Transcendence and Rebellion

  Transcendence and Rebellion

  By

  Michael G. Manning

  Chapter 1

  The guards nodded as Tyrion stepped past them to enter the Queen’s chambers. In the front room he encountered Conall, the boy who had been a constant nuisance for the past two weeks. “Her Majesty is changing,” said the young man. “You’ll have to wait.”

  “I think you know better than that, Lord Cameron,” said Tyrion, putting extra emphasis on Conall’s new title. “She sent for me, and she’s changing—for me.”

  Conall looked distinctly unhappy, and before Tyrion could try to push past him, he knocked on the door to the next room. “Lord Illeniel is here, Your Majesty. Should I have him wai—”

  “Send him in, Conall,” came the Queen’s response, cutting off his question.

  Frowning, Conall opened the door, but after Tyrion passed, he followed the man in. The next room was a more private sitting room with several doors leading out, one of which being a door to the Queen’s bedchamber. Ariadne stood in that doorway, dressed in a light gown that was so sheer as to be almost see-through.

  The Queen smiled at Tyrion before turning a disapproving stare on her champion. “Did you need something, Lord Cameron? I don’t recall giving you permission to enter.”

  Conall was blushing slightly and struggling to keep his eyes away from things that he knew he shouldn’t see. “My apologies, Your Majesty, but you shouldn’t be alone with—”

  “Outside, Conall,” snapped Ariadne. “And I don’t mean the front room. If you insist on wasting your time like this, you can do it in the hall with the other guards.”

  “But…”

  “Now!”

  Conall left, and Tyrion smirked at his back before turning to take in the Queen’s sultry attire. “It has been a while since you called for me, Your Majesty,” he said mildly.

  Ariadne cast a hungry look in his direction. “Far too long,” she muttered. “Recent events have kept me busy.”

  Amused, Tyrion responded, “You don’t think the boy will talk?”

  She shook her head. “Conall’s a good lad. He isn’t given to gossip, though I am certain he doesn’t approve.”

  Tyrion went to a sideboard and found a glass. All he needed now was wine to fill it with, but Ariadne interrupted, “How long are you going to leave me standing here, Lord Illeniel?”

  He glanced up. “Does my Queen have need of me?”

  “I require your service,” she replied smokily.

  Tyrion put the glass down and crossed the room, his stride swift and confident. When he reached the Queen, he only slowed slightly, using his momentum to sweep her off her feet and catch her in his arms. Then he lifted her up and took her to the bed, using his power to shut and lock the door behind him as he went.

  He tossed her down and then studied her with the hungry gaze of a man standing before a feast table, but Ariadne wasn’t in a mood to wait. Reaching up, she grabbed his shirt front and pulled him down until his lips met hers.

  “Where’s your necklace?” he asked when she finally let him come up for air.

  Ariadne waved her hand toward the dressing table. “Over there.”

  Tyrion gave her a look of disapproval. “I told you to keep it on.”

  She frowned. “You sound like Mordecai.”

  “It’s a well-crafted protection,” observed Tyrion. “My grandson was wise to give it to you. Make sure you wear it whenever you leave. Ideally you’d never take it off.”

  The Queen gave him a mischievous look. “Do I need protection?”

  “Always,” said Tyrion without hesitation.

  “Even from you?” she added.

  “Especially from me.” Tyrion’s hands went to her legs and began to slide her nightgown up her thighs.

  She shook her head. “No. Don’t take it off like that. Show me your ferocity.”

  “This is getting expensive, Your Majesty,” he told her, but her eyes told him that she didn’t care. Reaching for her neckline, he ripped the fabric open. The Queen was a woman of stern control in public, but in her private chambers she was perhaps even more wild than he preferred.

  He was willing to make the sacrifice, though.

  They didn’t talk for several minutes, as their appetites grew more out of control, until Ariadne whispered in his ear, “Use your magic.”

  Tyrion grew still. “I’ve told you before, I don’t like doing that.”

  “But it feels wonderful,” breathed Ariadne. “You have a gift. Share it with me.” Looking up at him she saw a shadow cross his face. “Why don’t you like using it?”

  “Bad memories,” he said quietly.

  She put her hands behind his neck and pulled him closer. “Then let’s make new ones.”

  In the end, he relented, giving her not just himself, but the artificial pleasure she desired as well, until the Queen’s cries grew so loud he feared her guards might burst in to save her. When he finally released her, Ariadne’s exhaustion was such that she fell asleep within minutes, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

  Why do I keep thinking of her? he wondered. In the past, he often found himself remembering Kate’s green eyes, but lately his dreams had been haunted by eyes of blue. Probably because I want to kill her so badly, he told himself.

  He considered leaving. He wasn’t tired enough for sleep, nor was his passion fully sated. Ariadne’s appetite for magic had left her satisfied while he felt empty. When she wakes, I’ll remedy that problem, he thought, running one hand over the Queen’s soft curves.

  Bored, he used his magesight to study her body. Ariadne had been married for many years, but she still had borne no children. Looking within, he found something that might be a cause. The tube-like fingers of flesh that led from her uterus had been damaged at some point and had healed improperly. Scar tissue blocked them. That’s easy enough to fix, he thought.

  It only took a few minutes to make the correction, but the strange sensations caused Ariadne to stir. Her eyes opened, and her hand went to her stomach, where she felt an odd warmth.

  Tyrion wrapped one hand around her knee and turned her over to face him. “You’re awake.”

  She smiled drowsily. “Barely.”

  “That’s enough,” said Tyrion, lifting her hands and pinning them above her head. “I’m still hungry. You’ve left me in quite a state.”

  Ariadne chuckled. “I’m too tired now. You’ll have to petition me when I hold court tomorrow if you seek redress of any perceived wrongs.”

  “You can redress after I’ve finished wronging you,” he replied, using his knee to tease her legs apart.

  She bit his ear, then whispered, “You seem to have an urgent petition, my lord.”

  “An impassioned plea for justice, Your Majesty,” he responded throatily. Then he presented his case.

  Returning to his room a short while later, Tyrion felt one of his knees buckle, almost causing him to fall. He caught himself, placing one hand against the wall to help him balance while the other leg took his weight. The pain was intense. This body won’t last much longer. It has almost been three months. I need to return, he thought.

  One of the krytek was standing guard beside the door to his room. Most residents in the palace didn’t have personal guards, but Tyrion wasn’t one to take chances anymore. He made sure one of his guardians was close by at all times. His experience after Mordecai’s trial had been a stern reminder.

  “Send for the dormon,” he commanded the guardian. “I need to return to the Wester Isle.”

  The krytek left to do as he bid, but it also sent another to take its place until it returned. Tyrion went to his room and gathered a few personal things and then sat down to w
ait. I hope Lyralliantha has finished. It’s been long enough.

  A knock at the door disturbed his reverie. “Sir Conall is here to see you, milord,” announced his new guard.

  “It’s Lord Cameron now,” shouted Tyrion. “Don’t make me remind you again. Let him in.” The stupidity of his krytek annoyed him. They were born with the knowledge they needed, but their other attributes varied considerably, according to what he wanted when he made them. At the moment, he was wishing he had made them smarter. These had trouble adjusting to new information, such as the fact that Conall was now a landed lord, rather than simply a knight.

  The door opened and Conall stepped inside. His face spoke of barely suppressed anger. “Your Grace, I’m here to talk to you about—”

  “The Queen,” interrupted Tyrion. “As if it were any business of yours.”

  “It’s my duty to protect her,” said Conall stiffly. “Your behavior is a danger to her.”

  Tyrion stood and took two strides, crossing the room and putting himself nearly nose to nose with the young lord. “You are her champion, Conall, not her moral guardian. Who the Queen decides to fuck is none of your concern. Or are you upset that it wasn’t you she chose?”

  Conall’s face colored. “She’s my cousin!”

  “Twice removed,” said Tyrion. “Which is the same as a second cousin. She could marry you if she wanted. Have I struck a nerve?”

  “No!” protested Conall, feeling off balance. “I’m worried about rumors. Her husband has just been murdered…”

  “By your father,” reminded Tyrion. “Your position is looking more and more confusing from my perspective. Perhaps you should be happier that she’s moved on so quickly.”

  “I don’t believe it was him,” said Conall. “I heard the testimony. Only a fool would believe what the girl said at the end. It was almost certainly Leomund’s servant, Vander.”

  Tyrion smiled maliciously, then went to a small cupboard and took out a bottle of wine and two glasses. Opening it, he filled both halfway and offered one to the young man. “It’s a shame the judge didn’t agree. Your father has been convicted, whether he did it or not. He’s a wanted man. It’s our duty to bring him to justice.”

  “Executing an innocent man isn’t justice,” insisted Conall.

  Tyrion sat down and leaned back, crossing his legs. “I don’t give a damn what you call it. I intend to kill the man when I see him next. Call it duty, call it justice, call it revenge, it makes no matter to me.”

  Conall frowned, staring at the glass of wine in his hand, but didn’t drink.

  “The question, Lord Cameron,” continued Tyrion, “is what will you do? Will you support the Queen and betray your father, or commit treason?”

  Conall lifted his glass and swallowed the contents in a single gulp. “I am loyal to the Queen, but I won’t lift my hand against my father.”

  Tyrion began to laugh. “We’ll see if fate is kind enough to save you from such a choice. I highly doubt it. You owe your current title to his misfortune. I suggest you accept your good luck and move on. Children have to cut ties with their parents eventually.”

  “Independence is one thing,” said Conall, “but I will always honor my father.”

  “Really?” said Tyrion, raising one brow. Then he reached behind himself and patted his back. “I can still feel it sometimes, the blade my daughter stuck in me. My children were more than happy to murder me to get me out of the way.”

  Conall said nothing, staring at his empty glass.

  “Don’t be so sullen,” said Tyrion. “I don’t blame my daughter. She did the right thing. I was sick with the need for violence back then. I’ve forgiven her and moved on. A few thousand years as a tree does wonders for one’s perspective.”

  “I would never do something like that,” said Conall at last.

  Tyrion leaned forward and refilled both their glasses. “We’ll see. Your father reminds me of one of my sons, Gabriel. Did I ever tell you what happened to him?”

  “I’ve heard the story, but I forget some of the names,” answered Conall.

  Tyrion nodded amiably. “He was one of the first to die. He couldn’t kill his sister. He was too kind, so she slew him instead.”

  “What’s your point?” asked Conall irritably.

  “Don’t be like Gabriel. Don’t be like your father, or it will end badly for you,” said Tyrion. “If Gabriel had killed her, it would have ended the bloodshed sooner, but he was weak. Instead, my daughter Brigid had to finish the task for him. I lost two children instead of one. Your father’s weakness could cost a lot of people their lives. Your faintness of heart could do the same.”

  “You’re sick,” observed Conall. “Why are you here? I don’t understand your motivation in all of this. Why did you come back?”

  Tyrion sipped his wine. “You wouldn’t believe me.”

  “Try me.”

  The archmage stared at him for several seconds, then answered, “Fine. I was quite content to stay a tree. It’s a damn sight more pleasant than being human. I don’t really care about restoring the She’Har either, but my hatred for them has dulled with time.”

  “So, what do you want? Power?”

  “Power?” grunted Tyrion. “What a joke! I have as much of that as I desire. Power is merely a tool. I was happier dreaming away eternity, but when your father woke me I began to take notice of the world. Over time I realized that things were happening again. The world my children created in my absence is an interesting place, but the people in it, such as your father, lack the will to do what is necessary to protect it. ANSIS will destroy you.

  “No, I don’t want power. I came back to save the world from the weak,” finished Tyrion.

  Conall emptied his second glass but declined to let Tyrion fill it again. He was ready to leave. “I can’t decide if you’re an obsessed megalomaniac or simply a deluded idealist, but either way you don’t sound like a savior.”

  Tyrion’s eyes narrowed. “Watch your tone, boy,” he warned, but after a second he relaxed. “You can think whatever you like, but I’ll tell you a secret. Saviors are never people with noble intentions or higher ideals. People claiming those are either fools or conmen. I would put your father in the first group. No, true saviors are men who aren’t afraid to do what is necessary, men who are willing to get blood on their hands.

  “In the end, I don’t care what people think of me. I will eliminate ANSIS and every other threat to this world, and when I am done, I’ll go back to my island, and leave the rest for the fools to fight over. I care nothing for titles or crowns. In the meantime, be careful, young lord, lest you get on the wrong side of me. Until I retire from the field, I will destroy anyone or anything that interferes with my goal,” said Tyrion.

  The door opened and one of the krytek stepped in. “The dormon is ready, my lord.”

  Standing up, Tyrion gave Conall a small nod. “You’ll have to excuse me, Lord Cameron. I must return to my land for a short time. I’ll be happy to continue our discussion another time.”

  Chapter 2

  “Come here,” commanded Moira Illeniel.

  The krytek guard walked over, stopping in front of her. It had been a week since the Queen and Tyrion had left it and the others to keep watch over her and the house. She had worked slowly, subtly, suborning their loyalty and free will, but they were now hers, completely and utterly. It was time to begin the real work.

  “Lower your shield and open your mind,” she told it.

  The krytek did as she bid, releasing its protective shield and giving her free access to its mind.

  Moira smiled. “This will hurt. Don’t resist me and it will be over quickly.”

  “Yes, milady,” answered the krytek.

  Her power lashed out, boring into the krytek’s mind, but not for the purpose of altering its personality any further. She invaded the creature and ripped its mind asunder, until it was nothing more than a living shell, then she replaced it with a new mind. “What is your name?
” she asked the krytek.

  The krytek smiled. “Moira Illeniel,” said the creature, then it frowned. “Wait, no, I’m the copy, aren’t I?”

  Moira nodded. “How do you feel in that body?”

  The creature frowned. “Strange, powerful, and sad.”

  “It should have enough power to allow you to do whatever is necessary,” said Moira. “The sadness I can’t do anything about.”

  “I have less than a month to live,” said the krytek. “Unless…”

  “Unless you turn rogue,” finished Moira. “I’m hoping you’re brave enough to do the right thing.”

  The krytek studied its hands, and then it met her gaze again. “You’re willing to sacrifice yourself for this—so am I.”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” said Moira. “Remember, when you go back…”

  The krytek held up a hand impatiently. “I know, go slow. I’ll be careful.”

  “A copy of a copy is more unstable. If even a single one goes rogue, it could mean disaster so don’t…”

  “I won’t,” said the krytek. “I’ll make sure the spell-twins all stay within the third or fourth order of the original, just to be safe.”

  After her first spell-twin had left to return to Albamarl Moira moved on to her other guards. She repeated the process with the remaining nine krytek, killing their minds and replacing them with spell-twins. The human guards she left alive, making only final adjustments to ensure their absolute loyalty. They would never be completely the same afterward, but at least they could go on to live relatively normal lives someday, once she released them.

  It still isn’t right, she thought. But they haven’t given me much choice, have they?

  She returned to her room to rest for a while. Making spell-twins wasn’t as tiring as creating a spellbeast from scratch, and when the host body was that of a mage, she didn’t even need to use much of her own aythar. Her fatigue wasn’t so much mental or physical as it was moral. She hadn’t wanted to do what she had done.

  Myra was sitting on the bed, petting the dog, Humphrey, when she entered. “Finished?” asked her first and oldest spell-twin. Myra didn’t have a physical body. She was a creature of pure aythar, and because of that she was dependent on regular infusions of power from Moira to keep her going.