Centyr Dominance (9 page)

Her eyes went to his companion, who stood across the
hall showing little interest in either of them, then they returned to the guard
before her. “I’m thirsty,” she said.

“You aren’t allowed to have water,” said the guard
firmly, letting his gaze travel downward. He was separated from her by only
three feet now.

Moira sent a delicate line of aythar outward, touching
his mind. It would have been easy if it weren’t for the manacles, but now it
took everything she had. A quick pulse turned his mild lust into a burning
fire. The guard’s pupils dilated, and his lips parted slightly as his
breathing became shallow and husky. “Maybe if we were alone, you’d be able to
quench my thirst,” she told him.
I can’t believe I just said that.

The man leaned closer, his face almost against the
bars, and she could smell his sour breath, “You’d like that wouldn’t you?”

She wanted to vomit, but instead she turned her gaze
downward, toward the supposed object of her desire. Meeting his eyes again,
she answered, “I think we both would.”

Unable to control his lust any longer, the guard
reached through and pulled her harshly against the bars with one hand before
using his other hand to grope roughly at her chest. Moira gasped in pain as he
pinched her. Of course, the guard was too besotted to hear her cry as one of
pain, instead he took it as further confirmation of her desire.

“Not like this,” she protested, as her eyes watered.
“We need privacy to do this right.”

“Yeah,” said the man. Turning back, he looked at the
other guard, who was watching them with some interest now. He walked over to
him, and the two of them talked in quiet whispers for a moment. The other man
smiled, leering at her.

With her magesight, she could see that the other man
was growing excited as well.
No, that’s not what I meant, you dolt!
Fear
and adrenaline shot through her as the other guard unlocked her cell, and the two
of them entered together.
Focus,
she told herself. Her plan wouldn’t
work if she let herself be rattled. One she thought she could handle, but she
wouldn’t be able to do anything if she let her fear overwhelm her. She needed
precision. Self-control was paramount to her ability to manipulate others
minds.

Watching the two of them, she could see that the first
guard, the one she had started with, was a blazing pyre of passion, while the
second was merely moderately aroused. The second one spoke then, “You go first,
Lenny. I’ll just watch, unless she puts up a fight.”

Lenny grinned, “You sure?”

“Yeah, I ain’t quite ready yet, so try to make a show
of it.” Looking at her, he addressed her directly, “Take the dress off,
wench.”

She held her wrists up to remind them of the manacles,
“Why don’t you help me, Lenny?” She attempted a smile to put the guard at ease,
but her nervousness twisted it into a strange parody of a genuine smile.

Lenny needed no urging. Stepping forward, he brought
one hand up, intending to grab her neckline and rip downward, but Moira had
already seen his rough intentions. Fighting down her fear, she stepped into
him before he could get a firm grip and lifted her chin as though she meant to
kiss him.

Mildly surprised, Lenny let his hand slide downward to
pull her hips against him as he lowered his head toward hers. As soon as their
bodies came close Moira struck. A fine thread of aythar lanced outward,
driving into the guard’s lust addled mind. In spite of the manacles, her desperation
made the initial mind touch a little rougher than it ought to have been. Lenny
jerked slightly as her mind caught his firmly in its grip.

Beyond that, however, he continued on his quest for
satisfaction. Lenny’s hands roamed across her back and derriere.

Moira felt as though she were drowning. The manacles
sapped her strength, making each moment a trial to maintain the mental
contact. At first she tried to dampen Lenny’s passion, to turn it from its
course, but his basic instinct was too strong for that. Without even being
aware of what he was doing, he fought her.

A rising sense of panic threatened to overwhelm her
inner calm, but Moira refused to let go. Strengthening her resolve, she
clamped down harder on Lenny’s mind.
No, this isn’t what you want. Protect
me, help me!

For a moment it seemed an impossible task until with a
final twist of will she felt his mind snap. Lenny sagged against her, and she
felt the candle that was the wellspring of his life wink out.
No! That’s
not what was supposed to happen.
He was dead.

