Centyr Dominance

  Moira studied him with a predatory gaze before replying, “That might have been for the best, but I’m afraid not.” She wanted to take him, but the armor prevented her from acting on the impulse.

  Myra watched her with concern but she was helpless to do anything while the transfer was taking place. She sent her thoughts out silently, Remember, he’s your friend.

  “He’s whatever I make him!” cursed Moira.

  “What?” asked Gram, confused by her sudden outburst.

  She heard the trust in his voice. The obvious interpretation of her words never even occurred to him. That realization and the broken bodies of the parasites around her caused her to feel a faint pang of guilt. Gram had been protecting her for a long time. Moira smiled as she answered, “Celior. I can do whatever I like with him now. He’s given me the new key.”

  Chapter 25

  A heavy crashing noise rumbled through the ceiling above them and Moira looked up.

  Moira! Moira!

  It was Cassandra, frantically trying to reach her. Relax, I’m fine, she responded. “How long has that been going on?” she asked, directing her question to Gram.

  “I’m not sure,” he told her. “Since I woke up—a quarter hour at least.”

  “Why didn’t you tell her things were alright?”

  The young warrior gaped at her, “It wasn’t alright! You were thrashing about on the floor like you were possessed by a demon, and for all I knew you were! Meanwhile those metal bugs were everywhere, like roaches crawling out of the woodwork. What part of that was alright?”

  His attitude provoked a surge of anger, but she saw the warning in Myra’s face as she opened her mouth to respond. She paused and took a deep breath, trying to find the proper answer. With an effort of will she gave him an insincere smirk as she spoke, “Well, when you put it like that…”

  Sending her perceptions out and upward she surveyed the remains of the Earl of Berlagen’s city home. The ground floor was gone. Cassandra had completely demolished it in her panic. Luckily none of the inhabitants had been present. Moira supposed they had all been summoned during her battle outside the city, which probably meant half of them were dead anyway.

  The lower levels weren’t much better. The great dragon had used her powerful claws to tear at the floors, ripping them apart as easily as a dog might dig in soft garden soil. She had already dug through the first of the lower levels and had made a good start on opening up the second level. She probably would have reached the lower cavern within a few more minutes.

  Moira was impressed.

  I’m sending Gram up to meet you, along with my new servant, she said, sending her thoughts to the dragon. I’ll be down here a while longer.

  What happened? You were screaming. Are you sure you’re alright?

  Moira could feel the dragon’s concern and anxiety like a palpable force. It annoyed her, but she kept her feelings calm as she replied, I’m fine. I’ve taken control of Celior, he’ll be accompanying Gram. In fact, he’ll probably have to clear the way of debris after your rampage up there.

  But what about…

  Silence! she snapped. I will explain later, for now I wish to say goodbye to my father. Moira had to force her hands to unclench. When she looked down at them she feared that they might be covered in black scales and tipped with claws, but they were simply her normal human hands.

  Celior had only given a small portion of his power to Myra by then but she didn’t feel like waiting any longer. “Escort Gram out of here. Keep him safe. Myra will remain with me,” she commanded. “When you reach the surface transfer the rest of your power to my dragon while you wait for me.”

  “Yes, mistress,” said the once proud god, bowing meekly.

  Myra sent a brief suggestion, You might ask him to finish healing Gram as well. He has a vastly greater amount of experience with such things.

  Moira growled. She should have thought of that herself. Once, she would have. She relayed the order to Celior and then waited while he and Gram left. When they were gone she turned back to the stone outcropping that was all that was left of her father.

  Myra spoke, she had enough aythar now to easily create a physical form, “Would you like me to rejoin you?”

  “No, make a circle and shield me. I don’t want to be interrupted by any more of those little metal monsters.”

  She stared at the stone thoughtfully. Her face still throbbed despite Myra’s quick healing. At least the bones had been set in place and fused together again. She would have a terrible bruise soon and she could tell her face was already swollen. It would be much worse later.

  Closing her eyes, Moira spread her arms and leaned against the cold rough rock. It felt good against the heat coming from her cheek. Something stirred in her heart, though it took her a moment to recognize the emotion. Sorrow.

  Anger was easier, but she had no one left to punish, so she kept breathing and concentrated on the anguish that had been lurking unseen beneath it. I avenged you father, she said mentally, sending her thoughts into the stone. I made Celior pay a thousand times over for what he did to you.

  There was no response.

  I’ll find whatever’s left of these metal beasts as well. They will regret making you do this. Can you hear me?

  The stone gave nothing back. She might as well have been trying to communicate with a mountain. Myra stood beside her.

  “He said before that you might someday become an archmage,” commented her spell-twin.

  “It’s just cold stone,” said Moira.

  “He could talk to stones.”

  It felt as though her stomach had been filled with ice. Bitter, she shot back, “Well I can’t! I hear nothing!”

  “We can’t leave without trying,” said Myra.

  “Why do you care!?” said Moira angrily. “You aren’t even real!”

  Her spell-twin’s eyes were wet with emotion. “Perhaps I’m only a few weeks old from your viewpoint, but that’s not how I feel. I remember everything. He’s my father just as much as yours. I don’t remember being born in your mind. I remember growing up with him, with Mom, with Matthew and Irene and Conall! They’re my family too, even if I’m not real!”

  “If it bothers you so much I can unmake you.”

  “No.”

  “Then why do you stay?”

  “Fear,” said Myra. “I’m afraid you won’t do anything. I’m afraid you can’t, that you’ve become so warped you might not even try to save our father.”

