Birthright-The Technomage Archive (30 page)

“
Point taken,” Chuckie said.

Saryn said, “Have any idea where to start, Ternia?”

“
Yeah, I do. The angel I was talking to earlier pointed out an obelisk to me. He made it out like some of these instructions were written on it, but that they were reserved for the priest. I say that’s our best bet to start.”

“
Now
you tell us,” Chuckie said. “Lead the way, boss.” He bowed slightly in deferment.

Ceril glared at him. It wasn’t worth the wasted time.

Saryn just nodded and fell into step beside Chuckie.

Chapter Twenty-one

Damien Vennar liked what they had done with the place. The last few centuries of renovations had left the interior of Ennd's Academy almost unrecognizable, but most of the changes were nice. He was not sure that he would have gone for the same decor; the steel-gray was unpleasantly sterile, but the beige sandstone was enough to offset that feeling.

The dining hall was behind him, and he was not sure where he was headed now. Once upon a time, the dining hall had been connected to the primary research laboratories, but that was no longer the case. He was amazed that there were no other people nearby, but he was glad for it.

Other people would complicate things, and he felt a twinge of sadness as he thought of Swarley Dann's corpse wrapped in vines on the botanical terrace. He was not sad for Swarley, though; the boy was an acceptable casualty. Years of doing his job and playing the role he carved out for himself had hardened Damien to casual loss of life. One thing he had learned through the years was that some people just got in the way of his plans and had to be removed before they became even greater complications. Swarley had come out of class early and become a complication. Damien did not regret taking a life to fulfill a mission.

Yet, he felt ashamed. He was ashamed because Swarley had been one of his grandson's best friends. He was ashamed because he had taken advantage of one of Ceril's relationships to further his own plans. When he killed one of his grandson's only friends, he had crossed a line.

He did not regret crossing it; he was just ashamed that he did. But if he were in the same situation again, he would do the same thing. Still, he was ashamed of what this news might do to Ceril if he ever found out.

Damien promised himself he would never let that happen.

A voice from behind him interrupted his thoughts. “Excuse me, sir?” said a young girl. She was no older than Ceril had been when Damien had last seen him. She was maybe thirteen or fourteen years old, with copper hair pulled back into pigtails, freckles, and blue eyes. Damien was a tall man, and this girl came to just barely above his navel.

He whipped around to meet her, prepared to remove another complication to his plans. He waited a moment and said, “Yes?”

“
I'm sorry to bother you, sir, and I know I'm probably going to get into trouble for this, but could you tell me how to get back to the Phase II dormitories?”

“
What?”

“
I know, sir. It's been the better part of a year already, but I keep getting turned around in the halls and losing my bearings. My mom says I was never very good at finding my way around and that she was amazed I even got through Phase I. I went to dinner in the dining halls with my friends, but I had to leave early because I have to take a final that none of them have to take, so I thought I would cut through this way because I think I remember someone telling me that I could get back there by this hallway, but I'm not so sure. I think I might have taken the wrong corridor from the one they pointed out because I don't remember these colors being in the girls' side. The boys, sure, but the girls? I think I'm lost.” She finally shut up when she had to take a breath.

Damien looked at the young girl and smiled. “I'm not sure I would be the best person to help you find your way back, to be honest, miss. If I had to guess, though, you could continue down this hall until you find someone who could. Maybe a professor or another student.”

“
You're not a professor?” she asked, and he shook his head. “I'm amazed at that, sir. You look like you belong here. I don't know why, but you do. Thanks anyway. If you're not a professor, are you a student? Do they take older people—no offense—to be students at Ennd's? If they do, then I haven't ever heard about it.”

“
I'm not a student, either, my dear,” Damien said. “I'm a…a consultant. I am trying to find my way back to Headmaster Squalt's office.”

“
So you're lost, too?” she asked.

“
Not so much lost,” he said, “as I am a little turned around.”

“
We should stick together,” the copper-haired girl said. “My dad tells me that when I'm lost to find someone who knows the way, and if I can't find someone who knows the way to just find someone because if you're both looking for the right direction, then maybe the other person will see things that you couldn't.”

Damien frowned and thought of Swarley's body. The skin on the back of his hand began to ripple as the nanites in his blood prepared to Conjure a quick way for the talkative young girl to die. “I don't think that would be such a good idea. We're going to two entirely separate places, miss. Why don't you run along. I'll keep an eye out for the girls' dormitory and you do the same for Headmaster Squalt's office. If we happen to meet again, we might be of some use that way.”

“
Okay,” she said. “Whatever you say, sir.” She waved and started moving quickly down the hallway in front of him. “Bye!”

He waved at her and wondered if he had made a mistake when he told her the truth about where he was headed. It probably didn’t matter. The girl talked so much about so many different things, if his destination had somehow managed to find its way into a conversation, it would be so buried under so many other tidbits of impertinent information that no one would give it a second thought.

Also, if he were to need to, Damien figured that he would be able to find and kill her with little problem.

He continued down the hall, and he heard the little girl scream. It was a short yell, not an extended howl, but it was full of emotion that made Damien get gooseflesh.

Damien was a hard man. He had seen and done things his entire life—and it was a long life—that would make other people weep in horror or regret. He had learned to steel himself against tragedy and shock, but when he saw the little copper-haired girl's dead body, he got angry.

Not because she was dead. No, he had been ready and willing to end her life. What he had not been ready to do was disrespect her when he did so.

Blood was everywhere. Damien spared a split second to take in just how much blood was in the little girl and how significantly it managed to spread along the corridor's walls and floor. He stood in the center of the hallway now. To his left and a few feet ahead of him, lying in a pile that very much resembled how Damien kept his unwashed laundry, was at least part of her body. What flesh he could see was mangled, and he was tolerably certain that a shoe stuck out of the pile.