His heart still beat, and his lungs still moved, but
he was as dead as the king she had met in the throne room—and she had killed
him as surely as she had the people fighting in the audience chamber earlier.
This time, though, it had been entirely her decisions that had led to the
guard’s death. This time she felt his passing directly, and now she was
holding his limp form upright.

She also confirmed the source of the control the
guards and others had been under earlier. During her battle to control Lenny’s
mind, she had seen it, a small metallic creature embedded in the back of his
throat. Fine metal filaments extended upward from the bizarre abomination,
weaving themselves into the small apple-like part of the brain that topped the
spine.

Moira already knew that that area was a sort of
control center for the physical body, the place where commands were sent to
enable conscious control of the limbs. If that was how the thing worked, it
made sense that the earlier victims had been trapped within their minds. They
had been partly awake, but direct control of their bodies had been overridden.

Thus far the strange thing seemed to still be dormant.

“Are you alright, Lenny?” questioned the guard
watching them. It was obvious that something was wrong.

Moira wasn’t sure how long Lenny’s body would survive
his passing. According to her mother, it might be days before the brain began
to die, but once it did, everything else would follow in short order. Without
knowing what else to do, she did what came instinctively, she created a simple
spellmind. It was a matter of half a minute’s work, during which she slumped,
letting the guard’s body fall over her own.

The second guard would want answers soon. She
intended to make sure Lenny was ready to give them. Having so little time, she
imbued the mind with only one directive.
Protect me.
With that she
released him; she had no energy left to do more anyway.

Lenny stiffened as the new mind took over. He gazed
down at her with an expression of adoration as he used his arms to lever
himself upward. As he stood he placed himself between her and the other man,
but things began to go wrong from there.

The beast within his throat had awoken.

The second guard had gone blank as well. Staring at
Lenny, he spoke in a flat voice, “Anomaly detected.”

Lenny was twitching. His new spellmind was struggling
with the metal insect for control of his body. “A—a—greed,” he replied.

The other guard strode from the cell, moving to snatch
up one of the heavy truncheons they had left in the hall. He returned seconds
later, raising the weapon and preparing to dash poor Lenny’s brains out.

“No!” shouted Moira. Launching herself from the floor,
she dashed at the second man, catching his arm and knocking him sideways.
Lenny still stood motionless, but she knew that if she let the other guard kill
him, she would lose her only ally. Well, kill what was left of him. Lenny
wasn’t precisely a living person anymore, but he was hers.

The other man was too strong for her. She fought
tooth and nail, but he pinned her arms within his own. The manacles didn’t
help, of course, but he was so much stronger it wouldn’t have mattered, even
had she been entirely free. He held her still while Lenny approached from
behind, making each step as though it were an accomplishment as his body
twitched and jerked. He had produced a small knife, and it was clear that he
meant to drive it into her back.

The irony of her situation didn’t escape her.
I’m
about to be the first Centyr to be murdered by her own spellbeast.
Frantically,
she sought to use her remaining aythar to take control of the guard holding
her, but she had no time and too little energy left.

She felt the knife pass by her right ear, so closely
that if she had turned her head it might have done her serious harm. The blade
sank into the chest of the guard holding her. Her spellbeast was still
fighting for control of Lenny’s body.

The arms holding her fell away as the guard grabbed at
Lenny’s knife arm, struggling to pull the blade from his chest. The guard
grappled with Lenny, or he would have, if Lenny had been capable of resisting, but
the thing in his throat had her spellbeast in a stalemate again. He convulsed
as he fought the creature controlling him, while his compatriot took the knife
from his hand and turned it around.

Moira had relaxed her legs, falling to the ground when
the guard’s grip had slackened. There she saw his fallen truncheon. Snatching
it up, she lurched to her feet and brought it two-handed down on the back of
the man’s unguarded head. She was rewarded with a sickening crunch, and her
jailor crumpled to the floor.

Lenny watched her with desperate eyes, locked in his
own internal battle, his body shuddering and trembling. Eventually he lost his
balance and collapsed. Moira moved to help him, kneeling beside his semi-rigid
form.

