Mortal Banshee

By Jonathon Magnus

In the midst of an invasion, Don Mourning is abducted from Amaranthine, the keep of Augusta. His abductor, the introverted assassin Sorana, takes him to her mother’s remote tower. There, Don negotiates a deal with Sorana’s mother, Mercy. In return for assistance in the rescue of his bound siren, Don agrees to track down a mass murderer and return its telepathic weapon to Mercy.

Don and Sorana rescue his siren, Natalia. They join with other companions to form the Blade of Mercy. They struggle to evade the invading forces and bounty hunters, all the while searching for the mass murderer. The Blade discovers the invaders’ ultimate target is Xandria, home of the beautiful and revered race of sirens.

Their path takes them through Raykez, a human city with a culture profoundly impacted by the presence of the musically inclined sirens. It is also impacted by the legend of the vilified race of banshee. In the depths of secrecy and deceit, an ancient and terrible injustice is uncovered—the legend of the Mortal Banshee.

Allies are found and lost. The mission becomes ever more intricate, and ever more insidious. The stakes are raised: Augusta, Xandria, Raykez, justice, the life of Don’s sister...

For the Blade of Mercy to complete its mission, they will have to challenge the most malevolent and feared creature of lore and nightmares. To do so, Don must call upon the blind faith of his closest friends in a final, multi-dimensional confrontation.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jonathon Magnus
• Release date: Jul 23, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310467523

Jonathon Magnus

Jonathon has a lengthy and acute appreciation for the medieval fantasy genre. From medieval history, to novels, to movies, to dungeon-mastering years-long campaigns in role-playing games, to being Guild master and raid leader in MMORPGs, Jonathon has experienced and embraced the romantic view of possible medieval fantasy realities across numerous platforms.With advanced degrees and an engineering/computer science background, Jonathon Magnus has a keen interest in alternate realities, from both the science fiction genre and quantum physics perspective.What if ... there were a world of medieval fantasy ... a world not so unlike ours but for a single intervention in ages past? A world were humans are still human, but where multiple sentient races developed, symphonic metal is a religion, and romance is electrified by bio-engineering.

Book preview

Sorana

Sorana dismounted, crushing a frosted purple flower under the heel of her snakeskin boot. She tethered Mystique and a spare horse to the outer fence of Augusta’s military stable. She checked that her veil remained securely clipped inside of her helm before approaching the gatehouse.

WaterCrescent, Augusta’s massive fortress, loomed before her. Until a few months ago, it was the bastion of human civilization along their northern frontier. Now it was their prison.

Three blue-skinned ogres guarded the gatehouse. The lazy, witless ogres ….

One of them waddled his nine hundred pound, ten foot body with disproportionately thick legs to meet her. What’s your business tonight? His breath formed a putrid fog in the evening air.

Sorana didn't break stride and didn't look up. Message delivery. She signed along with speaking. Then she added in sign only, You stupid, lazy pile. She passed them and slowed for a few strides, listening to ogres’ complaints of vardal arrogance. She caressed the cold, metal weapons strapped to her left forearm.

Sorana scanned the courtyard. Mother’s model was accurate enough, though it didn’t reflect some of the damage from the combined ogre-vardal-buway assault.

Sorana circumvented ogre groups camped around bonfires.

Vardal guards on their riding pythons blocked the ramp down to the underground market level. The arrogant, cruel vardal ….

Sorana slipped into the temple and made her way down through its underground catacombs to a crypt. There, she found a concealed entrance to a tunnel, just where Mother said it would be. She negotiated the tunnel, heading deeper underground. She emerged into the storage cellar of a bottlery. She made her way upstairs and slipped through a window into a back alley. She was now in the underground market level, where the captive humans resided. The filthy, selfish humans ….

As she moved down streets and alleys, most of the humans made a wide berth to avoid her. A sizable group of young males did not. She slowed as she passed them, scanning for the human that Mother wanted.

One mumbled, Vardal.

Another whispered, Vampire—she’s alone.

Sorana searched some dwellings, causing panic when residents were home.

She passed a trio of vardal. One of the men signed a greeting, which she returned in kind. He began following her—conspicuously. A woman shouldn’t be unescorted in the human district.

