Centyr Dominance (10 page)

When they came to the end of the cells, they had
eighteen somewhat reliable men—well, at the least they were sane and not
overtly hostile to her. She had spent more than a half an hour picking them
out, and she was worried that the Baron might not have much more time. She
needed to get the key and get back to him.

“Remember…,” she told them, “…after we take the
guardroom, we wait. I have to help my companion. Our best chance of escaping the
palace is if we stay together. If anyone runs off alone they’re liable to get
caught, and then we’ll all have a castle full of alert guards to deal with.”

Most of them nodded, but she could see defiance in
some of them. More than a few had no intention of honoring their commitment
any further than escaping the dungeon.
I will have to deal with that once
we’ve beaten the guards.
She only hoped the key would be in the guardroom,
otherwise she might be in trouble.

One guard was just leaving the guardroom as they
approached. He instantly knew there was trouble and tried to retreat into the
room before they reached him. If he had managed to close the door and alert
the others, their plan might have failed right then, but fortunately one of the
men was quick enough to get there in time to get his foot in the door.

He yelled in pain as the slamming door broke his
instep, but the others got their hands around the edge and pried the door
back. Bloody mayhem erupted after that as they swarmed in and took on the men
on duty.

Seven guards died within a short span of minutes,
mostly in brutal and horrifying fashion. There was nothing noble or glorifying
about the battle. It was made even worse by the fact that whatever was
controlling the guards took over, and consequently none of them made even the
most normal cries of fear or pain as they died. They fought and died silently,
like strange puppets made to look human.

Moira’s new friends received a number of injuries,
mostly bruises, but the first man still had a broken foot and another had taken
a solid blow to the skull. That one lay on the floor, twisted and contorted
into a tight knot, even though he was unconscious. Moira could tell that the
injury to his brain would most likely prove fatal, and even if the manacles
were removed, she doubted she could do much for him.

“Quick! Let’s be gone before the others come and find
them,” declared one of the men.

“Wait. We need to find the key to these manacles,”
reminded Moira. “We agreed we would leave together.”

He wavered, as did some of the others, but in the end
they were willing to wait a few minutes while they searched the bodies of the
guards, and the room itself.

The key, when it was found, turned out to be stored
within a locked box that held a variety of keys. They never found the key to
the box itself, but the man who had found it solved that problem by beating the
box with a truncheon until the locking mechanism was bent enough for him to pry
it open.

The key to her manacles was easily distinguished from
the others since it was the only one made of silver.

“Alright, let’s get out of here!” said the man who
handed her the key.

“We’re supposed to go back and get her friend,” said
Wat.

“He’s dying already. What’s the point?” said another.

A heavyset dockworker voiced what the majority were
already thinking, “Fuck that, let’s get out of here now. The bitch can go back
for her popinjay by herself if she wants.”

Moira fumbled with the key, trying to reach the
manacle lock with her hands, “Help me, Wat.” It was an awkward task, and
although she could probably manage given enough time, she didn’t think she had
enough time to waste trying.

A sigh escaped her lips as the shackles were opened,
and her aythar blossomed around her once more, stretching outward from her body
as it normally did. She rebuilt her personal shield immediately.

Three of them were already heading for the exit when
she spoke, “
Grethak!
” Everyone froze, except Wat, who she deliberately
excluded from the spell.

He stared at her in confusion and fear, “What happened
to them?”

Moira smiled at him reassuringly, “I told you I am a
wizard, Wat. I’m just making sure none of them go back on our bargain. I
won’t hurt them.”

Wat’s eyes were wide as he stared at each of them in
turn, “They’re frozen solid.” One of the men fell while Wat was speaking.

“Help me get them to the ground,” she told him,
rushing to catch another who was already toppling. “They can’t balance while their
muscles are immobile. A fall could hurt them.”

Several fell before they could lower them, but she
cushioned their falls with her aythar to prevent any serious injuries.

“What are you going to do to them?” asked Wat, trying
in vain to conceal his fear of her.

Moira sighed, she had hoped that Wat would be
reasonable enough to stay calm after witnessing her magic. The frenetic
activity within his mind told her clearly that he was on the edge of snapping.
“I just don’t want them to make a break for it before we’re ready. If they go
charging out now, some of them will get caught, some might not, but either way,
we’ll have the entire palace alerted, and everyone will be looking for us.
This way they stay together until I—until
we
are ready to run together.
It will improve our chances.”

