Agent of the Dragon

Rhysa fought revulsion at the change Lenora underwent: her face grew dark and disfigured, as if being overcome by some wasting disease; her features twisted into hate and jealousy; her body thinned to skeletal proportions; her fingers lengthened into talons; her snarling lips revealed pointed teeth, serrated like a shark’s.

“Lenora! No!” Dyram’s shout echoed from bare stone walls.

Lenora ignored him and coiled to spring. Rhysa dropped her disguise and let her channels fill completely. Her pulse leapt with joy and exaltation at the feel of being utterly infused with magic. From hair to the soles of her feet, she tingled with life for the first time in months. She saw Dyram’s mouth drop open as she mentally stretched muscles long unused.

Rhysa switched to Sight, and bit back a curse. Stretched between Armina and Lenora was a silvery cord; Lenora was drawing Armina’s life through the cord.

“Let her go.” Rhysa’s voice throbbed with Power.

The sound that emerged from the translucent woman was the snarling growl of an angry tiger. “She is mine.” The snarling ghost leapt at Rhysa.

Rhysa threw up a wall of force, making the wall tacky, and Lenora stuck. When she saw Lenora couldn’t move, she turned her attention to the link between Lenora and Armina.

Rhysa made a razor of force, and severed the cord--or at least tried to. The blade passed through the link without affecting it in the slightest. Rhysa’s eyes widened.

“Look out!”

At Dyram’s shout, Rhysa ducked and rolled to the side. She felt a line of burning ice as one of Lenora’s taloned hands grazed her leg. Her wall of force had disappeared. She narrowed her eyes. Even if Lenora had loosed herself, the wall should still be there.

A flicker of movement warned her in time to do something besides dodge. She spun to face the rushing Lenora, and hit her with a blast of energy. Lenora stopped dead, but didn’t appear harmed. She was doing something with the energy.

When Lenora moved again, Rhysa realized what Lenora had done. Rhysa took a deep breath to calm herself. Somehow, Lenora had absorbed the energy blast, digested it, incorporated it into herself--Rhysa had just made her stronger. Lenora must have absorbed the wall, too.

The enraged ghost charged again, faster than before. Rhysa wanted to attack, but nothing she could use would slow or destroy Lenora. She couldn’t drain Lenora--doing so would also drain Armina. All she could do was dodge; establishing a shield or wall would just give something else for Lenora to absorb and become stronger.

Rhysa earned another score on her back as she ducked another lunge. As she straightened and turned, she caught sight of Dyram’s head sticking out of the wall near the ceiling. No doubt he wanted to be away from any accidental discharge.

Why wasn’t Lenora coming at her from the floor? What about walls? Hoping she wasn’t making a mistake, she darted into the room she’d been searching with Dyram.

Lenora sailed through the open door. Rhysa realized her mistake by the look of cunning on Lenora’s face. Lenora charged, pulling up just out of arm’s reach, but the damage was done.

In order to dodge the charge, Rhysa had rolled into a corner. She stood and looked at Lenora--who snarled. Lenora paced the room, a predator whose leash stopped just short of its prey.

Rhysa looked through the door, and realized she couldn’t see Armina. The link must require an uninterrupted line of effect. She reached through the overlay, and slammed the door shut, then snarled herself when the linking cord passed under the door. Again, she reached through the overlay. This time she grabbed a rack from the wall, and slammed it into place, sealing the crack and severing the cord at last.

Lenora howled her rage and sank into the floor. Rhysa immediately moved away from the corner. She looked back and saw a spectral hand reach up from the floor where she had been standing, and feel around for Rhysa’s leg. After patting the ground a couple of times, the hand disappeared into the floor. A plan clicked into place in Rhysa’s mind. It would work, but it would hurt--a lot.

She stood in front of the door. As she waited, she pushed her channels to their limits to provide a buffer. She also prepared a few spells. She didn’t have to wait long.

A hand rose from the floor and grabbed her ankle. Even as she screamed her pain, Rhysa established a link to Lenora. The grip on her leg loosened a little in confusion, but didn’t let go. Rhysa smiled between shrieks.

She turned, blew the door off its hinges, and immediately established her own link to Armina. Link established, she began to drain Lenora as fast as possible. She passed the energy through her channels to make it safe before shunting it to Armina.

The hand on her leg hurt terribly. But that pain disappeared under the acid in her brain. She could no longer scream. Her muscles locked; she fell, rigid, to lean against the doorframe. Acid poured through her brain and clean energy came out and into Armina.

Years passed as Armina’s energy was replaced. When Armina could hold no more, Rhysa cut the second link, but kept draining Lenora’s energy. Lenora tried to pull the energy back, but Rhysa had established the link--Rhysa controlled the flow.

The attempts weakened, and Rhysa felt panic through the link, but she didn’t let go. When the last of the energy had passed through Rhysa’s channels, she collapsed in an uncontrolled sprawl, an odd imitation of Armina. Agony, unrelenting as the tide, washed through her.

Tides ebb, and the pain subsided slightly--at least she was able to shift herself around to look at Armina’s limp form. Armina’s chest expanded as she breathed. Dyram descended from the ceiling to stand in front of Rhysa.

“What happened to Lenora?” Hope warred with fear in his voice.

“I’m sorry, Dyram.” Rhysa barely heard her own voice, much less recognized it. “She’s gone.”

“You released her?”

“No.” Even through the pain, she could hear the unshed tears in her voice--tears for Lenora; tears for a nymph somehow corrupted. “I’m truly sorry, Dyram. I drained everything from her. She’s gone. No reincarnation. No afterlife. In the cosmic order, it’s as if she never existed.”

Dyram paled. Seeing “blood” drain from the face of a bloodless being was nearly enough to make Rhysa laugh--but she hurt too much.

“You can do that?”

Rhysa winced. “Yes, but it really hurts. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to lay here and whimper for a few minutes.”

“You can’t.”

Rhysa did whimper at that. “Why not?”

“This is the best time to get that letter.”

Rhysa groaned, but pushed herself to her feet--slowly. “I suppose you’re right.” She shuffled over and collapsed next to Armina. A brief, but awkward, physical examination showed Armina wouldn’t suffer from the attack physically. Rhysa guessed she would remain unconscious for another half hour or so. She looked at Dyram. “I can’t let her know about me.”

“Why not?”

Rhysa thought over everything he’d done since he’d walked in on her the first time, and decided she could probably trust him. “Remember when we met, I told you it was possible for ghosts to share experiences with corporeal beings?” Dyram nodded. “That’s what it would take for you to understand. I’d offer to do it now, but you probably don’t want to experience this pain.”

“Huh. Okay. Later.”

“Now, as to how we survived this little encounter. Can we blame it on you?”

Dyram looked at her long and hard. “It had better be a good explanation.” He sighed. “Very well. Your disguise is still down, by the way.”

“I know. My channels are burned raw. I want to delay pouring salt on them as long as possible.”

He smiled slightly. “If your screams were anything to go by, I don’t blame you.”

“I just hope no one heard me up there.” She tried to pull herself together, but when it became obvious she couldn’t do it on her own, Dyram fully manifested. Now completely solid, he offered his hand to Rhysa. When she took it, he hauled her to her feet.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He smiled and went translucent again.

Rhysa tottered into the room where the secret passage was. She carefully avoided the pieces of the rack she’d demolished. Out of curiosity, she looked for where the rack had come from. Frustration? Luck? It was the only one completely empty? Whatever it was, the wall in front of the secret passage was bare--except for a thin rod sticking out of the wall.

She made her way using the walls to support herself. When she reached it, she pulled it, twisted it, shoved it from side to side in all directions. It was only when she pushed on it did she hear a click and the grating of stone moving on stone. A portion of the wall moved inward slightly. Too weak to push, she leaned against it--and barely caught herself from falling flat on her face as the door swung smoothly open.

The corridor beyond was meant for only one person. The walls and ceiling were rough, unfinished stone; the floor was flat, unfinished stone. Bracing herself against the walls, she entered the steeply sloped passage. The tunnel stretched into darkness. Behind her she heard a scraping sound. She turned quickly, adrenaline lending strength and agility.

Coming behind her, Dyram, once more fully manifested, carried a lantern. “I thought you might like some light.”

Rhysa leaned against a wall and let herself shake for a bit. “Thank you.”

He nodded and gestured for her to continue. “Armina won’t sleep forever.”

Rhysa pulled the lever for the door leading into the Lord’s chambers, and a portion of the wall swung into the room. Dyram had said the letter was on the bedside table.

She limped to the bed. As she neared, she saw a piece of paper on the bedside table. She picked it up. What she could make of the broken seal was the encircled man-woman of The Primacy. She opened it. The code Dyram had mentioned was a simple one she’d encountered before.

Greetings Lord Bandar,

Congratulations on your nuptials. I understand young Taryn is quite a beauty. Your true brothers and sisters in Ellendahl send their warmest wishes. I have heard your recruiting and training efforts are bearing fruit. If so, this is wonderful news. The units here are nearly ready. If your units are as ready as you say, we should be ready within the year. Wait for a message bearing my personal seal.

To go along with your good news, I have some news to share with you. We have a new convert from the palace. This convert has revealed some in the palace suspect our family is significantly more than a social group of like minded people; however, we should be ready to move before they discover enough to be dangerous.

My only concern is that no one has seen the new Lady Kasteryn in several months. It is too much to hope she is dead. She has an unfortunate knack for staying alive. She has already survived four assassination attempts, only one of which she is actually aware of. If she is in your country, she could be dangerous to our plans--she has had the best of instructors. The last time I saw her was a few years ago. She can easily be identified by her dusky red eyes. She might have contact lenses, though, so watch out for anyone with dark eyes.

Yours truly,

Patronium Majoris

Rhysa folded the message and put it as it was on the bedside table. “Come on.” Distracted by the implications of the message, she barely noticed the residual pain of her confrontation with Lenora. The return trip down the passage registered only distantly.

The Primacy had more to it than the social aspect. The talk about “trained units” made Rhysa think of military. Did they have an armed component? Even an entire subsection? Rhysa shuddered to think what they might do with such a resource. She pictured guerilla warfare in the streets of Mestin Reach. It was not a pleasant thought.

There was also that business about an informant in the palace. This was definitely something she needed to let the Agents know about. She was very glad she’d already decided to trust Dyram; she had an uncomfortable notion she might need his help very badly.

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