Mythborn: Rise of the Adepts Read Free

were.”
    Then there was steel in his voice as Giridian continued, “But perhaps it is the Lore Father who requires a history lesson.” He looked at the assembled adepts. “We can lay devastation to dozens of men, but who can still call lightning from the sky?” His eyes wandered until they met Thera’s. “Who has the oceans at their command?” He shook his head, and in a sad voice said, “Two centuries under the yoke of Galadine persecution have forged us into deadly warriors, but not one of us wields the might of the Old Lords.”
    Themun replied in a low and dangerous voice, “We may not have the Old Lords’ knowledge, but we still serve this land. It has need of us now.” He searched the familiar faces, hoping to find allies. He finally came to Silbane, who held his gaze for a moment before breaking contact and looking away.
    It was then, Themun realized, that without some answers that even his old friend had reached his limit. He paused, then took a breath, reminding himself a patient hand was needed. What they were about to learn would require each adept’s commitment to its fullest.
    “I stand here now only by chance,” he started to say but then stopped, looking at the image he had conjured for the first time. He stood there in silence, then came to a decision. Better they know what they faced, now. In a forthright voice that did not waver he said simply, “The demon, Lilyth, was not destroyed.”
    Stunned silence followed. Dragor Dahl, a powerfully built adept whose dark skin bespoke of an ancestry from the southern continent of Koorva, motioned for permission to speak. With a nod from Themun, he said smoothly, “And you bring this up now? Your timing seems... convenient.”
    Themun’s eyes hardened at the implied challenge and in a low voice he replied, “Would you tell a people weary of war, who blamed you for the summoning of such a creature, that you were unable to eradicate it?” He waited for a response but there was none. Dragor stood firm, his skepticism plainly written on his face and stance for all to see, waiting for the lore father to continue.
    A moment passed, then Themun said, “I thought not. For what it is worth, we will never know what the First Council planned to do. King Galadine saw to that.
    “My father taught me much before he passed, but I also learned from the world itself. I grew in power, and over the years became one with the Way. When that happened, the knowledge of the lore fathers who came before me sparkled, like points of light before my eyes. Through this, I learned the fate of Lilyth. I know the demon still lives.”
    Themun wished this burden had fallen upon another council, one better prepared to shoulder the responsibility. He sighed but continued, his voice firm, “I share this knowledge with you now, hoping you can see the need for action.”
    Silbane looked at the lore father and simply asked, “Bara’cor?”
    The lore father nodded. “A Gate rests at Bara’cor, once under King Bara’s watchful eye.”
    Giridian asked, “Why worry? None were left after Sovereign’s Fall, so who could know of its existence?”
    Themun sighed then answered, “None but Bara. We assume he guarded it, but when he and the dwarves of Bara’cor disappeared, the guarding of this rift ended with them.”
    “What is it you would have us do, challenge the king’s forces?” challenged Master Kisan Talaris. “I have dealt with their ilk more than you, Lore Father. They do not parley, even when I whisper death in their ears.”
    Kisan Talaris looked no more than thirty, though she was in fact close to her fiftieth year. Her appearance was a study in composed lethality. Her features were lithe, her eyes bright and alert, and though she was opposite to Thera in most ways, Themun still considered her quite beautiful. But she was as stubborn as the day they first met, an irksome trait undiminished by age or experience.
    Yet Kisan was the only other besides Silbane to have earned