Her magesight could see the struggle within him. The
metal thing was sending a steady stream of commands to his brain, while the
spell-beast was attempting to resist them by sending its own commands directly
to the spinal column. The resulting discord created a sort of tug-of-war, and
neither could gain the upper hand.

“Hang on. I’ll try to help you,” she told him, but
his eyes showed no sign of comprehension. The spellmind was too simple. She
hadn’t had the time to include proper language when she had created it.

Putting that thought aside for a moment, she turned
her attention to the struggle inside Lenny’s twitching body. She had little
strength, so she did the only thing available to her. Extending her limited
aythar once more, she dampened the section of the brain that the metal
filaments connected to. It was a poor solution, she knew that. Without that
part of the brain, her spellbeast would be clumsy and poorly coordinated, but
if it worked, he would at least have sole control of the body.

The twitching subsided, and Lenny’s body took a slow
deliberate breath. The look of relief in his eyes was enough confirmation for
her. It had worked. He sat up and gave her a lopsided smile accompanied by a
satisfied grunt, “Oohn!”

She nodded, although she doubted he understood even
that gesture.
Now what do I do?

Gram and Chad waited a long while before emerging from
the cellar. They couldn’t be sure how long it had been, but Gram would have
guessed it was at least a half an hour, possibly longer. It had certainly
seemed like an eternity since he had been trapped in a small space with the fetid
stench.

He had listened carefully for several minutes, letting
his ears assure him that there was no one nearby, when they opened the doors
and climbed out. After that they began walking. They had given up on the city
gate for the time being, it was sure to be watched after the incidents they had
been involved in.

Gram was careful to think of it that way. They had
been ‘involved’, rather than they had ‘started a mass slaughter’. It was the
truth, they hadn’t forced the fight, it had been forced on them, but it had
most certainly become a slaughter once their hand had been forced.
What
happens if they find us again? Will I kill more ordinary men and women?
He
couldn’t think of them as opponents, or soldiers. Their behavior had
definitely been abnormal, but they had been regular townsfolk.
What if the
next ones are children?

“Keep moving,” urged Chad. “A nice casual walk is all
we need. If we move too quickly, we’ll draw attention.”

“We didn’t do anything to draw attention last time,”
said Gram.

“Well, until we understand what the hell is goin’ on,
that’s the best we can do,” growled the ranger.

Gram’s sharp hearing picked up the sounds of a group
of people ahead. “There’s a large group near the next intersection,” he
warned.

“Let’s stop in here then,” said Chad, indicating a
bakery they had just passed.

“There’s at least one person in there,” said Gram
nervously.

“Better one than fifteen,” returned the older man, and
without waiting to continue the discussion, he moved toward the door. Gram
reluctantly followed him.

“Thank the gods that ye’re open,” said the ranger
boisterously as they entered.

The baker was a fat balding man who looked at them
with some surprise as they stepped in the door. “Good day. I hadn’t expected
to have any more business today, what with crazed madmen on the loose.” His
eyes took in their appearance as he spoke, and his voice grew tighter before he
finished his sentence. Gram had dismissed his armor and hidden Thorn, this
time sending it to its extradimensional pocket. Even so, they were both
clearly foreigners. That combined with the recent events was enough to cast
them in a light of heavy suspicion.

One other person stood in the shop, taking possession
of a small sack of fresh bread that the baker had just handed her. The woman
turned and stared at them.

Gram froze, his jaw going slack. Light olive skin and
dark hair framed a pair of deep brown eyes, eyes that had haunted his dreams.
It was Alyssa.

Her expression went through several rapid shifts,
shock, sadness, and finally alarm. “What are you doing here?” she said softly,
taking one uncertain step forward, before stopping. “You shouldn’t be here.
It’s too dangerous.”

Gram walked toward her slowly, stammering,
“Alyssa—Jasmine, I feared you were dead…” His vision blurred as he blinked
away unbidden tears.

“Ahh fuck it all,” muttered Chad under his breath.
“This ain’t good.” The baker had already left the counter, heading for the
back. Whatever he had surmised about the situation, it probably involved
finding the town guard.

“Stay back,” warned Alyssa as Gram approached. She
would have retreated, but she was cornered in the small shop with nowhere to go.
“You don’t understand. I’m dangerous.”

Gram ignored her, closing the space between them. “I
don’t care. Why didn’t you come back?”

Alyssa’s face changed then, relaxing, her fear gone.
Reaching out she slid one hand behind his head and pulled his face toward
hers. Confused, Gram didn’t fight it. He had dreamt of kissing her once more
every night since he had thought she died. His lips met hers, and for a moment
his world brightened again.

Until he felt the strange metal thing clawing its way
into his mouth.

Chad watched them anxiously, “We need to go, boy.
Bring her with us if you must, but we can’t dawdle. That baker’s gone to warn
someone.”

Gram let out a garbled cry as he pushed Alyssa away and
stumbled back. He clawed at his mouth with his hands, but whatever had gotten
in was too far back and it was boring into the back of his throat.

“That’s what love will get ya,” observed Chad,
thinking to make a joke, but he quickly realized that something was seriously
wrong. “What did you do to him!?” he demanded of the young woman.

Alyssa ignored his question even as she advanced on
the hunter, a familiar dead expression in her eyes.

Several things passed through Chad’s mind in an
instant. He knew from the past that Alyssa was a deadly fighter. Facing her
head on would probably be a mistake, even for him. He also knew that killing
her would be the last thing Gram would want, no matter what she had just done.
If he had had an arrow, he might still have done it, though, Gram’s wishes be
damned.

Whipping his bow-stave across, he sought to drive her
back long enough to get his long knife out, but the girl didn’t even dodge.
The wood caught her solidly in the cheek, sending her sprawling to the floor. Never
one to waste an opportunity, he pounced, grappling with her and twisting her
head painfully to one side as he brought his knife to bear. He hesitated after
that only for Gram’s sake.

“What did you do to him bitch?!” he spat, pressing the
sharp edge against her bare throat.

She didn’t answer, however, instead she continued to
struggle, heedless of the mortal threat his knife represented. His superior
strength and weight made it a losing proposition for her, not that it mattered,
for she fought like an amateur, her movements clumsy and lacking any finesse.

“Gram, are you alright? Talk to me!” he shouted.

The young warrior didn’t respond, and his thrashing
movements became more frantic and less deliberate. He appeared to be having a
seizure.

That bizarre scene continued for several minutes.
Chad hung on desperately to the still fighting woman, while calling out to his
younger companion. Eventually, Gram’s seizure stopped, and his body became
still, but when he pushed himself up from the floor, the look in his eyes sent
a chilling jolt down the ranger's spine.

They were dead eyes, set in a flat, expressionless
face.

“That ain’t funny, boy,” said Chad, but he knew it was
no joke. His fight with Alyssa had changed. No longer was he fighting to keep
her under control until Gram could recover, now he was trying to disentangle
himself from her, before the two of them could bear him down together. If
Gram’s fighting skills were similar to hers, he could probably kill them both,
but that wasn’t the solution he was hoping for.

Shoving her away he jumped to his feet before she
could grapple him once more. A swift kick to the head sent her flying back
when she lunged at him. He felt a little bad about that, but he had no time
for games as he backed rapidly toward the door. Clumsy or not, Gram was far
too strong to get away from, if the lad got his hands on him.

A whistle in the distance told him that the baker had
found the watchmen. Ducking out the door he ran for the corner. He was alone
now.

***

Moira let out her breath slowly, relaxing finally.
The keys had let her into Gerold’s cell, but it had been a tense quarter of an
hour while she tried to stop his internal bleeding. Trying to affect material
things with her magic while wearing the moon-shackles was frustrating, rather
like trying to sew while wearing winter gloves.
No, not just heavy gloves,
metal gauntlets,
she mentally corrected herself. It took enormous
concentration and effort to make even the tiniest changes.

Thus far she had only managed to seal the largest
vein. Several small veins were still bleeding, but she thought he might have
more time now—if she could get the manacles off and finish the task.

Communicating with Lenny was futile, and she couldn’t
reasonably expect to improve his mental faculties in her present position.
Even if he could be made more functional, the spellmind might not be able to
access the information stored in the dead man’s brain. Assuming that Lenny had
even known where the key to her manacles was kept.

