Mythborn: Rise of the Adepts Read Free Page B

the council to wonder if the lore father weighed Kisan’s suggestion seriously or not.
    Dragor was the first to break the silence. “You would murder people who had done nothing—”
    “According to the lore father, they are responsible for the destruction of three other fortresses,” retorted Kisan. “They’ve killed thousands already. In my mind, that is enough. We hunt them down and do what we must.”
    “We do not know it was the nomads,” said Thera. “And, Kisan, is this not crossing the line? We have never meted out punishment in such a manner. Even the First Council never took it upon themselves to be both judge
and
executioner.”
    “They might have lived longer if they had,” Kisan replied. “Is that your answer to everything? Kill?” Thera shot back.
    Looking at Kisan was to look death in the eye, and still feel a strange elation when that gaze was returned. To Themun it was like comparing the beauty one found in a flower with a finely crafted blade. Both were beautiful, but the blade represented a deadly simplicity, an instrument forged for only one purpose. Kisan dealt death, and in doing so insured change.
    But Thera nurtured life, and in doing so cherished harmony between all living things. They each represented complementary ideals that while necessary, were philosophically antithetical. Because of this, no deep friendship had formed between the two, for neither could truly understand the other. Yet life and death had their places, and when channeling the Way in its purest form, each were stunning to behold.
    “What of Themun’s father, who was certainly responsible for saving
you?”
Kisan replied, realizing that Themun wouldn’t yet intervene. She fell back into her chair and planted the barb, arms crossed. “Quite a killer, Themun’s father, from what I understand.”
    “You’re right,” Themun finally said, icily. “My father
was
a killer. But before you attack Thera or his memory, you’d be wise to remember his sons are, too.”
    He locked eyes with the younger master, who tried to meet his gaze but could not, breaking contact to inspect the tips of her fingers. “No offense was meant,” she said coolly.
    Silbane held up a hand, then said in a measured voice, “There are other things to consider. Getting into and out of the nomad camp will not be so easy. If the other fortresses have been defeated, someone or something is clearly helping them.”
    Themun waited a moment longer, until he was satisfied that Kisan knew her place, then nodded, “I agree.”
    “Now
he’s
all knowing?” Kisan scoffed, meaning Silbane.
    “These nomads are horsemen and traders,” Silbane retorted, “not experts in siege warfare. Perhaps the lore father is correct and they are being helped, by someone with knowledge, experience, and power.”
    Dragor stepped forward and asked, “Are we not the last?”
    Silbane turned to the questioning adept and said, “Think. We have created hundreds of disciples, both wayward students and those with true Talent, who failed to achieve the Black. Our last combat instructor, Keren, makes her home near Moonhold. She seems at peace with her life, but others bear watching.” He paused, thinking, then said, “We are here, so we must conclude there are others.”
    The lore father shrugged and said, “Perhaps, but we don’t know this as fact, and none of our errant students have the power to destroy a stronghold. It comes to this: Three of the four fortresses have fallen, I know the Gate is hidden somewhere within Bara’cor, and the nomads now besiege that same fortress.”
    Themun looked at each council member. “Perhaps Kisan is correct,” he offered, attempting to soothe his earlier treatment of the younger master. “Mayhap we need a falcon for this mission.” He gave her a small smile, which she gratefully returned.
    Silbane shook his head. “I can’t believe the answer lies in, ‘kill first and ask questions later.’ If we follow that line of