  Moira wanted to kill her, but she knew the truth of the words. Secretly she feared the same. Quietly she fought with her conflicting emotions before closing her eyes again.

  Calm, I must be calm, she told herself. She stood motionless for a long time, trying to find peace within herself, straining her senses to detect something, anything. That yielded no results, so eventually she abandoned her attempt to focus and let her mind drift. She remembered him, not as he had been when she had last seen him, but years before, a memory of a sunny day.

  The air had been filled with the smell of summer grass and her skin was itchy from rolling down the gentle slope behind their secret home. It was hot but the occasional mountain breeze sent a shiver through her when it touched her sweat damp dress. Looking up she wondered at the size of her playmate. Her daddy was undoubtedly the tallest man in the world, or so it had seemed at the time.

  Laughing she had held out her arms, wanting him to pick her up again, for the climb back up the hill. The roll down was always fun, but the trip back up on his shoulders was even better. “Pick me up Daddy!”

  Something touched her then and she was shocked back to the present. Mentally she clutched at the presence but it slipped away like a ghost. No! Come back!

  A guttural cry of frustration escaped her throat as she saw her hands once more covered by black scales, clawing at the stone. Moira’s anger rose fresh and sudden and she gathered her will, wanting to destroy the cold rock that ignored her.

  No, not like that!
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  It was Myra’s voice, warning her to stop. She felt her spell-twin sliding into her, joining her and trying to soothe her rage. Soft hands covered her own and she felt as though she were staring into a mirror, her own face was before her, soft blue eyes staring back with compassion, or perhaps pity.

  She didn’t want to think about what Myra might be seeing in return.

  He heard you!

  Moira covered her face, He pulled away. He saw what I’ve become.

  No, said Myra, he barely knows himself. You have to show him. Remember for him, think of him, not of yourself. He will love you regardless.

  Moira sincerely doubted that.

  Remember when Sterling died?

  Sterling had been a massive tomcat that had lived with them when she was smaller. Why?

  We asked him why…

  Her father had been tucking her into bed that night, and he had been spending extra time talking to her while he did so. She remembered staring up at him, his face showing nothing but love. She had been crying.

  “Everything dies eventually sweetheart, it’s part of life, but he still loves us,” he had said quietly.

  “Why did he die?” she had asked.

  “He was old. He lived a long and happy life, for a cat.”

  The answer hadn’t been particularly satisfying, but she had accepted it. His hugs had been far more comforting than any amount of words. Her father had stayed with her for a long while after that, until her tears had dried and she had felt better. Then he had settled her in once more and stood to leave.

  She had noticed his beard then, and wondered at all the white hairs in it. “Why is your beard turning white?”

  Her father had laughed, “I’m just getting old, that’s all.” He hadn’t been thinking carefully.

  But Moira’s mind had made the connection immediately, “Old, like Sterling?” Her eyes had begun watering already.

  Her father began shaking his head, but it was too late.

  “You’re going to die?” It had been her first true realization that her parents were mortal and she had dissolved into tears once more. Her father had had to hold her for a long while after that.

  “It will be a long, long time before I’m that old, sweetheart. Humans live much longer than cats,” he had said, but what she remembered most was his arms around her, and the smell of his shirt.

  She could almost feel them now.

  She could definitely smell him. Startled, she opened her eyes. He was there, holding her. “Dad?”

  He looked at her, confused, “Mm...” He gave up after a second.

  Give him a while, he’s still coming back to himself.

  I know that! shot back Moira irritably. She squeezed her father tighter.

  After a minute she started to disentangle herself. The hug had begun to get awkward, especially once she realized that her father’s clothes hadn’t returned with him.

  Recognition had dawned in his features, though. “Moira?” he said hesitantly.

  She nodded, looking at the ground. She was more embarrassed by what he might see in her eyes than she was of seeing his state of undress, but it was a good excuse. “I think you’ve lost your tunic,” she commented.

  “Tunic?” he mumbled, staring at himself. “Clothes! That’s what I was trying to think of! I knew something was wrong.” He took on a look of concentration before producing an illusion to cover himself, a large pointed leather hat paired with a rich grey doublet.

  Moira put her face in her hands, stifling a laugh. Not only was the hat ridiculous, but he had neglected to add hose or trousers, much less shoes.

  “Is something wrong?” he asked sincerely.

  “You need something for the rest of you,” she explained, fighting a smirk. The expression felt strange on her face, and only partly because it sent a throbbing pain through one half of it when she moved the muscles in that cheek.

  He looked at his bare knees before returning to study her face, “No, not that, Moira; you seem different somehow. What’s happened to you?” There was concern in his eyes.

  Shock ran through her, like ice in her veins. He knows! He could see what she had become. She almost shielded herself, to hide her shame, but it was too late. A shield at this point would only arouse more suspicion. “Father, it’s been an ordeal finding you…”

  His hand touched her swollen cheek gently, “Who did this to you?” The words concealed a simmering anger.

  Technically, it had been Gram’s fist, but she knew better than to answer with his name. It had been Celior controlling him after all. Seeing her father’s protectiveness made her feel both warm and sad. She loved him, but she knew, bone deep in her soul that he could no longer protect her. He was just a man, and for all his power he could no more guarantee her safety than anyone else could. The experiences of the past few days had ended her childhood. They had done more than that…

  “The one that did it suffered far more than I did, I made certain of that,” she told him with a certain hardness in her voice.

  “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…

  Chapter 26

  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, whi
le 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.