That key was her current goal.

Sneaking along the corridor turned out to be
unrealistic. Some of the other cells held prisoners, many of whom felt the
need to speak to her as she passed. She worried that they might make so much
noise that the other jailors would come, a few were already yelling obscenities
at her, although she got the impression that was normal down in King Darogen’s
dungeon.

If I can’t sneak to the guard station, or
whatever they call it, what do I do?
She thought for a moment,
and then an idea came to her.
Just as Dad always said, every problem is an
opportunity.
She turned her attention to the other prisoners.

Being a Centyr mage had certain advantages. She went
back to the first two cells she had passed but dismissed the occupants
immediately.
Insane and violently insane,
she noted silently, studying
them with her magesight. The third cell held more promise,
intelligent and
antisocial, but at least he seems rational.

“You,” she said addressing the thin and nearly naked
man within. “What’s your name?”

“What’s it to you?” he responded belligerently.

“If you want out of that cell, it’s rather important,”
she held up the key ring in the air and gave it a small shake.

The man looked at her ‘guard’ a second time, finally
realizing that despite her shackles and her escort, she seemed to be the one in
charge of their situation. “What’s wrong with him?” he asked, suddenly
fearful.

“His comrade hit him in the head with one of those
clubs a few minutes ago,” she lied. “He killed the other guard, and now I have
these.” She shook the keys again for emphasis. Lenny contributed by smiling
idiotically while shaking his head.

“You can’t get past the guard station at the entrance
to this place,” said the prisoner. “As soon as they realize he’s off his
noggin they’ll lock you up again, if not worse.”

“That’s why I need help…” she said agreeably,
“Mister…?”

“Perkins,” said the skinny prisoner. “Wat Perkins.”

“Excellent, Mister Perkins, do you think you would
like to help me escape?”

“You’re mad, girl,” he responded. “There are at least
five men up there, and maybe more. Look at me. Do I look like I could take
down a guard?”

She took a moment to reassess the dungeon with her
magesight before addressing his question, “There are at least, thirty-five, or
no—closer to forty men locked up down here. Surely we can muster a group large
enough to handle a few guards.”

“Half of them are mad, and some of them may not even
be men!” said Wat, his voice dropping in volume even as it rose to a hiss
filled with fear. “I’ve seen them, out there,” he whispered. “There are
demons walking in men’s bodies. They could be anywhere.”

“I’m sure you’re much safer in here, until they come
to make you one of them,” she intoned ominously. “I’ve seen them too, and I can
spot them. Would you rather wait to die or try to do something about it?”

“What do you mean, ‘you can spot them’?”

“Why do you think they put these on me,” she said
confidently, raising her manacled wrists for his inspection. “I’m a wizard.
Help me get the key, and we can stop what’s happening here.” She could see his
doubt and fear threatening to eclipse what small hope her words brought, so she
reached out with her aythar and fed what strength she could to his hope.
Trust
me,
she thought.

Wat’s eyes brightened slightly, but then he looked
down, “Even if you can find the ones who aren’t demons, half of these men would
just as soon rape you as help.”

“I can spot courage, Wat, and I can see decency,” she
declared. “That’s why I came to your cell first. I will only release the ones
we can trust.” She sent another pulse along the delicate line of aythar that
was now touching his mind,
believe me.
Sweat was beginning to break out
on her brow. She couldn’t do much more.

He made up his mind, “Fine. Let’s do this. It’s
better than rotting down here.”

It got easier after that. They moved from cell to
cell while she inspected each prisoner, those who were plainly mad she passed
by, but there were many who were sane. Some of the sane ones were definitely
criminals, but most were simply people who had been locked up for convenience.
As long as they were rational and able to cooperate, she released them.

What she didn’t find was anyone with one of those
strange metal creatures within them. She checked for that very carefully. It
made sense. Whatever the purpose of the creatures was, if they had implanted
someone, there was no need for them to lock them up, and King Darogen was most
likely at the top of their hierarchy.