Aethersmith (Book 2) (25 page)

One day, long ago, I promised you a bridal gift. You
thought I would promise you jewels or a horse, or some tangible thing. Instead
I promised I would give you a life of freedom and adventure. Despite my
failing, I had hoped to make some small amends. I hope they may offer you the
protection I no longer can.

Also, think of names for them that you might share with
others. Keep their true names for yourself, and do not keep these notes.

The note was unsigned, but she never doubted its origin. She
knew what she would name them before she set the notes aflame and scattered
their ashes in the fireplace.

* * * * * * * *

She had to poke holes in the ends of her sheathes to fit
them, but the two new daggers nestled at her back, tucked beneath her tunic.
The weight and size would take getting used to, and she would certainly have to
get new sheathes made for their size before she carelessly injured herself on
the exposed tips. Juliana had no illusions about how much good they would do
her if Rashan was truly angry with her, but their presence was reassuring
nonetheless.

As she walked through the palace’s halls, no one greeted
her. The ones that visibly took note of her made efforts not to be
acknowledged. Side corridors suddenly became preferred routes, conversations
became
much
more engrossing and servants about their tasks grew quite
admirably focused upon them.

So none of them are certain where I fall in the warlock’s
graces, either. Rumors must be throughout half the Empire by now about my
little spat with Iridan. I wonder if they are afraid of me personally, or of
incurring Rashan’s anger if they associate with me.

The room she was to meet the warlock in was a storage cellar
on the lower level, which was never a good sign in Juliana’s (or Soria’s)
experience. Whatever he wanted with her, he wanted it kept private. Rashan
preferred most of his work to be veiled from public view, she knew, but rumors
of what befell in those clandestine meetings ranged from the bizarre to the
ominous. Some believed he had enthralled the minds of half the folk in the
palace and several of the nobles. A few maintained that he was plotting to
eliminate the rest of the Inner Circle, and take complete control of the
Empire. Juliana suspected that he was a suspicious old curmudgeon with more
plots afoot than she would ever begin to unravel.

The door was slightly ajar when she reached the appointed
room. Like everything on the servants’ level, it was plain and unadorned,
though the surrounding walls and floor were still of the same black marble as
the rest of the palace architecture. As she pushed it in, she saw that the room
was largely empty, save for a few barrels and empty crates piled against one
wall. Atop one of the barrels sat Rashan Solaran, his feet dangling well off
the floor from his humble perch.

“I am a busy man, so I would hope to keep this brief.”
Rashan waved a hand and the door closed behind her.

Juliana whipped around and slipped into aether-vision, seeing
that the door was shielded as well. It was not a strong shield; she might be
able to break it if she had to run.

“Privacy. Do not worry, I have no intention of harming you,
oathdaughter. You may have come within a hairsbreadth of killing your new husband,
but that hairsbreadth was crucially important. I saw something that I could not
see in the regimented confines of the practice yard. He thought himself safe
out there, but not when he angered you,” Rashan said mildly, slipping off the
barrel to his feet.

“He hit me first,” Juliana hedged warily.

“Indeed. I cannot imagine he was given any reason to do so,”
Rashan joked, giving a half smile. “You have as sharp a tongue as anyone has
dared use in my presence. I doubt you kept it in check with just Iridan
present. Care to share what you said to provoke him?”

“Not especially, no,” Juliana replied.

There was something odd about Rashan’s manner … something in
his stance.

In one swift motion, the warlock drew Heavens Cry and
leveled it in Juliana’s direction. Before the blade left its sheath, Juliana
had already silently raised a shielding spell, drawn both her new blades, and
leapt back a pace.

Rashan laughed, lowering his blade before returning it to
its sheath. “
That
is precisely the reflex that Iridan lacks. He seems to
be making fine progress in the practice yard. His Source and draw are fearsome,
and he learns new spells quickly. What he cannot do is react surely under
pressure, when action needs to precede thought. He aether-burns himself trying
half measures, just as he did yester-morn. I have half a mind to train
you
as a warlock in his place. You have nowhere near the raw strength of aether,
but you are a warrior at heart. I hope to find out soon whether Brannis is or
not.”

“Brannis? What do you mean by that? He is a warrior. You saw
him at Raynesdark and in Kelvie Forest,” Juliana responded, confused as to what
Rashan meant. She was breathing heavily, still poised ready to defend herself.

“Actually I met him after his major encounter with the
goblins in Kelvie, but that is not the point. Prowess with a blade in the heat
of battle is not the same as keeping the calmness of mind to use magic,” Rashan
said.

