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Authors: B.J. Keeton

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“
Ceril,” Harlo said. “You need to be careful. I don’t think you’re ready for that kind of—”

“
I think I can manage,” Ceril said. He wiggled his toes, bent his knee, and pushed himself up off the pillow. Then the limbs disappeared as he lost concentration, and he collapsed again.

“
See?” Harlo said.

“
I’m fine,” Ceril countered. But he wasn’t. He was getting dizzy and the edges of his vision were fading to black. He spoke faster as he fought unconsciousness. “I promise. Saryn, I need any reports on Untouchable attacks since Squalt was killed. I have a hunch that those attacks really picked up, and I need to see a pattern to make sure. If the Gatekeeper said there was something in Ternia, then that’s where we need to be. Part of our job was finding a connection to the Untouchable, and if you’re right, and Gramps is the Untouchable, then I’m the best connection to the Untouchable we’ve got.”

“
You can’t put yourself through this,” Harlo said. “Saryn, talk some sense into him.”

“
She’s right, Ternia. This isn’t your fight right now. Maybe it was. Maybe it will be, but right now, you have more to worry about.”

“
No,” Ceril said. “He killed Swarley, Saryn. He was the only friend I had before I went aboard the
Sigil
. I don’t know what’s going on, but I have to find out. I want to know—I need to know—why the man who raised me lied to me every day of my life.”

“
You don’t know that,” Saryn said. “You don’t
know
that’s your Gramps on that video. You just need to calm down for a while and get better.”

The blackness was filling his vision more rapidly now. “Even if he’s not the Untouchable, he’s at least Vennar. He still lied to me. Maybe he’s not a killer or a terrorist. Maybe he’s just a ten-thousand-year-old Charon,” Ceril said and laughed, but even it was weak, and he had to force himself to continue. “Either way, he is something that isn’t my technophobic Gramps. And, right now, I don’t even know who I am anymore, much less who he is.” He flexed his left arm, and the nanites congealed into a fist, then dissipated again. “I just have to find that out, okay?”

“
Okay,” the three of them said at the same time.

“
Thank you,” he said. With that, Ceril lay his head down and closed his eyes. He fell asleep instantly.

When he woke up the next day, the world had changed.

Epilogue

Damien Vennar remembered when Ferran had not been so…ruined. He wondered if anyone had even bothered to repair any of the sandstone buildings in the past five hundred years. The streets were dusty and badly damaged, their cracked stones preventing anything but foot travel.

The twin suns beat down on Ferran worse than anywhere else Damien had ever been. He had been spoiled by so many years in Ternia. This kind of heat was going to take some getting used to. The streets were packed with people, and no one seemed to care who they bumped into as they rushed about. Merchants had tents lining both sides of the streets, and Damien picked a tent, seemingly at random. He weaved through the throng of pedestrians and stood in front of what appeared to be a jewelry vendor.

“
Hello there,” Damien said.

“
Oh, hi!” The merchant replied. His voice was higher-pitched than Damien would have expected for such a burly man. “What can I do for you today? I know! You’re looking for the perfect stone for a perfect lady! Try this!” He reached for a braided necklace with a large, orange stone as a pendant. “Perfect, no?”

“
It’s lovely,” Damien said. “But I’m not here to buy jewelry.”

The merchant’s smile faded. Without the smile, his face was much more menacing. “Then I don’t think I can help you. Move along, if you would.”

“
I don’t think I will. I’m looking for someone.”

“
Aren’t we all? I am not in the business of
someone
. I sell stones, necklaces, and rings. If this
someone
you are looking for is one of those, we can do business.” He put the orange-stoned necklace back in its place. “If not, I don’t think I can help you.”

“
Now why don’t I think that’s the truth?” Damien said. He reached for a ring. It was a simple piece, a carved band of stone with a tiny black gemstone embedded in one spot. He slid it on his finger. “I like this one.”

“
That one is ten rejans.”

Damien scowled. “You’re a thief. This is worth four rejans at most.”

“
Move along, old man,” the merchant said. “But put my ring down first.”