Sorana turned a corner, jogged to the end of an ally, and slipped into an unoccupied house. She hid under a staircase.

The vardal pursuer entered and searched for her. The aged, wood floor creaked under his feet.

Another creature approached Sorana from above and behind. It had negligible body odor, ambient corporeal temperature, lateral undulation locomotion, and minimal beta wave emission. It was a snake, a favored vardal pet and dietary staple.

Its metabolic activity surged.

Sorana ducked, reached up, and caught the snake mid strike. She shifted her wrist to release a switch-dagger from her armguard. She decapitated the snake.

The vardal heard her movement and approached the stairs. Sorana revealed herself, bowing in greeting. She winced and gripped her shoulder, letting her arm hang awkwardly. She kicked the snake’s body into plain sight.

The vardal glanced at the snake. He held his hands out as if to cradle and inspect her arm.

When he was close enough, Sorana efficiently disabled him and guided his body to the floor. She used the snake’s teeth to put puncture wounds in his wrist.

There was a pulsing pain in her head. She pulled her glove off, wetted a finger and stuck it into a pouch she kept tucked away inside her belt. She licked the thin layer of powder that stuck to her finger, and breathed deeply until the pain subsided.

Now her body craved calories. She ate a few nuts from Mother’s care package.

Time was running out. There’d been too many missions in a row. She needed to find the asset, get out, and get home.

The asset was a human male from the southern Raykez region … six foot, average physique, dark brown hair, social and political master, and archery expert. Mother had provided Sorana with holographic images for study.

Back on the street, Sorana found a tavern that smelled like lots of humans. She slipped inside.

Chapter 2

Visor

A hush fell over the Petulant Peacock. Some of the more drunken and oblivious patrons were slower to quiet.

Visor turned to find a vardal female, alone, standing a few steps inside the front door. She was dressed in the typical female vardal uniform—figure-hugging black fabric under a layer of fine mail with snake skin boots and gloves. The mail was highlighted by plates of symphonic metal, a lustrous iron alloy that human forgers were unable to duplicate. The plates were arranged and cut as much for decoration as for protection.

Her armguard was unusual in that it looked more ergonomic and integrated with her armor. She didn’t carry a rapier, the favored weapon for vardal women. She wore more pouches and straps, which could conceal weapons. Her helm had extended cheek guards. She wore a stretched hoodie under the helm. A violet veil covered her face.

She strolled to the bar, unintimidated by the twenty or so humans that would like to see her skinned, hung, and then burned. She was a bit more substantial than some of the other vardal women, albeit less refined in her movement. A lock of hair slipping out from under her coif was peculiar as well. There were some brown undertones rather than the typical silky, solid black of vardal.

She said something to the bartender that was too quiet for Visor to hear.

He prepared a drink.

She adjusted her veil to uncover her eyes. She scanned the room.

Visor could barely make out the slanted eyes of a vardal. The lighting was poor in the underground tavern. Her body was lean and defined.

She caught him staring, as women always did when you admired them.

The bartender brought a drink to the vardal. She picked up the drink awkwardly, half-nodded to the bartender, and walked into the kitchen.

Thorsius, sitting across from Visor, craned his neck to watch her leave. Banshee Mortel, what was that about? Security check?

Not a lone female. Visor shook his head. And there’s no need to check. There’s no word on General Presence. And the Naiad Rangers pose little threat—not enough to affect market level security, anyway.

Thorsius asked, How many frost ogres does it take to chase down a band of nymph rangers?

"Sirenic rangers. ‘Nymph’ annoys them. They’re just trying to help free their sisters."

What kind of people would torture sirens?

Someone so arrogant or desperate that—

The vardal are demons, and Nazaire is the worst of ‘em. Thorsius slammed his fist on the table. He was a thick-framed and muscular blacksmith. He wore a faded green cloak over a black turtleneck. Long dirty blond hair fell over his shoulders, and his beard was braided into two tails that hung down to his chest. At least they’re letting you see Rap.

Just enough so our binding isn’t broken. It seems the vardal don’t want her going through withdrawal, for whatever reason. They’re certainly not too squeamish to watch it. They let other sirens go through it. Visor rotated his advisor ring round his finger. They listen in on us to make sure we don’t talk too much. It’s bizarre.

