Centyr Dominance (26 page)

“Good,” he said simply, searching her eyes. Whatever
he saw in them must have satisfied him, for he turned away and started looking
for the door out. “Sometimes force is justified, but cruelty always hurts you
as much as it does them,” he added in the dry tone he used when he lectured.

Moira grimaced,
If you only knew how much…

Above ground once more, they gathered in the street
outside the remains of the Earl of Berlagen’s house. None of them looked
particularly good, other than Mordecai, having just emerged from his inhuman
state he was in perfect condition, with the exception of his still missing
trousers.

By comparison Gram was barely able to stand, despite
Myra and later Celior’s healing efforts. He had his armor back on, so his body
wasn’t visible, but his stance conveyed a sense of absolute exhaustion.
Cassandra on the other hand, was fine physically, but the dragon’s massive body
was covered in dust and dirt. She was also not in a good mood. Moira’s abrupt
manner had set her teeth on edge.

Celior merely looked humiliated. He refused to meet
Mordecai’s gaze.

“You don’t look very happy to see me,” said Moira’s
father, his tone was matter-of-fact, making it difficult to tell if he was
joking.

“I would be lying if I said otherwise,” admitted the
god of light.

“You thought you had me trapped,” added Mort.

“You were.”

“Hah! You didn’t take into account my brilliant
daughter.” Mordecai winked at Moira to punctuate his declaration.

“Sir,” interjected Gram, “would you like me to find
something for you to wear?”

“Hmm? Oh! I forgot about that,” said Mort. With a
word he added some illusory trousers. Leaning close to Moira’s ear he
whispered, “Some people never change eh?”

His humor didn’t quite reach her, nor did she have the
energy to be embarrassed for him, but Moira pretended to smile anyway.
“Father, there’s some things you need to kn…”

“One second,” said Mort, holding up a hand. “Does
this weather feel natural to you?”

Moira couldn’t ‘feel’ weather, not the way he could,
but she knew the reason for his question, “No, I had to alter it during the
battle for the city.”

“Do we still need it like this?” he asked. “It really
would rather be sunny today.”

She sighed, “No, the fighting is over.”

Letting out a long breath his eyes unfocused and his
body seemed to waver, becoming momentarily insubstantial. High above the winds
picked up and the clouds began rolling back, revealing the blue skies hidden
above them. Soon the sun was shining once more and the air felt fresher.

“That’s better,” he said at last.

“Father…”

Mordecai frowned as a thought occurred to him, “How
did you change the weather? Did you hear the wind?” His face showed a
combination of worry and expectation simultaneously.

“No, I used Cassandra’s strength. Listen, while you
were away a lot happened…”

“You did it with plain wizardry? Don’t you realize
how dangerous that is?! I know you’re strong, but think what might have…”

Moira lost her temper, “Dad! Would you shut up? I’m
trying to tell you what happened!”

Gram winced, looking at the ground. Mordecai was
almost a second father to him, but hearing Moira rebuke the Count made him
profoundly uncomfortable.

Mort flinched at her tone, but he didn’t argue.
“You’ll have to forgive me. My mind isn’t focused as it should be. After
joining the earth like that, well, my thoughts are very fuzzy.”

She didn’t feel good about lashing out at him, but
irritation was all she had left to give, “There’s been a battle, a big one. I
wanted to free the city, but half the populace is dead now.”

“Where are we?” he asked without thinking, but then he
stared hard at her. “What did you say?”

“I killed half the city. This is Halam, in Dunbar.”

“You freed half the city,” corrected Gram. “The enemy
is responsible for the deaths.”

The Count’s eyes flashed to Gram and then back to his
daughter’s. He knew the look in her eyes now and it made him want to weep for
her, but he kept his composure. No one would be able to give her the
forgiveness she needed, Moira would have to find that for herself. Rather than
try, he decided to remain pragmatic, his words would mean more later. “And the
King? I think his name is Darogen.”

“He’s dead,” she said plainly.

Mort winced, “Did you…?”

Moira shook her head, “He was dead when I met him, his
brain had been replaced by those metal things. His body still moved, his lips
spoke, but there was nothing alive inside. I’m not sure where he is now.”

“Metal things?”

She took a deep breath, there was obviously going to
be a lot of catching up to do. “Like the ones on the floor in the cavern where
I found you. They crawl in through people’s mouths and control them like
puppets.”
But not nearly as well as I do.

That bit of information led to a long explanation of
what Moira and Gram had seen and experienced since arriving in Dunbar.
Mordecai’s mild bemusement changed to quiet attention and then to deeper
consternation as they talked.

“What really has me puzzled is what makes them move,”
said Moira. “There’s no life in them, no aythar, yet they move like living
creatures and seem to possess intelligence.”

“Awareness is a property of aythar,” agreed her
father, “without it they can’t be conscious.”

Celior had been silent throughout their conversation,
but he chose that moment to speak up, “They are not from this world, they come
from beyond. The rules you know do not apply.”

“You named them ‘ANSIS’ before,” said the Count.
“What have they told you?”

“That they are here to purify this world, to perfect
it for humanity,” answered the Shining God.

“For humanity?” swore Gram. “My short time with one
of them in my neck was the most terrifying experience of my life! Look at how
many are dead because of them!”

Celior glanced around, noting the absence of bodies,
living or dead.

“Outside the city,” growled Gram. “They slaughtered
half the city’s citizens attempting to stop Moira from freeing them.”

Celior nodded, “As the case may be, I think their
goals are long term. When they spoke to me their interests were always about
wizards. They don’t fear losing, but they are looking for tools to use to
eradicate magic and its users.”

“Why would they help you then?” asked Moira. “You are
nothing
but
magic.”

“They seemed to base their decisions on pure rational
thought. I was a means to an end. They planned to eliminate me as well, once
I had served you and the remainder of the wizards to them. I have no doubt
about that, for they didn’t hide the fact.”

Another thought occurred to her, “How did you change
the key for your enchantment?”

“I explained how to do it to the ANSIS,” he said
wryly.

Mordecai frowned, “I whispered the key in your ear,
how did they get it? You couldn’t tell them the words, the enchantment
precludes that.”

“They have very good hearing.”

“There was no one else in that cave with us,” insisted
the Count.

Celior smiled, “They were there, in pieces you might
say. I don’t understand them at all, but I can tell you that they can spread
their bodies out in any way imaginable.” He paused, thinking for a second,
“No, perhaps bodies is the wrong word, their ‘parts’ might be more correct.
They had tiny ears in that cave, along with the weapon that nearly killed you.”

“Sounds like the shiggreth,” muttered Mordecai. “Cut
off their hands and they still move. You’re saying these things can cut off
their ears and use them to listen?”

“No,” said Celior. “They create ears from metal.
They create eyes, and weapons, they create those things that they use to
control people, but they are none of those things. They’re like a hidden
spirit that controls all of them. Everything else is nothing but a collection
of tools to them.”

“But there is no spirit in them,” said Moira
emphatically. “There is no aythar.”

“And yet they communicate with each other,” noted
Gram. “When Alyssa and I were being controlled it was clear that the parasites
in each of us were coordinating with one another. They collected information
from our eyes and ears and what one knew, all of them knew.”

Moira remembered her impression of them during the
battle, of a vast intelligence that lay behind the actions of all the parasites
controlling the city, “I felt it during the battle. When I was trying to free
the citizens. I had a thousand pairs of hands and eyes and ears, and yet they
knew as much as I did about every move during the city fighting.”

Her father’s eyes narrowed, focusing on her for a
moment, “What did you say?”

She blanched under his gaze. What she had done to
free the city was not something she wanted to discuss, but Moira had known it
would come out eventually. She had planned to divert his questions, to
downplay the nature of what she had done. “I would rather explain privately,
Father. I had to make some tough choices.”

Gram looked away, uncomfortable but unwilling to share
his own perspective on what had happened to her. Mordecai needed to know what
Myra had told him, but he didn’t dare try to speak about it in front of her.
He was afraid even to think about it.
If she can hear my thoughts…

He could only hope the armor really did shield his
mind from her.

Mordecai watched his daughter silently and as his
scrutiny drew out longer she found herself growing angry.
As if he has any
right to judge. I shouldn’t even have to explain myself.
For a moment an
idle impulse crossed her mind as she looked at him—she wondered how difficult
it would be to adjust his thinking. Wizard’s minds were supposedly very hard
to influence, but after her experiences she thought it might be possible.

She was shocked when she realized the direction her
thinking had gone; shocked and ashamed. Reflexively she looked at her hand.
It was still normal, but in her imagination she saw again the claws.
What’s
happening to me?

“We can talk about it later,” said her father. “For
now there seem to be more pressing matters.” His tone was reassuring but Moira
knew he wouldn’t forget.

“The others are waiting for us outside the city,” she
suggested.

“I’d like one of them to study before we leave,” said
Mordecai.

“There seemed to be no end of them down there,”
remarked Gram, nodding toward the ruined house.

“Just what I was thinking,” agreed the Count. “One
moment.” He began picking his way carefully back through the wreckage. Soon
he was lost to sight but Moira’s magesight followed him as he went back down.
In the places where the stairs had been ruined her father flew, making the act
look easy.

Most wizards didn’t fly, not without an aid or device of
some kind, it was a delicate art that could easily result in death or serious
injury, but Mordecai had mastered it during his year as an undead immortal.

When he returned a few minutes later he carried a
heavy iron cube. It was approximately a foot on each side and hollow. There
was no opening, no hinge or lid, but one of the metal parasites was inside.
Moira knew without asking that he had had the earth construct the container
around his captured prize.

She also noted that he wasn’t actually carrying it
with his arms, he was using his magic to levitate the cube, his hands were
merely guiding it as he walked. The iron sides of his box were at least an
inch thick, which made the box very cumbrous.

Gram had very traditional notions about his role in
the Illeniel household. “Let me carry that for you, my lord,” he offered at
once.

Moira opened her mouth to warn him but her father
winked at her before handing the box over, “Thank you, Gram.” Naturally he
stopped supporting its weight with his power at the same time.

The young man’s chest tightened and he grunted a bit
as his arms and shoulders stiffened under the unexpectedly large load. The box
weighed at least as much as a grown man, if one could be squeezed into such a
small space.

Mordecai’s face fell as Gram took the burden without
complaint. “You’re stouter than you look, son,” he commented, “and that’s
saying something.”

“Actually, it’s ‘Sir Gram’ now, Father,” corrected
Moira. “Mother knighted him for saving Irene.”

The Count gave Gram a serious look, “There’s a story
there I’m sure. I’ll want to hear the rest of it later. Dorian would be
proud.” His eyes were watching the young man’s arms and shoulders, noting the
ease with which he managed the weight. He looked askance at Moira. Obviously he
was wondering if Gram had somehow been given the earthbond.

“Dragons, Father,” she said, answering his unspoken
question, “and his sword.”

Mordecai nodded at Cassandra, “I thought perhaps she
was yours.”

“I am,” rumbled the dragon, “but Grace is bonded to
him.”

“Grace? Your little bear?”

“She isn’t so small anymore,” said Moira. She made a
brief explanation but she could see her father’s eyes continually straying to
stare at Gram’s sword while she spoke.