“
I’m looking for a man named Derin Sarnt.” That was the name Squalt had given him at Ennd’s. Damien had double-checked that information with the dead headmaster’s tablet, too. That much lined up, at least. “I was friends with his grandfather,” Damien lied. “I’d like to catch up with the family. It’s been a long time.”

“
You’re older than you look, then. But I still can’t help you.” He nodded toward the ring. “Seven rejans, and that’s as low as I can go.”

Damien placed the hand with the ring on the merchant’s table, and then looked up at him. “I’ll tell you what,” Damien said. “You tell me where I can find Derin Sarnt, and you won’t run into any unfortunate accidents on your way home today.”

“
Are you threatening me, my friend?” The merchant crossed his arms and threw his head back to laugh. He guffawed, and looked directly at Damien. “You will leave my tent. Right now. And I will not call the constable and tell him how you tried to steal that ring from me.”

Damien smiled. “The constable. How precious.”

“
You do know what the punishment for stealing in Ferran is, don’t you?” The merchant placed his hand over Damien’s, which still rested on the table. “Your hands. Both of them. They are cut off with a white-hot blade and given to you. You wear them around your neck for the next year. By the time that year is up, your hands have rotted away to almost nothing, and you have witnessed the whole thing.” He looked Damien directly in the eye. “Do not threaten me, old man.”

Before the merchant could pull his hand away, Damien had flipped his hand over and grabbed the merchant’s wrist. “That sounds very fitting,” Damien said. “Thank you for the idea.” In his other hand, Damien summoned his new Flameblade, the prize he had won by killing Gilbert Squalt. As it appeared in Damien’s hand, the Flameblade’s green-purple aura flared. Even in the bright desert sun, the merchant could see the color around the suddenly-there weapon.

“
Derin Sarnt?” the merchant said. “I-I do know him!”

Damien maneuvered the merchant’s arm onto the table. The burly man struggled, but he couldn’t break Damien’s grip. When he was in position, Damien placed the tip of the Flameblade against the man’s wrist and held it there. “I think right now would be the best time for you to tell me where to find Derin Sarnt.”

“
I-I can show you!”

Damien pressed the tip of the blade into his skin. The merchant screamed. “You will tell me.”

“
S-sure! Sure! Go down the street here and take a left. Go maybe, maybe, three blocks? And on your left should be Sarnt’s restaurant. I can’t remember the name. It’s the one with the black door. You can’t miss it!”

“
And you’re certain this is where I can find this man?”

The merchant nodded over and over again. “Yes, yes! I promise!”

“
And if you’re lying?”

“
I’m not! I swear!”

Damien cocked his head to the side, then said, “Maybe. But I can’t be sure of that right now.” He rammed the Flameblade down through the man’s wrist and into the display table. The hand came off cleanly, and no blood spilled. The merchant screeched in pain. Damien glared at him. “If you are lying to me, I will return. And I can assure you, my friend, this hand is nothing compared to what you will lose if that happens.”

The Flameblade disappeared and the light around the small tent went back to normal. Damien took the man’s ring off his finger and placed it back on the display. “I’ll have to think about the ring. I like it. I may be back for it.”

Then he walked away from the tent and disappeared into the crowd on the street.

End of Book One

To Be Continued in

Lineage

The Technomage Archive, Book Two

About the Author

B.J. KEETON is a writer, teacher, and runner. When he isn't trying to think of a way to trick Fox into putting
Firefly
back on the air, he is either writing science fiction, watching an obscene amount of genre television, or looking for new ways to integrate fitness into his geektastic lifestyle.

Kickstarter acknowledgements

I cannot even begin to express how thankful I am for all the support my friends, family, and online communities have offered me. Especially you fine folks who donated to the Kickstarter campaign. If not for you folks,
Birthright
would never have become the book it is. So thank you. Thank you bunches. This book is just as much yours as it is mine.

Kickstarter Backers – Archive Level

The Tidwells

Kickstarter Backers – Charon Level

K. Jespersen

Kickstarter Backers – Agent+ Level

Michael Birke – [email protected]

Kenneth Blankenberg – http://www.99269282.com

John Ayers –
http://www.fx2k.net

Andrew Karnani

Miriam Halbrooks

Kickstarter Backers – Agent Level

Cathie B. Ayers –
http://www.facebook.com/WoodmenLodge1115