Animals. Someday, they’re gonna pay. Thorsius took a long drink. He grunted and nodded at the front door.

Two vardal were scanning the room. They soon stepped back outside.

Thorsius finished his drink. I should get out of here. Blaydon's expecting me.

I should go too. It's getting late and I need to look something up. Visor paid for them and walked out.

It was slightly cooler outside the Peacock, but not cold. The market level was protected from the worst of the chill, being fifty feet underground. It was dark, lit only with bioluminescent plants and by mirrors that reflected moonlight through surface vents.

There was a flash of lustrous metal and the veiled vardal girl was on him. Visor? Her eyes were amber—not the dark brown typical of vardal.

Visor shrugged. I am an advisor.

Burke Donovan Mourning, advisor to the Mourning Court. She grabbed his hand and felt his advisor ring. She released his hand and shook hers as if slinging off something filthy.

Visor leaned toward her subtly. He had seven inches and sixty pounds on her.

She did not give ground, though she wrinkled her nose and held her breath. You will come with me. She turned and walked, slowing to allow him to catch up.

Visor fell in step with her. They were approaching the ramp up to the courtyard. If we're going to the surface, can I stop and get a cloak?

No. The girl veered away from the ramp to head toward the bottlery. They entered the empty building. It had been ransacked by the ogres multiple times and now was devoid of anything drinkable. She led him to the basement’s concealed tunnel, a passage few knew of.

Visor asked, Come here often?

No.

He followed her a few steps then held out his hand. I can't see.

She made a disgusted scoff and grabbed his hand.

He followed her, skimming the wall with his free hand. The crypts and catacombs were too dark for him, but the surface temple’s antechamber was illuminated by moonlight. Still, he held and even massaged her hand until she realized he could see and jerked it away.

They came to an open robe closet. He stopped and reached in. I'm just going to grab a cloak. You want one?

Walk. And do not speak.

Visor slid on a lined, fur cloak as they passed the altar. She opened a rear door and they stepped out into WaterCrescent’s courtyard. The cool air was invigorating. It was just a light breeze, which was fortunate. Located on the cliff overlooking Keening Lake, WaterCrescent was subject to significant gusts.

The ogres had built a bonfire in the school yard. Three ogres were just off their path ahead, and one moved to intercept the couple. The brute was huge—maybe ten feet tall and approaching a thousand pounds. He carried a human sized poleax lightly in one hand. He pointed it at them. Where’re you going?

The vardal gave a dismissive wave. Prisoner transfer. Vampiric interrogation. She didn’t break stride. Visor trailed by a few steps.

The ogre waved his axe. You’re all alone.

The vardal stopped and cocked her head. She swiveled to face the ogre.

Another ogre approached.

The vardal moved differently now. She was prowling—goading this ogre with her body language. She moved within his reach.

His hand could grip half of her waist. He could pick her up and crush her in an instant.

She spoke calmly. I am. Is that a problem? She glided sideways, giving the second ogre her blind flank.

The ogres exchanged looks. One waved his hands defensively. Whatever.

She pressed him. I need a mount. Where is the outer stable keeper?

He’s at the camp, this way. He pointed.

The other ogre pointed a different direction and said, No, that way. They looked at each other in confusion.

The vardal girl scoffed and hissed something in vardal, simultaneously signing something that looked rude. She turned and strode off. Keep up! She led Visor to a gaping hole in WaterCrescent’s outer wall.

Visor slowed his pace. Wait.

She stopped.

He said, We’re leaving, and you’re not taking me for interrogation.

So?

I’m responsible for someone's safety. I can't just leave if there's a chance of getting her out. We have to get to the AciesMagus.

No.

If you help me, I will do whatever you want—no resistance.

You will keep up, or I will shatter your legs and drag you.

She was right. It was one thing for her to grab him off the street, but Rapture was being held in the AciesMagus, an underground fortress deeper than the market level. The vardal girl had planned out this mission precisely. No good would come of their being killed or captured during an impromptu rescue attempt. Nothing more was said as the two made their way to the outer stable.

She picked horses for them, and the two mounted.

Her mount, a gray Holstein, recognized her.

