Aethersmith (Book 2) (24 page)

Back to Denku Appa, it seems
, Kyrus thought ruefully.

Having no momentum as a disembodied Source, he parked himself
at the Source-less Kyrus he found there, going from hurtling at
incomprehensible speeds to a full stop quicker than the blink of an eye. The
sooner he returned to the world of light, the better.

* * * * * * * *

Kyrus’s senses snapped into reality accompanied by a
sensation of falling. The sand beneath his feet gave way. He had just enough
time for a brief, startled yelp before hitting the ground, slamming down onto
his back on the fortuitously soft sand he had brought along with him.

Huh?

Kyrus looked up and saw neither sun, nor stars, nor any bit
of Denku Appa he had recognized. He was in a softly lit room of green and black
stone, looking up through a transference-spell-sized hole into the room above
it.

He checked himself for injuries, giving the world an
unobserved moment to discretely sort itself out, and start making sense. He had
landed awkwardly, twisting a knee and wrist in the fall, but nothing at all
serious; his ward must have been drained in transit. He patted at his head,
feeling for lumps and checking his fingers to see if they came away bloody, but
his body seemed largely intact. Kyrus’s mind was about done, though. It had
clearly had enough. Kyrus lost consciousness.

* * * * * * * *

“Welcome to Kadris.” A strange but familiar voice above him
roused Kyrus from his slumber. “I have warded us in. You are safe here for now,
so we can talk.”

“What? Where?” Kyrus tried to formulate questions as his
eyes fought to focus. A few blinks brought Rashan Solaran’s face into view
hovering over him.

“First, two rules: you will have to go by ‘Brannis’ for
however long you are here, and you will have to speak Kadrin. I cannot have you
wandering about speaking Acardian,” Rashan informed Kyrus.

Daring to turn his attention back to his surroundings, Kyrus
pushed himself up onto his elbows, and looked around the room. The
accommodations were entirely familiar to him, though he suspected that those in
the room from which he had fallen would have been even more so …

The spell had taken out parts of four rooms: the one he had
actually centered the transference spell on, along with a chunk of the
adjoining room, as well as the two rooms below those.

“How did I get here?” Kyrus asked in Kadrin, the familiar
sounds tripping up his novice tongue.

“That was awful. Practice losing the accent before you give
yourself away. Try whispering if you must talk to anyone else in the meantime;
it will make the accent less obvious. As for an answer to your question: the
transference spell that Brannis has been practicing at night, combined with
reckless idiocy, the luck of Fate’s own children, and a Source and draw that
would shame a dragon,” Rashan commented. “For all it is worth, I am rather
astonished myself. I had not thought it possible to breach the veil of worlds
like that.” The demon looked Kyrus over appraisingly.

“This really is Kadris?” Kyrus asked.

“Oh, you had best not be a simpleton! We started with that.
Yes, you are in Kadris, in the Kadrin Empire, on the world of Veydrus. Brannis
is one of the smartest lads I have ever met, and I am going to be needing you
to be just as clever. You certainly did not manage to come all this way on
muscle power.” Rashan took hold of Kyrus’s scrawny arm in one hand, then let it
flop back down to make his point.

“How far did I travel?” Kyrus asked, managing an original
question.

“Measured how? In miles, leagues, fathoms, yards, cubits,
furlongs? I have not the slightest notion. I doubt very much that any such
terms even apply. I have no concept of how far Tellurak is from here, or which
direction it would be,” Rashan said, appearing flustered in a way that Kyrus
could not recall Brannis ever seeing him.

“I found my way here by feel. Give me the night to recover
and I will set things right tomorrow,” Kyrus promised, feeling distinctly in
the wrong.

I am trespassing in the Imperial Palace, which I have
also damaged. I have also essentially kidnapped their grand marshal.

“No. I shall have none of that. Count yourself lucky to be
alive. Until a more thoughtful, rational means of controlling this power of
yours presents itself, you will be staying here and taking Brannis’s place,”
Rashan said.

“But … I am not Brannis. I look nothing like him!” Kyrus
protested.

“Nonsense. You are as good as a twin brother to him if we
make allowances for your obviously less vigorous lifestyle. You will take to
bed, exhausted after an ordeal of an experiment you conducted, through which
you finally unlocked your Source’s true potential. It has sapped your strength
and vitality, but you have finally achieved what Gravis Archon predicted at
your birth,” Rashan said, apparently thinking through his plan aloud.

“It seems a bit premature, I think. I doubt anyone would
call his prediction true, just based on having a useable Source now. He
predicted Brannis would be some great sorcerer of his age,” Kyrus said.

“As much as I hate having to make Gravis Archon look
prescient, everyone will think it is true,” Rashan told him. “Do you really
have no concept of how strong a Source you have?”

