moira Centyr. The ancient remnant of her mother had appeared during Mordecai’s last battle and had protected them from the leader of the shiggreth. As far as Penny knew, the stone lady was unable to speak. She had remained mute during the entire event, until at the last she had returned to the earth, leaving no trace of her presence behind. “She spoke to you?” asked Penny, surprised. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

  “I did,” answered Moira.

  Penny started to argue the point with her, but as she cast her thoughts back to that day, she realized that it was entirely possibly she hadn’t been listening. She hadn’t been at her best after… She caught herself there and pushed that thought aside, she had done enough crying for several lifetimes already. Focus on your daughter, she thought. “What did she tell you, sweetheart?”

  “She said that she heard me calling her, that she would protect us,” said Moira calmly.

  Rose interrupted then, “I never heard her speak. How did she talk to you, Moira?”

  Pointing to her temple, Moira answered, “In here, I could hear her voice in my head. I asked her to protect Daddy too, but she said she wasn’t strong enough anymore; that Daddy told he
r to save us instead.”

  Tears started in Penny’s eyes. She turned her head to look away, her throat too constricted to speak.

  “What else did she say?” asked Rose, continuing the conversation while Penny struggled to regain her composure.

  Moira paused for a moment, hesitating. She could sense her mother’s sadness easily enough, and her magesight made it easy to see the tears Penny was hiding when she turned away. She thought for a second before answering carefully, “She said she loved me, and that she was glad I had such a good mommy to take care of me. She told me to be brave for Momma, especially if—something happened to Daddy.”

  “How did you know she was your mother?” said Penny, no longer trying to hide her tears. She and Mordecai had told Moira of her special past and how she had been given to them, but to her knowledge Moira had never seen the remnant of her actual mother before.

  “I just did. She used to watch me sometimes, when I was little, but I couldn’t hear her talk back then. You told me about her before, so I knew it was her,” replied Moira, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

  Penny hugged her daughter tightly, unable to contain her emotions.

  Moira returned the embrace, patting her mother’s back with small hands. “I miss Daddy too, Momma.”

  Chapter 2

  Grey light filtered through the opening to the cave as I slowly became aware of my surroundings. I was lying on stony ground, within a shallow niche in a hillside. It barely merited being called a cave, since it was more of a deep undercut.

  How long I had lain there was a mystery to me. I seemed to be covered in a thick layer of leaves and assorted detritus. Sitting up, I brushed the loose debris from my shoulders and hair, and then I realized it wasn’t leaves at all. The desiccated bodies of hundreds, no—thousands, of insects, had piled up around and over me.

  “What the hell?” I said aloud, before reaching up to touch my jaw in surprise. When I had given myself over to fatigue and weariness, my mouth had been a ruin, utterly incapable of speech. Now it seemed to be perfectly fine. Rising from the mound of dead insects, I began hastily brushing myself off, while simultaneously checking to see if my other wounds had healed. They had.

  I struggled to remember how I had come to be there. After my ill-fated battle with Thillmarius, Gareth Gaelyn, the dragon, had flown me to safety, for my family and friends wanted me dead. Or perhaps I was already dead? I shook my head in confusion. I certainly don’t feel dead, I thought to myself.

  The dragon had taken me to the southeastern foothills, at the edge of the Elentir Mountains, a distance many miles and at least five days travel (by mundane means) from Albamarl. The journey had taken Gareth less than a half day’s flight, even burdened with my extra weight. After landing, he had sought to engage me in conversation, an odd behavior for the normally antisocial dragon, and I had been less than receptive.

  The emotions I held after my last parting from my family were dark and soul-crushing. Logically I understood their fear and the excellent reasoning behind Dorian and Penny’s decision to destroy me. If the circumstances were reversed I most certainly would have done the same. Still, logic and reason did nothing to ease the pain. My heart still held the image of Penny’s face engraved within it, the look of revulsion in her eyes after my hand had touched her cheek. It had been etched, as if by acid, upon my soul.

  Depression had overtaken me during the flight to the mountains, and once there I had rebuffed Gareth’s attempts at communication. My body had still been broken and battered, resisting my attempts to heal it. In fact, I had been unable to use any power at all. The source of my aythar, the wellspring of my soul, had dried up, to be replaced by an infinitely dark void, an aching emptiness.

  Filled with sorrow and weary beyond belief, I had sent the dragon away. In part I had done so out of a desire for solitude, and also for fear that, in my weakness he might take his aystrylin from me by force. I had stolen the small figurine from his ancestral home and if I were to lose it I would also lose my last and most powerful ally. Perhaps ally wasn’t the best word choice though, for I had coerced Gareth Gaelyn into servitude with the threat of using his aystrylin to forcibly return his humanity. Servant—that was a better term for our relationship.

  Tired, and growing weaker with each passing minute, I had wandered into the rocky hills, seeking a quiet place to rest. The cave, if it could be called that, had been the best place I could find, and I had crawled into it without hope of recovery. In reality, I had hoped to die. I didn’t know the limits of the curse I had taken upon myself, but it seemed reasonable that if I grew weak enough, eventually I might expire from simple lack of energy.

  Apparently, that thought had been naïve.

  “I’m still here,” I said, speaking aloud again. Interestingly, my depression seemed to have vanished along with my injuries. A strange feeling of calm had descended over my inner world, as if a veil had shadowed my painful feelings. Curious, I turned my thoughts deliberately to Penny and the children. I probed my last memories of them, searching for the ache of their rejection, in much the same manner that someone might probe the painful socket of a lost tooth with their tongue, even though they know it will be painful to touch.

  I found nothing.

  My heart had grown numb, or perhaps grey, as empty as the black void I saw within myself whenever I turned my magesight inward. My emotions had drained away along with my energy, leaving me an empty husk. And yet I am alive and whole once more, with enough strength to move easily, I thought silently. Well, maybe not alive.

  It was at that point that I realized I also had no feelings of disgust, as I most certainly should have had. I just woke up covered in dead roaches, centipedes, ants, and… I kicked at the mound of dead things, shifting it with my foot to see what else it might contain. Along with the insects I discovered an assortment of mice, a snake, and largest of all, a dead fox. Most of the bodies had been perfectly preserved, as if they had dried out slowly without rotting or putrefaction. Only the fox seemed fresh, still warm to the touch.

  “I must smell terrible,” I observed, though there was no one to listen. Sniffing the air I could detect nothing rotten however, just the smell of dry dirt mixed with the fresh scent of the forest blowing toward the hills. Touching me killed them, and did so in such a thorough manner that they didn’t even rot. My body must have drawn the life from everything that came into contact with it, even the fox.

  Considering the fox, and its obviously recent demise, I figured it must have been what finally brought me to consciousness.

  “Too bad for you,” I said to the fox as I rubbed my now functional jaw. My internal numbness made it impossible to even enjoy my own sarcasm. After thinking for a few minutes I began walking west, traveling in the direction that would take me back to more populated areas. I had no real desire to do so, and I almost chose to head farther into the mountains, but I knew there were things I had to do. My normal motivations were completely absent, but no other course of action held any appeal to me either.

  I considered calling the dragon to carry me, but I decided against it. I was in no hurry. Instead I took my time, walking carefully through the rocky terrain. The morning sunshine failed to warm me, as if it was reluctant to linger on my skin. It fell upon me and illuminated my surroundings, but it still left me cold.

  Birdsong filled the air, cheerful as ever, but I felt no joy. The world had turned to ash; grey and flavorless. My sense of smell still seemed to operate, but my internal state rendered it meaningless. This could get really boring, I thought, but even that failed to bother me.

  I traveled without stopping, without rest, walking onward through both dawn and dusk, heedless of whether it was day or night. My magesight made daylight irrelevant, and I never seemed to tire, so I kept moving. I was untouched by hunger or cold, and I wondered idly if I would ever need to eat; thus far the idea seemed unappealing.

  Days passed and the land smoothed, becoming gentler while the trees grew
more densely. Eventually I decided to try sleeping, but it proved to be a futile exercise. I lay in the darkness, hidden under leafy boughs that shaded me from even the moonlight, but sleep wouldn’t come. My thoughts kept circling, turning over past events, and pondering the future. In the end, I rose and began walking again. Without the need for sleep or physical rest there was little difference in walking and lying still.

  Over time, I became gradually aware of dim connections between my inner void and certain distant others. My best guess was that I had assumed Thillmarius’ connections to the other shiggreth. The spell weaving that I had stolen from him probably acted as a sort of central fulcrum for the other undead he had created. I wondered idly whether it might enable me to control them, but I didn’t bother testing the theory. It seemed pointless either way.

  My first surprise came early one morning as I passed listlessly through the trees. My feet had brought me ever closer to Albamarl, though I had no real desire to see the city again. I simply had nothing better to do. My travel through the forest had brought me to the Myrtle River, the same river that would eventually pass by the capital. Following it simplified my journey, but it also brought me close to the various human villages that were built on its shores.

  I had just skirted one small hamlet in the early predawn hours. Confident that there were no other humans within a distance of at least a mile or two, I had turned my thoughts inward, ignoring my surroundings while my body made its way, following the lightly wooded riverbank. It was a state similar to sleeping, but it brought no comfort or true rest. Instead, my thoughts merely circled, repeating past events and memories before my inner observer. Watching those memories, I felt nothing.

  So absorbed was I, that I very nearly walked into a bear before I noticed its presence. A warning grunt brought my attention back to my surroundings where I found myself standing a scant two feet from a very large brown wall of fur, muscle, and teeth. Somehow my approach had startled the bear as well, for he jerked and rose to his hind legs at almost the same time.