Keep up. She started off at a trot.

He pulled alongside her. The sky was especially clear and the Aurora lights were bright.

She said, They probably won't kill Raptured.

It’s ‘Rapture’.

The Duchess of Augusta—Natalia.

Either way, why do you say that?

Why would vardal kill a captive siren?

Maybe because they are vicious murderers?

She pushed her mount to a canter. Keep up!

Chapter 3

Mercy

Visor and his captor pushed their mounts, riding through the night and into the dawn. Reassuringly, they headed east across the frosted tundra, away from Jortal, the home of Khatagin’s ogre tribe.

They were both skilled riders, but she had the stronger mount and lighter load. He would not be able to outrun her to escape.

It was dusk again before they found shelter at the edge of Skarholt Forest and stopped to rest.

She did not restrain him, even when she closed her eyes for the night. Nor did she speak with him, other than to provide instructions for eating and sleeping. She did remove her stretch hoodie on occasion. She appeared to be a human-vardal half breed, something that Visor had never seen before. Some doctors had concluded that human-vardal cross breeding was not possible.

They skirted the northern edge of Skarholt and entered at its northeastern edge. They wandered for a time, seemingly lost. In the shaded forest, he lost track of time and direction. They came across a thicket of trees that initially appeared impregnable. However, as they approached it, an opening became apparent.

A sixty foot stone tower was hidden within.

The half-vardal pulled up to double doors at the base level. She spoke as if to someone standing adjacent to her. Mother.

There was a buzzing sound. A latch shifted and clicked. The doors opened, revealing a human woman. She was probably in her late thirties. She wore a pink rose to hold back her medium-length brown hair on the right side. Her ivory sundress had a coral and peach floral print. Her hair was healthy, her skin flawless, and her movements graceful. Yet she somehow lacked comeliness.

She curtsied. I am Mercy Singrin. I've been waiting for you. Please come in. A scent of floral perfume wafted over him.

The vardal girl rode her mount into the tower, ducking to clear the door frame.

Visor followed her inside. A section of the first floor was walled off as a stable. Small windows, little more than arrow slits, encircled most of the first floor. Most of the lighting was provided by a sizeable and lavish crystalline chandelier. It held at least a hundred candles whose light were reflected and magnified in countless facets of the chandelier’s crystals.

Mercy watched him remove the bridle. You are an accomplished equestrian and stable hand.

My job requires that I know a little about a lot of things. Visor patted the horse’s neck. I suppose you will know all of that soon enough.

You make reference to the vampiric interrogation ruse. I apologize. It was imperative that I speak with you right away.

Then there will be speaking?

There must be. I am not a telepath.

Nor a vampire.

Forgive the deception. It was the easiest cover story. Excuse me. Mercy turned to the half-vardal, Min Velsignet—

The girl strode past, spitting out something in vardal.

Mercy called after her. Velsignet!

The girl vigorously signed and stomped up the stairs, leaving Visor with the unarmed human women.

Mercy sighed. I apologize. My daughter is going through an awkward phase.

And I thought it was just me.

Oh, no, she likes you.

Why do you say that?

Your legs are not broken. Mercy headed for the stairs, beckoning Visor to follow.

That would be your daughter, 'Velsignet'?

Her proper name is ‘Sorana’. I would make introductions after you and she have had a chance to recover, if that would be agreeable.

That would be fine.

She showed him up to the tower’s second level, which included a well-maintained garden, library and kitchen. Three large, stained glass windows were above the garden. This is the reception level. I will meet you here when you are ready.

The servants are quiet.

She continued up the central spiral stairs. There are no servants.

He followed. So it is just you, Sorana, and …?

It is just two of us. My husband succumbed to madness some years ago. Mercy led him up to the next level and to an impressive sleeping chamber. It included a hand-carved bed, a full wardrobe, a personal bath, and another crystal chandelier. The Archon Suite is yours for your stay. I will have a meal prepared in the dining area, unless you would like to rest first.

I could eat. That would be nice.

You may call me if you need anything. Mercy left him alone.

The bath had hot water plumbing and was large enough to lie back in. It was situated so that one could admire an impressive stained glass window while bathing. The wardrobe had a variety of clothing styles and sizes. He selected an outfit that suited him.