“The one person who commented on it mentioned that it was
stronger than average,” Kyrus offered. During his time with Denrik Zayne, the
pirate captain had looked at him using aether-vision and said as much.

“Well, someone either has a gift for understatement or is
nearly blind in the aether. They said that the ancient sorcerer Tallax had a
Source that shone with the fury of the desert sun, that it hurt just to look
upon him in the aether. As we have been talking, I have been looking at you
only in the light—something I hardly ever do—because I was getting a headache
looking at your Source,” Rashan said.

Kyrus said nothing. He did not know a proper response.

“Oh, but I did notice something before you awakened.” The
warlock poked Kyrus in the shoulder where the tattooed ward was inscribed. “It
clearly identifies you as a fortified wall, though I suspect that there is some
taxonomic error at work here. In any event, Brannis does not have a tattoo and
neither should you. It has been strengthening itself off your Source since you
got here. Draw the aether back out of it and I will remove the ink.”

“I have been meaning to ask someone about that.
Is
it
harmful to have wards placed directly onto the skin like that? I was told it
was ill advised, but I seem none the worse for it, and it has been very useful.”
Kyrus hoped to finally get a definitive answer to that nagging question.

“Yesterday I would have said so. It would be like covering
your flesh in ticks, or leeches. Seeing it on you, though, it is like a tick on
a monohorn. I doubt you would notice it, though in some small way you will be
better off without it. Once I remove it, I will want you to shave as soon as
possible. I will keep folk away from you until you have acclimated a bit, but
you need to
be
Brannis. Brannis was clean shaven as of last night.”

“Do I really look that much like him otherwise?” Kyrus was
dubious.

“Of course you do. It just works that way. Now I have many
other matters to attend to, and I will have thoughts of what to do with you
distracting me through all of them. If I do not see to them, rumors will escape
reasonable control, and may start a panic. Among other matters, I am sure many
residents of Kadris thought we came under Megrenn attack. Your spell shook the
city.”

Rashan took a surprised Kyrus under the arms, and lifted him
up to the room above.

“One last question, then, before you remove this ward. You
know about both worlds. Does that mean you have a counterpart in Tellurak as
well?” Kyrus asked.

“Brannis,” Rashan emphasized the name, “I am two hundred
forty-two summers old. If I ever had a counterpart like you, who from your
world has ever lived remotely so long?”

Chapter 14 - A Lack of Success

Rashan sat silently in his seat at the head of the Inner
Circle. The guards in the Tower of Contemplation had been instructed to inform
the rest of the Inner Circle that Warlock Rashan would explain matters just
once, when all had arrived. Eight of his colleagues sat in matching silence,
awaiting the stragglers in awkward fellowship.

Warlock Rashan did not drum his fingers, or stir in his
seat. He did not look about or even blink. He thought, and he had much to think
about.

It would be useful having Brannis around. His plans for
the war seem sound. His airships have great promise. I did not even ask his
twin’s name—but then, I cannot slip and call him by it if I do not know it. But
if his twin has the sort of mind he does, I will take the one with a Source
such as I have never seen. So much potential … So much danger …

If he can “accidentally” breach the aether and cross
between worlds, what other havoc could he cause? I need to teach him some
proper spells and train him as a sorcerer before all Kadrin finds out.

The eleventh member of the Inner Circle to arrive stirred
Rashan from his reveries.

“We are all here but Iridan. Where is your son?” Dolvaen
asked. He had taken on the role of speaker for the rest of the Circle in
dealing with the warlock.

“He will not be joining this session. He escorted his foster
parents home, and I gave him leave to spend a day or so with them. I felt it
best if he had time to gather himself,” Rashan informed them.

“Very well then. Start by explaining what happened in the
palace last night.” Dolvaen rarely stood on formalities. Despite the fact
Rashan was fairly certain the man hated him, Rashan found himself liking the
peasant-born sorcerer.

“Since you are intent on bluntness, I will match it. It was
Brannis. He finally unlocked his Source,” Rashan said.

“What?” Aloisha Solaran gasped, merely the first to put
voice to her surprise.

“I know not the details of how he managed it, but the quake
that shook the city last night originated in his bedchambers. He opened some
sort of rift into the aether. His room and the ones adjacent are missing some
wall and ceiling. The desk he was working at is gone, as well as his sword and
armor, which he was wearing at the time. As best I can tell, he was sucked in
as well, but managed to escape,” Rashan explained, having given the lie a bit
of thought before the Inner Circle convened.

“That is ghastly,” Caladris exclaimed. “Is the boy all
right?”

“He is the worse for wear, but seems not to be permanently
damaged. I think time may have passed strangely within the void. He seemed
wasted as if famished by long illness, but he could not have been gone more
than a few moments as time passed here. He has little recollection of the rift
itself,” Rashan said.

“Is this rift a danger still?” Dolvaen asked, ever
practical.