He swept his gaze to the other side of the corridor and that's when he gave in to the rage. The girl's eyes were staring at him in horror, her mouth frozen open from her dying scream. Her arms lay at her side, but not in any traditional sense. They were severed, still leaking blood that was forming pools that coated the corridor. This young girl had been murdered and brutalized in less time than it had taken him to walk twenty feet.

He understood killing was sometimes unavoidable, but this kind of brutalization was never necessary.
What kind of person would do a thing like this?

Damien realized he was not dealing with a person when something whipped past his head. The realization quelled his anger almost immediately, but opened the door for a completely different kind of rage: the kind that comes when something was trying to kill him.

The old man ducked to the side with a grace he hadn’t expected. He took what cover he could from the slightly curved corridor wall and allowed himself a few seconds to survey just what exactly was going on. He was in Ennd's! How could that little girl have been killed there? She was supposed to be safe there.

What was going on?

The corridor came to an end a few feet ahead. It met at a perpendicular intersection with another hallway whose walls were also gently curved. From both sides of the intersection, Damien saw what had killed the copper-haired girl and had tried to kill him. Vaguely humanoid constructs stood almost ten feet tall, bore the head of either a jackal or falcon, and held either a shimmering stone axe or a staff that arced and crackled with blue-white energy.
Security golems,
he thought.
Great
.

Somehow, he must have triggered a security protocol. He would have to figure out how later, but right now, he had bigger concerns than
how
he got into the situation.

He assumed that it had been a bolt of some kind from one of the golems’ staves that whipped past his head. Judging by the condition of the girl's corpse, he was damned lucky that it missed. He hadn't seen these golems in action for centuries; he hoped that Ennd's hadn't upgraded them significantly since the last time he'd seen them. They were formidable opponents, and this was the first time that Damien had ever found himself on this end of their wrath.

He peeked his head around the corner as far as he dared and tried to get an accurate count of how many of the constructs there were. They came around from both sides of the connecting hall, and he counted five. He expected at least three more, unless the Academy had renovated that protocol, too. Given the level of security they had in other areas, he suspected that the golems were only called in on the most serious offenses.

He was flattered that he seemed to be considered a serious offense. He smiled at the thought. It had seriously been too long since he had done this.

He could hear the golems coming closer. If he remembered correctly, they communicated wirelessly with one another, so there were no audible or visible signals. The team who had created the sentries had designed them from Ferran mythology, and he remembered how exceptionally dangerous they had been in the past.

Now, Damien was hopelessly outnumbered, and he just didn’t know how his body could handle extended or powerful Conjuring at this point.

Their footsteps came closer. He could now hear the electricity crackle from the staves. He could hear the Annuban golems swing their stone axes and strike the floor and the wall. Their footsteps became wet as they passed through the copper-haired girl’s blood.

He had to think fast. If he didn't, he wouldn't survive this encounter. Damien knew how the golems worked, but if there were as many of them as he thought, he would stand no chance head-to-head. Even if his body could handle the stress, eight security golems were more than he could Conjure against.

He would have to use them against one another. In the confined space of the corridor, he hoped that it wouldn’t be a problem.

More bolts of electricity whipped down the hallway and scored the walls. He had to act fast, or he would end up being killed where he stood. He took a deep breath, readied the nanotech under his skin, and hoped that his magic would not fail him as he stepped directly into the patch of an Annuban's swinging weapon.

The axe missed, but just barely. It struck the wall almost exactly where his legs had been.
Not even a second
, he thought.
Any slower and you'd be dead, you old bastard
. He had to pick up the pace if he wanted to live through this.

The nanites under his skin came to life. They coated his lower arms and hands in blackness. They served no purpose yet, but they were ready. Damien saw the pair of golems who were leading the charge. He had maybe three seconds before they noticed him. The strike that had barely missed him was random, meant as a warning shot for anyone in the vicinity.

And it had nearly killed him.

The nanites in his body went to work. Despite his age, Damien needed to be able to move like he used to. He knew pushing his body this hard would take its toll, but the situation was a little more severe than he had expected. He felt his whole body tingle as he activated the vast majority of the nanites in his system. They surged with power. For the time being, he would be able to move and act and fight like a man a fraction of his age. Damien prayed to anyone who would listen that his method of saving himself from being killed wouldn't end up with him dead anyway.

Even in mid-battle, it made him somewhat sad that the only time he ever felt this good was when he engaged the nanotech inside him. Despite having sworn it off and despising the technology coursing through his veins, using the machines felt like going home after a long vacation.

Damien ran directly at the two golems in front, and their eyes locked onto him. With his nanite-infused blood, his momentum was greater than what it should have been from a standstill. The Annuban swung its axe at the spot where the old man had just stood, while the Horrith golem's eyes glowed a fierce yellow. Its staff spun upright and slammed into the ground. Electricity spiraled from the bottom to the top and then arced immediately to where Damien Vennar had stood, scorching the ground at the moment his companion’s axe struck the same spot.

Damien’s feet dropped from under him, and he slid under the poleaxe and directly into the golem's shins. The force was not enough to knock the golem over. That would have been too much to ask for—a domino effect of killer robots that would have made the situation easy to escape from. Instead, the blow unbalanced the Annuban enough that Damien was able to knock the weapon from its hand with a quick snap of directed nanites. Blackness surged from Damien’s forearm and threw the axe behind him. The weapon was far too large for him to wield effectively, but at least it was no longer in the contruct’s hands. He got to his feet quickly, barely dodging another bolt of lightning from the Horrith’s staff.