He heard Sorana arguing with someone. He felt a wave of disorientation and light-headedness. A door’s slamming pulled him back to his senses. Maybe he needed to rest first. No, he was eager to find out why he was abducted. He got dressed and went downstairs.

Mercy waited for him in the garden, inspecting some pruning work. Soft moonlight shown through the thick, stained glass windows, illuminating the flower petals and imparting color to Mercy’s fair skin. Did you find everything you needed?

I did. Thank you.

Mercy led him into a formal dining room. A chandelier hung over a hand carved, finely-detailed table. It was held a selection of wines, cheeses and fruit. She indicated for him to sit. Red, white, or brandy?

Whatever you suggest. Visor held his cup and she poured.

With their glasses filled, Mercy took a seat across from Visor. Shall you start or shall I?

Chapter 4

The Tower of Mercy

He was definitely an intellectual, as research had indicated he would be. That was in addition to being patient and quite fine. His dark brown hair hung past his shoulders. He had enough facial hair to be masculine but little enough to be neat and to show his smooth, mid-twenties skin. His ocean-blue eyes were something a woman could get lost in. His build was average, but he carried himself with a comfortable confidence. Somehow, he was so much more intense in person than she had imagined.

Visor said, Please go ahead. You called the meeting.

Mercy said, You were abducted because I have need for your services. Interrogation was the easiest cover story for my daughter to use.

The ogres would assume she is vampiric since they can’t tell the difference between vampires and vardal.

Indeed. As well, a vampire woman’s being alone would not arouse suspicion, whereas a vardal woman’s might.

Of course. Visor ate a purple grape. Why me?

You are an oracle.

Why do you say that?

Extensive research dictates this to be the case.

I haven’t made any predictions of note.

Being an oracle is not predicated upon a series of notable predictions.

It has been years since I have received anything. I had a couple of precognitions growing up, but nothing since.

Mercy said, Predictions are not always understood as such by the oracle himself. To yourself and others, you simply appear to be making good guesses—you seem to be intelligent. Are you considered particularly perceptive by your social circle?

There are other oracles. Why me?

There are not many. You are young, healthy and well educated. You were accessible, nearby in WaterCrescent. You are intellectual enough to be a lord's advisor and shrewd enough to succeed in politics. You have the authority and background to pass proper judgment. You have sufficient survival training, extensive social training and experience, and good standing with high-born society. You are moral enough to have a bound siren. Overall, you were the best fit to profile.

Profile for what?

For retrieving the Catalyst. The Catalyst is a device that may only be operated by select classes of people, including oracles. It can be used to enhance a target with bio-mechanical implants, making them cyborgs.

How enhanced are we talking?

When confronting one, you should have several experienced soldiers with you. The presence of one of my wardens would be preferable. I will provide you sufficient protection.

Well, thank you.

The greater function of the Catalyst is to form and maintain a link between the user’s brain and the brains of the cyborgs it creates. This link is unlike conventional links formed by telepaths. Whereas telepaths can form links only while in physical contact, the Catalytic link, once created, is maintained without direct contact. It connects the cyborgs anywhere in Esselin.

That sounds useful.

Further, the Catalytic link provides the possibility of control. The Catalyst master may transfer his consciousness to any cyborg.

Someone could control diplomats or generals.

This was done at least once before. An oracle named Maciate possessed and used the Catalyst. One of Maciate’s targets was Thyestes, a deputy of Vozvul. In Thyestes’ body, Maciate proceeded to perform acts so vile as to be inappropriate to recount at this time. As fate would have it, Thyestes’ brother Liesen was a warden of mine. With planning and good fortune, Liesen was able to steal and escape with the Catalyst, disrupting Maciate’s plot. Liesen succumbed to the corrupting influence of the Catalyst. I have lost contact with him. The brothers’ whereabouts are unknown, but it is certain that Maciate works to regain the Catalyst, and that he intends to use it for ill. I need you to retrieve the Catalyst, use it to destroy Maciate, then destroy the Catalyst or return it to me.

Maciate can only be destroyed with the Catalyst?

It is the most efficient means I see. Maciate may be linked to any number of cyborgs, and he could freely transfer his consciousness between any of them.

Without it, we’d have to kill all of the cyborgs. And just finding them would be difficult.

You grasp concepts quickly. The Catalyst functionality allows a new master to break links formed by previous masters. Thus, you could isolate Maciate from his cyborgs, and then find and destroy him.

Why wouldn’t Liesen still have it? And what if someone else has it and their ownership is recognized by local authorities?

I would still need you to retrieve the Catalyst. I’ll provide you sufficient funds for purchase. If you must resort to theft, rest assured that it would be the lesser of evils. The corrupting influence exerted by the Catalyst is difficult to resist. Only those fitting the profile should be in possession of it.

What if the legal owner also happens to be a really good guy—you know, ‘fits the profile’?

If you could collect sufficient evidence to determine that the owner is a fit to profile, and has the ability and will to keep the Catalyst secure, it would be acceptable to leave it with him. That is a scenario of remote likelihood.

What will you do with the Catalyst after we bring it back?

I would destroy it, unless you want it.

You would trust me with it?

Of course. You fit the profile. The Catalyst could be a weapon for you in the struggle against Nazaire and Khatagin. You could end the war without bloodshed. It is useless to me.

Why?

The Catalyst may only be used by telepaths, oracles and shaman.

You are not a telepath?

I am not. I already told you that.

Yet you have such detailed information about me.

I have performed extensive research. You question my honesty, as have others.

You live in the tower alone with your daughter, yet every room is immaculate. Your plumbing is perfectly sealed and uncorroded. The garden is manicured and healthy. This feast is fit for a wedding reception. Visor gestured at the chandelier. No candles are burned down.

This tower provides automated functions that streamline maintenance and food preparation. I have control of them, though I don’t understand the mechanism of control.

You can’t research that?

My library does not include that information. I do know that because of the nature of the control interface, I cannot leave the tower.

Ah, thus the whole abduction thing.

Correct, and that is also why I require you to act as my hand.

Why? I mean why can’t you leave the tower?

I understand that my brain is integrated with the tower in such a way that if I left the confines, I would die. I will answer detailed questions in time, but I have urgency to strike an agreement in principal. Burke Donovan Mourning, I wish to employ you to retrieve the Catalyst and destroy Maciate. What consideration would be required to induce your agreement?

Visor asked, What are the options?

I have gems. I can make sophisticated jewelry and fine clothing. I have a library with numerous detailed and unique tomes. I believe you value knowledge. The services of my tower are at your disposal—meals, shelter, protection and the like. I can create weapons and armor of high quality fit for your specific skills.

Visor ate a square of cheese. Well, the first thing I need to do—have to do—is free Rap. Until that, nothing else matters.

Natalia, Godiva strain siren, known as ‘Raptured’ in WaterCrescent.

She prefers ‘Rapture’. The Dee was a script error on her transfer papers and they never bothered to fix it.

Rapture, then.

She is bound to me.

I know.

Visor swirled the wine in his glass. I have to get to her.

Mercy said, So be it. I will send Sorana with you to retrieve Her Grace. What else would you require?

I need to have the option of staying here as needed—and for Rapture to stay without me. I don’t know if I can get her back to Xandria. I need somewhere secure to keep her. Besides being my bound siren, with Lord Morning killed, she is the default sovereign of WaterCrescent.

Mercy said, I would be happy to have her.

Beyond that, a little operating cash would be helpful.

Done.

The Catalyst shall be mine to use, after all business with Maciate is complete.

Mercy said, As you wish.

Visor raised his cup.

She raised her glass of red wine. It sounds as if we have an understanding. Let us drink to the contract. They drank at the same time. She motioned toward a plate of fruit. Help yourself.

Thank you. Visor ate a slice of freshly cut apple. This contract is void, of course, if I find out something later that changes the intent of the terms. I’m not going to kill an innocent man just because of some agreement I made without all the facts.

If you would do such a thing, I would not be hiring you. I wish and expect you to use balanced deliberation in all judgments. I intend no deception. It is agreed that significant misrepresentation shall void the contract.

Do we have to kill him? I always hear of bounties as ‘dead or alive’. What if things worked out so that we could just bring him here?