“So long as I can convince Brannis not to try whatever trick
he used to create it in the first place, I believe we are safe. I found no
trace of the rift as I left him.”

“Hmph, no curiosity anymore, eh? Concerned for your own
hide?” Fenris needled Dolvaen, a friend he had always considered overly
cautious. “Did it work?” Fenris grinned. The old sorcerer had asked after Brannis
for years while he was at the Academy, wishing to see a truly powerful sorcerer
in the Empire before he died.

“One might safely venture that opinion,” Rashan said. “I
have yet to witness him work any magic, but his Source is impressive, putting
it mildly. Once he has rested up a bit, I intend to see what he can do with it.
It is what the lad has wanted all his life. It would be a shame not to put him
to the test.” Rashan grinned.

“Got something in mind for him, then?” Caladris asked. “You
look to be ruminating on something wicked. Tell us.”

“Oh, I think I will save a surprise for later, presuming all
goes well with Marshal Brannis’s recovery. But I think time has come to attend
to the real business we had planned for this morning. Shall we?” A stack of parchment
sheets flew from Rashan’s desk, and whisked themselves across the Sanctum, one
to each in attendance.

Rashan gave them a moment to peruse the contents. He watched
faces to see reactions and was not disappointed.

“Admirable that you have it down to three, but is this truly
the best of the lot?” Caladris asked, holding up the list he had just read.

“Agreed. I had hoped for something people could gladly
support. After that coronation of a wedding two days past, I half expected
Iridan’s name to top the list, but these are scant better,” Dolvaen scoffed,
waving a hand at his copy dismissively.

“It might in fact be true that there is a closer heir within
the Empire,” Rashan allowed. “Some poor, scared lad out there may wish to have
nothing to do with succession and the plots and intrigues of court life. His
folk may have sheltered him and humored him and we will hear naught of him
ever. It could also happen that some poor, slovenly seneschal has misplaced
enough of his lord’s documents that a rightful claim was unable to be verified.
But, good sirs, I would like to remind you that there was a conspiracy amongst
this very assemblage here,” Rashan swept his arms wide to indicate those
present, “who actively sought out and culled the imperial line. I worked with
what was left over, and these three are the best of them.”

“This first one here, it seems out of place,” Fenris
commented, and several heads bent back to review their copies. “He is
illegitimate. It even says so on your list. Explain that.”

“The other two are legitimate, but their claims both branch
back to Escelon the Fourth. Sommick Highwater was a bastard of Liead’s line and
two emperors less removed from Dharus. We lose Liead’s blood, and Tameron’s, if
we skip back past them to a branch from Escelon,” Rashan pointed out.

“Well, that is all fine on its own, but an illegitimate heir
carries all manner of problems,” Dolvaen said. “The people will not like the
scurrilous break in lineage. In addition, you always have questions about the
legitimacy of even an illegitimate claim. Once you break with officially kept
records of noble births, who is to say what may have been forged?”

“Sommick Highwater swore to the veracity of the documents. I
would accept the word of one descended of Liead’s blood,” Rashan countered.

“Bah, you beg the question. You cannot run us around by the
ear like ink-fingered schoolboys with your tricks of logic. If Sommick
Highwater is not royally descended, what would his word be worth?” Dolvaen
snapped back, irritated that Rashan would try such a meat-fisted word play to
convince them.

“I see it in his face, in his build. Five generations have
not bred Liead’s manner out of the line. I see little enough of Escelon when I
look at Marnus Tollfury and none when I look at Brennen Hawkfield. I wish to
re-establish the imperial line, not just continue it. We need the best and
strongest of royal blood, not the cleanest,” Rashan argued. There were few
times when the cynical warlock showed genuine fervor for anything but
bloodletting, but his service to the emperor’s line was one of the exceptions.

“So you think that Sommick Highwater would be a better
emperor than the other two, then?” Fenris asked. “Seems a good enough thought,
if all other factors weight the same.”

“No. Mistake me not, all three are vapid, spoiled slackwits.
We might have made a proper emperor of any of them if they were younger, but
none were brought up to handle the burdens and responsibilities. No, whomever
we anoint will almost certainly be a disastrous emperor, and it will be our
penance for allowing it to get to this point, just having to deal with him. You
all allowed this to happen, knowingly or not, and I left the Empire to its own
ends for far too long. It will take at least a generation to stabilize the
dynasty, but we must begin soon, and from the best stock available,” Rashan
said.

“It is an interesting thought, this talk of dynasties. When
this search began, I had higher hopes for an heir,” Sonnin Tenruvin commented.
He was quiet among the Inner Circle, and spoke seldom. When he did, it drew
attention. “What if we were to install a new dynasty?”