“Magic only comes from the gods, light or dark…,”
began Wat, “…are you in league with the dark gods?”

The dark gods are dead you idiot! Well,
most of them anyway.
That was what she thought, but she
kept a tight rein on her mouth. “I don’t know what you were taught, Wat, but
wizards make their own magic. It isn’t good or bad by itself; it depends on
the person using it.”

There was a strong impulse to run in Wat. His eyes
were darting to the sides as he wondered if he could make it out one of the
doors before she caught him. Moira considered paralyzing him as she had the
others, but she needed help,
willing
help. Rather than take the simple
route she once again broke the ancient rule of the Centyr mages, she touched
his mind directly.

She was in full control of herself now, so it was
easier to be delicate. She smoothed away his fear and instilled a deeper trust
in him. As she worked she found the heart of his fear rooted in memories of
his childhood. She caught flashes of them, an older man, probably a priest
lecturing him about wizards, practitioners of dark arts, and witches. Even his
mother had spent considerable time warning him about such things.
Rubbish,
she
thought, and then she removed the memories. It was easier than trying to alter
them.

The process took slightly longer than she anticipated,
but she figured it was better to do a good job than to mess things up. After
what might have been five or ten minutes she finished, and mentally dusting off
her hands, she released him. Wat was now a less fearful man, more courageous,
more noble, and without a trace of fear regarding magic and wizards. She felt
a faint sense of pride looking at her handiwork.

Wat blinked as his mind snapped back into motion.

“Well, Wat, what’s it going to be? Will you help me,
or did I misjudge you?” Moira asked him.

“Never worry on my behalf, milady,” he answered
solidly. “Old Wat would never abandon a woman in need. What do you want me to
do?”

“Stay and watch them. If anyone comes, keep the door
locked and try to delay them. I should be back in less than half an hour,” she
told him authoritatively. She definitely liked the new Wat better.

Standing taller, Moira strode back down the cell
corridor, followed by her other companion, the ‘spellbeast’ made flesh, Lenny.
Lenny still hobbled awkwardly. She would have to figure out some way to remove
the metal thing in him, if she wanted him to have better motor control, but
that would have to wait for now. Baron Ingerhold needed attention, and
quickly, if he were to live.

It took Moira less than half an hour to patch Gerold
back together.
If Matthew had done this, he’d be lucky to still have his
arms and legs in the right places,
she thought sarcastically. She had
sealed the smallest bleeders and reattached the moderate sized and larger
veins. Gerold’s liver would have a scar, but it should function properly.

The biggest problem now was that the man had lost a
considerable amount of blood. He needed rest and lots of liquids to help him
replenish his blood volume. The Baron’s heart beat at an uncomfortably fast
rate as it struggled to compensate. Despite her solving the mechanical
problems relating to his spear wound, he would need days to recover even a
moderate amount of his former strength.

Now, how do I get him out of here?
Moira
considered simply levitating him, but that would require attention, and if they
got into a confrontation, she might not be able to afford to divide her concentration.
Fortunately, being a Centyr mage, she had never lacked for helpers.

Lenny might have carried him, but it would have been
awkward, and given Lenny’s lack of good muscular control, accidents would have
been likely. Instead, she spent several minutes creating a spellbeast,
endowing it with a bizarre configuration of arms and legs. It was four-legged,
standing much like a horse, but it also had two oddly angled arms that could
reach over its back to steady and retain its passenger, the unconscious Baron.
She added a manlike torso and two arms in the front in case it needed to fight
or hold things for her.

In the end, it wound up looking something like a
mythical centaur, if centaurs had had an extra set of arms sprouting from their
back, and if their backs had been slightly concave on top to accommodate prone
people.

“Ok, this would have scared poor Wat to death, if he
had seen it before…,” her voice trailed off.
Before what?
She didn’t
know quite what to call what she had done.
His ‘adjustment’?

She put that aside. “Now, what to call you,” she
said, talking to herself. “Pal? Short for ‘palanquin’? No, that won’t do.”
After a moment’s thought she decided on ‘Stretch’, which was short for
stretcher. She had kept Stretch’s mind simple to save time, but he was still
probably a little smarter than Lenny. At least Stretch could talk.

Standing up, she and Lenny helped Stretch load the
unconscious nobleman onto his soft dimpled back. Although Stretch was a proper
spellbeast, meaning he was made entirely of aythar, he was quite physical, and
he felt soft and warm to the touch. She had invested him with perhaps a
quarter of her aythar, which should have been enough to last for half a week,
if it had been used in something like a doll, but in this case would probably
only last a day. Large creatures made purely of magic used it up very quickly.