Indeed, the preferable resolution would be Maciate’s capture and return. Were he inside this tower without the ability to escape, justice could run its course. Redemption would be conceivable. However, the task would be exceedingly difficult and the risk extreme. Were Maciate, or the current master of the Catalyst, able to discover the location of this tower and then escape, all would be lost.

He could lead us to believe that we destroyed the Catalyst, by letting us find a fake device for example, then upon seeing the tower, jump to a cyborg.

You are an excellent fit to profile. That is one of many scenarios. Regardless of the strategy used, once free with knowledge of our location, he could destroy us. The destruction of this tower would mean the death of many innocents and the suffering of great numbers into perpetuity. The risk far outweighs the possible benefit of trial. For this reason, no warden or hireling has ever been tasked with capture. Her daughter was nearing. Mercy stood and gestured at the spiral staircase. Visor, may I present to you Sorana Singrin?

His face changed, a cool temperament giving way to awe.

Sorana wore a blue evening gown. It fit to show off her young, athletic figure. Several cut outs revealed youthful skin. Her long, silky hair was brushed out to one side. She wore a smile as warm as joy and as pretty as innocence.

Visor stood up clumsily, almost knocking over his chair.

Min Velsignet, you are simply radiant. Please have a seat. Mercy headed to the kitchen.

Visor seated Sorana. He was unique.

Sorana was going to fall in love with him.

And he was going to break her heart.

Yet, he was the last, best chance to end the deeper nightmare.

***************

Mercy’s meal was exceptional. They spoke throughout. More specifically, Visor and Mercy spoke while Sorana mostly ate and stared off. Mercy traded with local human and alfanar hermits of Skarholt Forest, exchanging finely crafted jewelry and clothing for raw materials. She had a remarkable forge and an equally impressive loom. Within the tower, she was able to emulate talents of the sentient races of Esselin. She could heal like a siren, generate electric charges like a vardal, refract light like a pixie, and manipulate plants like an alfanar.

The tower had defenses. An electro-magnetic field disoriented uninvited people wandering too near the tower. Automated weapons were mounted on the battlements. Electrified gratings protected the tower’s portals. Mercy employed forest wardens, agents that were trained to detect and combat cyborgs. She also employed field wardens for more distant assignments.

They worked together to clean up.

Mercy invited Visor to the reception area for further discussion.

Visor settled into the garden’s couch. Sorana seems a bit more pleasant.

We applied a therapy that helps her relax. She had been under some stress recently. Her last assignment took longer than planned.

Some association exercises?

Therapy primarily involves a bath and salt, along with electrical stimulation.

Does she know about the salt?

It is not a secret, but she might not be acutely aware of the exact nature by— Mercy abruptly cut off as Sorana neared.

Visor asked, When will we be getting Rapture?

Mercy beamed at Visor. As soon as you are ready. But we need to plan and practice the mission. And you need to rest. Mercy exchanged hand signals with Sorana while seamlessly continuing her verbal conversation with Visor. I have a basic map of WaterCrescent. If you wish to start tonight, we could begin by reviewing that. I’m sure you can add detail. I understand if you are exhausted.

I am pretty tired, but I don't think I can sleep right now.

My training room is upstairs.

Chapter 5

Madness

The Hand of Mercy tethered three mounts at Augusta’s military stable.

Sorana was again dressed in traditional vardal female armor.

Visor wore the male version, the primary difference being that the lustrous symphonic metal plates were absent in favor of stronger melodic metal plates. Melodic metal was essentially a higher quality version of human steel. He wore a cloak over a backpack to obscure his human physique.

They passed the ogre guards at WaterCrescent’s main gatehouse with little harassment and took the concealed temple path down to the market level. They surveyed the streets.

Visor signed, AciesMagus ramp or Stockades?

Sorana touched his forearm in pattern, communicating in vardal-somatic. Stockades.

Vardal-somatic was slow to use and difficult to learn. It required processing of information on pressure, spatial orientation, and context. But it was good to practice because they would likely be in situations where they would need to remain silent while in the dark. Practicing Vardal-somatic forced her to touch him. With time, she had become somewhat less disgusted by the physical contact.