“It would cause open rebellion!” Caladris exclaimed. “Even
the lengthy search had a few noblemen gnashing their teeth and loosening swords
in their sheaths. Appearances aside, we all know there are divided opinions
among the Circle and even amongst ourselves. Who is to say we would not get
dragged into a civil war even with Megrenn practically standing before the city
gates?”

“I agree it is a poor idea, though I doubt it would be as
bad as you describe,” Rashan answered. “The Empire is vast enough that many do
not yet see the Megrenn as threats. They expect the problem to be dealt with at
the expense of marching a few troops off to join the cause. Civil war would
bring death to their own homes, and few would act without a preponderance of
support from the Inner Circle.”

“And if some enterprising nobleman sided with Megrenn? A
favorable peace with the promise of a new, more accommodating dynasty?” Dolvaen
pondered. “I would support the bastard claim before ever agreeing to a new
dynasty. The ‘why’ might be justifiable, but the ‘who’ would lead us to ruin.”

“Aye. Whom would we choose, if it came to it?” Caladris
wondered aloud.

“No! Do not even put a name to that thought,” Dolvaen warned,
leaping to his feet. “If word leaves this chamber of a favorite, we could well
start a war as surely as if we had named an emperor to start that new dynasty.
It would be the same sides, but a different man in power until it was ended.”

“Please, settle down. No more talk of dynasty change. We
ought to decide from among the three candidates,” Rashan said as he attempted
to rein in the meeting. “Once we have a name, I can have the court popinjays
arrange a coronation ceremony. It will be good for the Empire, for the peasants
and nobles alike, to see the matter of succession resolved.”

“And you would step down as regent?” Dolvaen asked, arching
an eyebrow skeptically.

“Assuming that is the wish of the new emperor, of course,”
Rashan replied with a shrug. “You think I enjoy the nonsense I must deal with
running the Empire myself? Not a one of you would trade places with me, and you
know it. I have a war to fight, and a child running it. Brilliant though
Brannis may be, I will need to take a more personal interest once the real
slaughter begins.”

When the Inner Circle took a vote on the matter of the best
claim, it split three ways almost equally. With four votes each for Sommick
Highwater and Brennen Hawkfield, Warlock Rashan’s vote carried the victory for
Liead’s bastard thrice-great grandson.

* * * * * * * *

Juliana sleepwalked through her morning routine. She had
taken her morning feast when the servants bringing it awakened her. She dressed
in everyday garb: a half-robe over a tunic and breeches, with comfortable boots
fit for riding or long walks and the harness for her dagger sheaths. It was a
departure from the finery she was being prodded to wear now that she was
respectably married, but she supposed that she was just not feeling that
respectable.

Warlock Rashan had requested a meeting with her, once he had
finished his Circle business for the morning. She was not sure what he wanted,
but she had plenty of theories.
He looked at me strangely after seeing what
I had done to Iridan. I have been stared at by men aplenty and his was a stare
I cannot place. It was not lechery, plainly. It was not anger, which my new
oathfather rarely deigns to hide. He seemed neither amused nor approving.
Perhaps it was an appraising stare. Were a ship to be viewed by a prospective
captain, would it have seen such a look?

With Iridan gone to his foster parents’ home, and no
official business to attend to, Juliana decided to take stock of the wedding
gifts they had received. There was a set of matching crystal goblets, chased in
gold. Someone had given them a runed candelabra—the sorcerer’s equivalent to
handmade pottery. There was a pair of matching saddles with a note saying they
were from Iridan’s cousin Aloisha. There was …

… there was a trio of wooden boxes. The largest one, long
and narrow, bore Iridan’s name. The two smaller boxes—one stacked atop the
other—bore the name
Juliana Solaran
. It was an odd thing to read. Seeing
her own new name there looked out of place.

I always knew that would be my name one day, but not this
way.

She opened the first and was surprised to see a dagger
within. Black as slate, the blade was not cold to the touch as steel would have
been.

Dragon bone. This is one of Jadefire’s teeth!

Juliana picked up the blade and tested it in the air. It had
more heft to it than was apparent by looking at it, but did not seem to slow
her handling of it. Suspicious, she looked into the aether and was unsurprised
to see it aglow. Many of the gifts the couple had received shone in the aether
as well; it was a consequence of inviting the entire Imperial Circle to the
wedding. Continuing in aether-vision, she saw that the other of her boxes held
another dagger, and Iridan’s contained a sword. They stood out from the
trinkets and keepsakes that formed the bulk of their gifts for having much
stronger concentrations of aether. These were not runed weapons, but true
rune-forged blades!

She noticed in the bottom of the box that there was a slip
of parchment. It bore a single word:
Freedom
. Replacing the dagger in
its box, she opened the other and found a similar weapon. It was not identical,
feeling lighter in her hand, having a slight curve at the tip, but it was no
less wondrous or formidable. There was a note in the second box as well. It
read
Adventure
, but she could see more ink showing through from the back
side. She turned it over and read: