Betrayer's Bane Read online

  The Betrayer’s Bane

  By

  Michael G. Manning

  Foreword

  As I stare at this page, wondering what to say to you, Dear Reader, my first impulse is to say that perhaps this section should be titled, ‘Forewarning’.

  Presumably those of you reading these words have read the two books that come before, and there’s a good chance you’ve also read the Mageborn series that referenced the story here as ancient history. If so, you should have some idea of what is to come.

  This was a difficult book to write. I didn’t expect that, though in hindsight, I should have. Tyrion began his journey as a relatable young man, one who endured some terrible things, sure, but he had many chances to change the path his life eventually took him down.

  Don’t expect that he’ll turn it around now. This bus is heading down a steep slope, and nothing good waits at the end. I’m not even sure if this fits with what I personally think of as fantasy. It borders a realm normally reserved for horror, or non-fiction stories about terrible events in history.

  Fantasy, at its best, highlights the strength of the human spirit, the things people can do when placed in extraordinary and extreme situations. It explores the characteristics of a hero or heroine, and no matter how dark, it shows us that people can overcome almost any challenge.

  This is not that sort of book.

  This is a story about failure, about the darkness that resides in all of us, and which, in this case, consumes the main character and those closest to him. Brace yourself, Dear Reader, for reading this book is to look into the void within. Be careful that you don’t look too long, or you may find the void staring back at you.

  My only consolation for you, is that from the ashes left in this novel, will eventually rise the stories you find later in Mageborn.

  Prologue

  “Are you sure you want to hear the rest of this?” I asked them.

  Matthew gave me a grim look, “I’ve been remembering it since you started telling. I know what to expect.”

  “Maybe we shouldn’t hear the rest,” put in Moira, glancing at her brother. “I had bad dreams last night.”

  “I want to hear the rest,” said Lynaralla.

  I sighed, “They’re your parents after all. If anyone has a right to know, it would be you.”

  “They lived through it at least, right?” said Moira half-heartedly. “It can’t be all bad.”

  Matthew and I looked at each other and I pressed my lips into a tight line. He looked at his sister, “Yeah, it is.”

  Moira groaned.

  “I’ll start with one of the nicer moments,” I told her, “not long after Kate had given birth to her first child with Tyrion…”

  Chapter 1

  “Take her would you, Daniel?” asked Kate.

  It wasn’t really a request of course, as any husband or father knows. Nor was it truly a burden. Tyrion stepped closer immediately, grateful for the opportunity to hold little Inara. The babe had just finished her breakfast, and Kate wanted both hands to put the leftovers back under cover of her dress.

  Leftovers was the nickname he had given her still lovely breasts when they were alone. The name was a joke of course, but it had annoyed her at first. He had made sure she didn’t stay annoyed for long.

  Right now his attention was occupied by the tiny life in his arms. Even the ‘leftovers’ couldn’t distract his eyes from the baby for long.

  She’s so small, he thought. So fragile, her life could be snuffed out in an instant. As usual his protective instincts took a dark turn without warning, and his overly sharp imagination showed him an image of the child dead in his hands. No! His heart seemed to clench in his chest. With an act of deliberation, he banished the morbid vision and focused his eyes again on the beautiful creature he held.

  Soft strawberry curls framed chubby cheeks and eyes that were still the blue of the recently born. Inara was only a month and a half old now and was the subject of a lot of attention. There were only two children in Albamarl at present, Inara and her half-brother, Layla’s son Eldin. The two babes had been born only weeks apart.

  Tyrion’s grown children, particularly his daughters, competed to spend time with the infants which meant that Kate and Layla had no shortage of helpers to give them breaks. If anything they had too little time with their infants. As a result, Tyrion found himself feeling a bit jealous, not of the attention that the small ones received, but of his own time with them.

  A sharp pain brought his mind back to the present, Inara was pulling on his beard again. He didn’t fight the tug, instead he ducked his head closer to kiss her cheeks. She squirmed in his hands, for his whiskers tickled. She also forgot her grip on his beard, and he pulled his head back, smiling at her.

  “Daniel, are you alright?” Kate was watching him with concern.

  “Yeah,” he replied. “Why?”

  She touched his cheek, “You’re crying.”

  He hadn’t been fully aware of the fact until just then. “She was pulling my beard. It made my eyes water for a moment,” he answered.

  “Liar,” said Kate, kissing his forehead. “I can take her now.”

  “Mind if I hold her for a while?” he said, not ready to give her back. “This is my first time to get to do this.”

  Kate frowned, “You were holding her just an hour ago. This isn’t your first time.”

  “No, I mean the first time in my life. I’ve never been a father before, not a real one, not like this,” he explained.

  Her eyes softened, “That’s a strange line from a man with eighteen children.”

  “Fifteen now, they took three from me,” he responded, reminding her of the three that had been lost in the arena, Haley, Gabriel, and Jack. The names echoed once more in his mind. Never forget.

  A surge of aythar outside the house caught his attention, and his magesight refocused on it, taking the foreground of his thoughts. Brigid was practicing again. Alone.

  Her magic was razor sharp, flickering around her in blinding flashes, moving at the speed of thought. She remained perfectly still, her mind had nothing left to spare for physical movement. Small poles had been driven into the ground around her and stood at various heights, with lines marking them at specific places. Some of them were quite lengthy, towering over her, but they didn’t remain that way for long.

  With a clatter they fell around her in small sections. Some pieces were only inches in length and others were several feet, but without exception every cut had been made at a point marked by a black line. Her practice had lasted only a few seconds, but Brigid had sliced the thick wooden rods with near perfect precision. Each had been touched only at the places she had marked beforehand.

  “What is it now?” asked Kate, bringing his attention back to the room they were in.

  “Brigid is practicing again.”

  “That’s nothing new,” she commented. “I really worry about her.”

  He nodded, “We all do.” And most of the others are afraid of her, he mentally added, not that I blame them. Brigid practiced fanatically, and always alone. None of the others wanted to take the risk of sparring with her anymore. She was too fierce, and she had shown a marked disregard for her partners’ health and wellbeing.

  The only thing she showed any interest in apart from honing her battle skills, was Tyrion. She followed him like a dark shadow and madness seemed to lurk in her eyes whenever one of her siblings made the mistake of meeting her gaze.

  Tyrion knew he should have done something, tried to help her, to refocus her obsession on something less destructive, but he didn’t. Secretly he found her deadly, singlemindedness to be a balm; her passionate hatred comforted him. At least I’m not the only one that is mad, and she is the finest
blade I have ever produced.

  A sharp tug of his beard brought his attention back to Inara staring intently up at him. The stark contrast between his dark thoughts and the sweet bundle in his arms caused him a pang of guilt. Tyrion felt like two different people were living in his head, one he was afraid of, and another he could never hope to be again.

  He kissed Inara once more before handing her back to Kate.

  ***

  “I still think you should wait,” said Kate once more. The wan morning light cast her hair in iridescent shades of copper.

  “You worry too much,” said Tyrion soothingly. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

  Her eyes narrowed, “You aren’t telling me everything.”

  He stared back at her seriously. Experience had taught him that looking away would only increase her suspicion. “It really isn’t that big a deal, just a trip to Lincoln to talk to the stone masons there and then over to Sabortrea to pick out the next lucky people to join our free community here.”

  “Why so suddenly? Lyra tells us she’s going to speak to the elders, and the minute she’s gone you spring this on me. Your timing is odd. You never said anything about this last week.”

  “I’ve been talking about this with Ryan for weeks,” soothed Tyrion. “I thought I had mentioned it to you before.”

  “That’s a complete fabrication,” she insisted.

  Damn, she’s too sharp. “Why would I lie?” he asked, feigning innocence. “Ask Ryan, he’ll tell you.”

  “He’d say anything you told him to,” snapped Kate.

  “Ask Emma then…”

  “Her too, she’d just say it more convincingly.”

  He sighed, “Now you’re just talking crazy.”

  Kate’s eyes lit with sudden anger, “Me!? I’m the only sane one in this weird collection you call a family. The others worship you. Who would tell me the truth if it went against your wishes?”

  That was the plain truth, so he didn’t bother trying to argue around it. Distraction might be a better tactic. Giving her a rare smile he deflected the question, “You think I’m off to meet a woman? Don’t you trust me?”

  “You’re the only one I trust, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t a liar, Daniel Tennick. If I was worried about women I’d never have married you to begin with. You’ve fucked half the women in Colne and who knows what you did here before I came along. I’m more worried about you doing something stupid. Promise me this has nothing to do with your insane vendetta against the She’Har.”

  Tyrion’s countenance went dark, “That’s not something I’ll give up, Kate, but it can wait for now. This is nothing more than what I’ve said.”

  “Then why is she going with you?” Kate’s voice came out in a strained hiss.

  “Ryan’s too busy and Tad has his own projects to tend to now, and she wanted to come. Besides, your sister is the best bodyguard anyone could ask for if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “Bodyguard?” Kate nearly laughed. “As if anyone would threaten you. I’d be more worried about you keeping her from hurting the people in Lincoln.”

  “Sabortrea is considerably more dangerous than Lincoln,” he reminded.

  “Then take one of the others, what about Abby?” she countered.

  “She’s busy with teaching.”

  “It could wait for a few weeks.”

  He clenched his jaw, “That’s enough. I’m done debating with you.” Turning, he started to leave the room. Brigid was already waiting outside with their horses.

  Kate’s expression changed, and her next words held a faint note of desperation, “Daniel, remember Inara, and Eldin. Come home safe. Please.”

  “I’d never forget any of my children, young or old,” he returned. This is all for them, and the generations to come, he added silently. Then he closed the door and left.

  She stared after him for a long minute before whispering, “Liar.”

  Chapter 2

  Brigid rode quietly beside him, but there was something almost jovial about her mood. She kept her back straight and her black hair flowed out behind her in the wind. A stranger would never have seen it in her somber features, but Tyrion could see that she was brimming with excitement.

  “What are you so happy about?” he groused.

  The taciturn girl didn’t answer for a while, but when she did it was a terse response, “Because it has finally begun.”

  He stared at her back, watching the tattoos move as her lean muscles rippled under her tawny skin. His daughter’s body was athletic and mostly bare. While most of his children had happily resumed wearing clothes after becoming free, Brigid frequently ignored the custom. “You don’t even know where we are going.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” she quipped back. “I can feel your resolve.”

  “Aren’t you curious?” he asked.

  “You would have told me if I needed to know. Since you haven’t I can only assume it is best that I don’t. Either way, it matters not to me, so long as there is blood at the end of the road.”

  Damn, she’s cold enough to make a demon shiver. “You’re going to be disappointed then. If all goes well, there’ll be no blood on this trip.” After a few seconds he added, “You should put a shirt on at least.”

  “I’m not naked, Father. I have breeches on, and I packed a dress for Lincoln. Do my breasts bother you?” she asked challengingly.

  “If we meet anyone on the road they’ll think you’re mad, or a savage.”

  She smiled, “I am. I prefer to fight naked. If I had to use my tattoos the enchantments would ruin my clothes anyway.”

  “We won’t be fighting,” he told her. “Get off your horse.”

  Brigid tightened her reins and drew her horse to a stop. Dropping lightly to the ground, she immediately moved to remove her chain from where it was tied above her horse’s saddlebags. The chain was particularly frightening to look at. Made of almost delicate iron links, it was razor sharp and covered in runes painstakingly etched along the entire length. It was her favorite weapon, and she never let it stray far from her hand.

  Each end terminated in a sharp six-inch blade, and the enchantment worked into its metal ensured that no one but her dared to touch it. The magic in each link shifted between two states, one state sheathed the sharp edges to prevent injury, but only for Brigid herself. The other state was one of deadly sharpness. She never held the chain when using it anyway, she used her aythar to move it directly, whipping it through the air around her to lethal effect. It would cut through spells and spellweaving with equal facility, and it shed the touch of anyone else’s magic much as a duck sheds water. It wouldn’t be used against her.

  “Leave that,” he ordered. “This will only take a moment.”

  She pulled her hand away but didn’t say anything, instead she watched him with quiet eyes.

  Tyrion made no move as he listened to the voice that was ever present beneath them, the voice that only he and Emma had been able to hear. His eyes grew glassy and then brown, not the warm brown of human eyes, but that of flint, and even the whites vanished, consumed by a stony metamorphosis.

  Brigid was astonished, but she held her peace. She would rather die before showing fear in front of him. She sensed no movement of aythar, but the earth between them began to shift and roil as though it had lost its solidity and become some strange fluid. After a moment, a shape appeared, and a box rose from the earthen pool, bobbing slowly to the surface and then resting there as the soil regained its former density.

  Her father stared at it before bending down to scoop the small box into his hands. His eyes regained their normalcy as he straightened, but he watched her as though she were a puzzle for seconds afterward. Tyrion’s expression was alien and despite herself Brigid felt unsettled.

  Then he smiled, “We can go now—Brigid.” The pause before her name was awkward, as though he had forgotten what to call her temporarily.

  She mounted her horse nimbly and followed behind him for
some time before she finally asked, “What was that?”

  “So you do have some curiosity.”

  “There was no aythar, the earth moved as if it were possessed,” she said softly.

  Tyrion looked over his shoulder for a moment with a smile born of malevolence on his lips. It was an expression she treasured, and she knew then that he was still the man she loved. The man who would grant her desire for vengeance. He had hidden it so well over the past year that she had begun to harbor doubts. “We have more allies than just those in our family, Brigid. The earth itself will aid us, the earth and sky both. It isn’t just us, this world is crying for blood, but first I need to learn more, so you’ll need to be patient.”

  She felt a shiver run down her spine as he spoke. The words didn’t really make sense, but she could feel something behind them. “I trust you, Father, but you sound like a lunatic.”

  He laughed, “That means a lot coming from you.”

  “What’s in the box?”

  “Knowledge, but it may drive me mad, or even kill me.”

  She frowned, “Is it worth the risk?”

  “We can’t win without it. What you’ve seen is just a hint of what’s possible, but it isn’t enough. I think I could create chaos, and we could destroy a lot of them, but it would mean nothing in the end. We would die, and they would recover. To win we need knowledge and cunning. We have to recover what humanity has lost and learn the weaknesses of our enemy. I don’t know what I will learn, but it may require more patience than one lifetime.”

  Brigid growled. It was a deep guttural sound completely at odds with the delicate femininity of her throat. “I won’t wait that long, Father.”

  “I hope you don’t have to,” he responded, and I’ll put you out of your misery myself, if it does take that long.

  “So what do you want me to do?”

  “There’s a fruit in this box, stolen from the She’Har. It contains a multitude of their secrets, and I think I can learn them if I eat it. I need you to watch over me. Lyra told me that it drives some of them mad, and I’m no She’Har. If things don’t go right, you may have to kill me.” And if things go really wrong, I may kill you.