The Hand skirted around the busier sections of the market level, making their way to the stockades. They took a concealed tunnel from the stockades up to the war room of the surface keep. The keep was the processing center for human captives. It was also housing for the skilled laborers.

The Hand surreptitiously made their way to the keep’s small conference room. A small closet concealed a passage leading all the way down to a storage locker of the AciesMagus Proper. That is where the captive sirens resided, along with their vardal tormentors, and at least some vampires. Some reports suggested Lord Nazaire stayed there on occasion.

Sorana left the storage locker, taking the lead.

The lighting was dim for a human. He had to stay close to her or risk losing her in the dark.

They avoided a vardal trio and passed a single, loitering male vampire. Even without studying their hands, you could differentiate vampire from vardal by their wardrobe and other cues. The vardal favored military style outfits and plain metal jewelry. Vampires liked robes and gemstones. Visor signed a greeting that was returned. Vardal moved more sharply and spoke with a different accent.

The Hand reached the tailor room, where sirens and humans were being held. The fitting rooms were repurposed as cells.

In the first cell, Visor found a Marigold, one of the common strains of siren. Her medium brown hair was disheveled and her skin smudged with dirt, yet she was still gorgeous. The Marigolds had the fullest lips and highest cheek bones of the siren strains. With the softest eyes and longest eye lashes, they were perhaps the most classically beautiful of sirens. Their skin was a light tan, and their silky hair screamed health and sensuality. The Marigold recoiled from his attention, reminding him that he was in a vardal outfit.

A vardal man emerged from behind a mannequin. He signed to Sorana, who replied. He was trying to move a glove rack. Little help?

Sorana waved him off dismissively.

The vardal studied them. Who are you?

Sorana hesitated. In frustration, she fired a bolt from a launcher that was integrated with her armguard. The bolt penetrated deep into the vardal's skull. She flicked her wrist, causing a dagger to protrude from the armguard. It was sharpened on both edges—one of them serrated.

The vardal fell over the glove rack.

Velsignet! Mercy's voice came from somewhere behind them.

Sorana pressed her free hand to her forehead. I'm sorry. I just .... She signed, I'm just tired.

The AciesMagus tailor room faded, replaced by the weapon racks and training dummies of Mercy’s training room. There was a passing moment of confusion, a discontinuity in reality, while Visor’s body readjusted to a sudden shift in spatial orientation.

Mercy appeared. I apologize for the holographic emergence. If you prefer, we can use the map room’s screen-based holograms. They do not induce the emergence effect.

No, this is more accurate. I’ll be fine.

Mercy put her arm around Sorana’s waist. I'm sorry, Visor. We’ll need a break. I will find you when we are ready to resume.

***************

Back down in the reception area, Visor perused the library's tomes. There were a number of intriguing titles—Conjoin Races of Esselin, Dragon Subspecies, Vardal Exterran, The Aurora Bridge, Tree of Eternity, Mana Interface, and Nymph Fracture among others.

He picked up Dragon Subspecies and skimmed through sections of it. A passage was critical of the dragon's genetic viability. Too much of their physiology was committed to lifting a scaled creature off the ground and in generating and compressing flammable gasses that were often unused. They had to eat and sleep considerably more than humans and took a long time to mature. According to the tome, dragon wings were integrated with their front legs, like a bat. They were weaker and less agile than a land animal of the same proportions, with muscle mass devoted to flight and a fused skeletal structure. Dragons were the first sentient race to become extinct, at the hands of the alfanar.

Visor fell asleep and startled himself back awake. He switched out Dragon Subspecies for History of Humans and took a seat in the garden. He flipped to random pages. There were sections on the founding of Raykez, the sirenic alliance, oracles and telepaths, and buway-human wars. Within the Raykez chapter, there was a subsection on the Mortal Banshee. With a perverse anticipation, he read the first few words.

She fell back asleep. Mercy was suddenly right behind him.

Visor’s heart jolted. He flipped some pages as if he were still perusing the tome.

I'm sorry. I know this is urgent for you.

Visor said, It's okay. We have to get this right. Getting in there sooner and getting killed or captured doesn't help anyone. As Visor closed the heavy tome, it slid from his lap and he caught it awkwardly, stressing a shoulder that was already strained.