A wave of dizziness passed over her as she stepped
back from Stretch. Moira was tempted to create a second spellbeast, one meant
purely as a guardian, but she worried that she might be forced to fight soon.
Her aythar would recover quickly, meaning a pre-made spellbeast could be a
large advantage, but if she was forced to fight while still tired, it might
just as well be a hindrance. She decided to play it safe. Once she felt
recovered from making Stretch, she would consider making a guardian, until then
she would rely on Lenny and her prisoner friends for support.

Returning to the guardroom, she found that things were
still much as she had left them. Wat seemed glad to see her again, but his
eyes widened when he saw Stretch, “What is that?”

“My new friend, Stretch. Don’t worry about him, he’s
just a bit of magic created to help me carry the Baron,” she explained.

“Oh,” said Wat simply, though his eyes still expressed
a degree of fascination.

An hour ago Stretch would have had him
running for the hills, now he’s merely curious,
she
thought smugly. Examining the others, she realized she had made a mistake
using a spell to paralyze them. Still conscious, her newly released prisoner
friends were in a state of extreme terror, if not outright panic.
And
that’s why Father usually puts people to sleep instead of freezing them in
place.

Moira couldn’t be sure of how long they had, but she
was growing increasingly confident of her ability to handle people. She
started with the man who’d had his foot broken when they rushed the guard
room. Damping his pain, she quickly fused the broken bone in his right foot.
There would still be some swelling and discomfort, but he would be able to
walk. Before she released him, she touched his mind, calming him and removing
his memory of the past half an hour. She was mildly surprised at how easy it
was to do.

Increasing familiarity was improving her ability to
manipulate memories. After a second of hesitation she altered some of his
early memories as well, to make him less afraid of magic and the unusual things
he was about to witness. Stretch was a special case, though. Her centaur-like
creation was too odd to trust that simply removing their fear of magic would
allow them to accept him.

Instead, she formulated a false memory, a simple one
that she could insert into any of their minds without much tailoring to suit
their individual differences. She moved to the next man and altered his
memories as well, removing his fear of magic and adding her new memory of
Stretch.

Once she started, it proved far easier than she would
have once believed. Three or four minutes with each man, and none of them were
afraid of magic. They also now had a fond memory of a strange childhood
playmate who looked remarkably like Stretch.

Given some more time, I could make these
men into almost anything.
The thought was strangely comforting
and disturbing at the same time.
What does that make me?
In her mind’s
eye she saw a vision of herself, surrounded by a sea of dolls, puppets that
could eat and drink, walk and talk, but under the surface were little more than
marionettes.
If anyone can be changed to suit my whim, then what is real?

She closed her eyes, scrunching her face up as she
willed the mental image away.
That’s not true. I can’t alter another
wizard’s mind, not without a fight anyway.
What did that imply? Did it
mean that only mages were truly independent beings? Was the rest of humanity
just cattle, a resource waiting to be exploited by those with power? How was
she any different than the metal things that were controlling King Darogen’s
subjects?

“I’m not like them,” she told herself. “People are
not playthings.” But a tiny voice in the back of her mind was still
whispering,
They could be.
Moira shook her head—that way lay madness.

“Are you ready to go?” asked Wat.

She focused on his face, willing the unwelcome
thoughts away, “Yes.” Expanding her senses once more, she examined the area
beyond the door that led out of the guardroom and back to the rest of the
palace.

Past the door was a short corridor ending in stairs
that led back up to the ground level of the castle. The entrance to the
barracks was there and another hall that led toward the kitchens and laundry. Farther
on was the entry hall, and depending on which way one went after that, it led
either to the main yard or back to the formal audience hall.

The barracks held perhaps twenty men, and the kitchens
were busy with perhaps ten or twelve workers. The halls themselves were almost
empty, but the main entrance had a detachment of ten men. If they could get
past them, there would be nothing to stop them making it into the main city,
other than the final gate from the castle yard.

If we walk straight out, and I put the few
we meet immediately to sleep, we might get out with almost no violence,
she
thought. The main gate might be a small challenge if someone managed to drop
the portcullis before they got through.
But a little stone and steel aren’t
enough to stop me.

She nodded, and Wat opened the door, cautiously
peeking into the hall beyond it. Of course, he didn’t know that she knew the
way was clear already. Moira smiled to herself at that thought. “Just keep
walking until I tell you to stop. Act natural, no one knows we’re free yet,”
she told him and the other men.

“They might guess something’s a little odd if they see
Stretch,” said one of the other men.

“I’ll deal with that when the time comes,” she
reassured.

Moving quickly up the stairs, they passed along the
first corridor until they reached the entry hall and turned toward the main
entrance. Along the way they met one servant, but Moira put him to sleep
before the man’s eyes even had time to register the strange nature of her
entourage.

So far so good.

The guards at the front reacted as expected, and Moira
didn’t waste any time, “
Shibal.
” They collapsed without protest, but
then things began to get complicated.

The men opened their eyes and began retaking their
feet, even though she could clearly see that their minds were thoroughly
asleep. The metal creatures in their throats could care less about whether
their hosts were awake or not. Worse, her magesight showed her that the guards
in the barracks were now rushing out, moving to take them from behind, while
the portcullis at the main gate was beginning to descend.

So not only are they now aware of our
escape, but they are somehow communicating—without aythar.
The
metal things that resided in them showed no signs of using magic at all. “
Grethak!
”
she pronounced, putting some emphasis on it and making sure to exclude the men
with her. A sleeping mind might not be an obstacle for the little metal
parasites, but paralyzed muscles should be a different matter, although it took
more effort for her to do it that way. “Keep moving!” she urged her
companions. “They can’t hurt us.”

They began to run, leaving the palace and crossing the
yard. Behind them came the men from the barracks. Some of the prisoners
turned as if to face them, but Moira shouted at them, “Don’t stop, run for the
gate, you have to take the men there! I’ll deal with this.”

She said the words confidently, but as soon as she
turned she felt her heart clench. It was the ‘how’ that made her fearful.
Paralysis wasn’t a good option, in fact she was already feeling the strain of
the first men who were still fighting the spell she had put on them. Doing so
with twenty more would be foolish. The easiest solution would be to kill them,
but despite her experience in the throne room, she wasn’t comfortable with that.
I don’t want to be comfortable with that. I’m not a killer.

The guards were only ten yards away, and her time had
almost run out. Acting on instinct Moira created a small shield low to the
ground. It was invisible, and seconds later the guards were tumbling over it,
falling in spectacular fashion, but unlike the romance stories she loved, they
didn’t stay down for long. They were clambering up and running again almost as
quickly as they fell.

The thought of fire flashed through her mind, but she
still remembered the smell of the burning bodies after Karenth and Doron had
attacked her home years before.
Not that, please.
Instead, she did what
just seemed most natural. Lashing out with a fine tendril of aythar she seized
control of the lead runner’s mind, and before the metal thing in his neck
realized it was in a fight for dominance, she turned his body and made him fall
sideways. She repeated her tactic with three more in quick succession, and
soon the guards were falling over one another.

Actively controlling another human being wasn’t
taxing, not in terms of aythar, but it did require a lot of concentration and
managing more than one or two at a time was a frustrating exercise. Now that
the metal things in them knew what she was doing, they were taking a firmer
grip of their hosts, and she knew it would be impossible to struggle with more
than one at a time.

Let me help.

The voice in her mind was her own, familiar and yet
foreign at one and the same time.
How?

Like this.
Part
of her reached out and took a firm grasp of one of the soldiers, and then she
felt a fracture within her mind, as though she had broken in to pieces. Each
piece took hold of a different man, and within seconds she had taken control of
ten men, each as solidly as if she were focusing her entire attention on that
individual.

The metal parasites fought, but her fragmented selves
shut down the part of the brain that the parasites used, and soon ‘her’
guardsmen were fighting the others, clumsily, haltingly, and without skill, but
they were fighting.

It should have been a disorienting experience, but
somehow it felt almost natural. The part of her that she still considered her
‘self’ watched in amazement, taking in the overall picture, while her fragments
operated individual soldiers like marionettes. She found herself overseeing
the entire thing, keeping an eye on the larger battle and giving instructions
to her smaller selves to coordinate their actions.

Even more incredible, she realized there was no need
for her to stand watching. She could follow her companions, which would
probably be the wiser course. But ‘her’ guards were losing, slowly being defeated
by the superior motor skills of the others. Some of them were wounded already,
and two were dying.
Making them fight each other is cruel,
she thought,
I should take them all.