“What are you talking about? Brannis can't use magic and
everyone knows it,” Juliana said, exasperated. “If you are still holding some
hope of his suddenly developing a Source stronger than a candle, you have a
long wait ahead of you.”

“Oh my …” Rashan mused. “No one told you?”

Juliana made sure her puzzled expression made it clear that
no one had.

“That quake that shook half of Kadris last night was
Brannis,” Rashan said.

Juliana’s puzzled look grew a perplexed aspect.

“The quake?” Rashan said. “The one last night?”

Rashan seemed to be prodding for some sign of dawning
recognition in his oathdaughter’s eyes, but was finding none.

“I sleep soundly.” She shrugged. “What did I miss?”

“A quake shook the palace and half the city felt it.
Everyone knows Brannis has been studying old books of magic—the new airships
are a testament to that—but he seems to have figured out a way to unleash his
Source,” Rashan said.

“Unleash it? You could tie that sorry little thing to a
chair leg with a bit of yarn and it would be held fast,” Juliana joked, though
she never would have voiced that opinion so flippantly had Brannis actually
been present.

“Oh … not anymore,” Rashan said. “I have shielded off his
room and a few adjacent ones damaged in the incident, so none has been in to
see him yet as he recovers from the ordeal—and, yes, he is worse for wear but
will be fine. Once you see for yourself, you may understand what your
grandfather predicted all those years ago.”

“Really?” Juliana remained unconvinced. “Brannis? The same
Brannis who could not light a firefly’s arse in six winters of trying at the
Academy? That Brannis?”

“That one, yes. I have little notion of how much he has
retained from his years there and how much he has gleaned from his more recent
studies, but I suspect he has just enough knowledge to be terribly dangerous
right now. I have the rooms shielded to prevent him bringing down half the
palace trying some other fool experiment,” Rashan huffed.

“You are afraid of him?” Juliana wondered aloud, instantly
regretting it.

Winds, Juliana! Think before saying things like that!

“No, not afraid.” Rashan waved away the notion dismissively.
“I may be the only one
not
in danger around here, excepting Illiardra,
if she has not yet departed. I am concerned that the commander of all Kadrin’s
armies may be more a danger to us than Megrenn at the moment.” Rashan paced
back and forth as he spoke, clearly bothered by the prospect.

“If he is really that strong, would that not be a good
thing? I mean, it is Brannis, after all. He will catch on quick enough,”
Juliana said, trying to sound hopeful. The prospect of Brannis being a sorcerer
was … complicated.

Now?
she thought.
He picks
now
to finally
become a sorcerer? Eight forsaken winters after he gets himself kicked out of
the Academy and ruins our betrothal? He has some explaining to do.

“Oh, of that there is no doubt. I intend to see what use he
can be, and see to what sort of use we can put him. If he can keep the war
running smoothly, though, I will satisfy myself with that,” Rashan said.

“Do they ever? Run smoothly, I mean? Wars.” Juliana stumbled
over the question, her mind pulling itself in six direction at once. She was
worried about Brannis. She was mad at Brannis. She was still wondering what
Rashan had planned for her. She worried that she slept too soundly for her own
good. She was trying to carry on an intelligent conversation. She was wondering
when Iridan would be getting back, and how she was going to face him after
their confrontation.

“None has yet, but I still think this one has a chance.”
Rashan smiled, breaking the tension a bit. “Now if you will excuse me, there are
a great many noblemen I have to go upset.” The warlock unraveled the shielding
spell that had sealed them in the room and seemed about to leave when he
paused. “Oh, and I know that Brannis had a hand in making those daggers. Did he
happen to give them names?”

“Yes,” Juliana answered. “Their names are Duty and Honor.”

One answer, one comment. Both true.

Noting that she still held the blades in hand, she
self-consciously returned them to their hidden sheathes.

“That boy thinks too much,” Rashan commented as he departed,
chuckling.

* * * * * * * *

“Fo how’f evfeybody beem?” Iridan slurred to his foster
mother across the sturdy oak kitchen table of the house he grew up in. The
swelling in his face had gone down, but it would take time to regrow new front
teeth. Iridan had taken the wagon ride out to the countryside on the seat next
to his father, but his mother had ridden in back, bundled up in blankets to
keep warm in the early spring air. They had barely had a chance to talk.

“Well, Dabby’ll be married in the fall; you’ll come out for
that, war permittin’, I s’pose?” Ma Korian asked. Iridan nodded in reply; it
was easier than talking. “Hadon’s joinin’ the army; says that bein’ your
brother got him into the regular army ’stead of them conscripts. They’ll train
him up a proper soldier. Meren is takin’ over more’n more ’o the farmin’ now
that Pa’s back gives him trouble—drives the oxen and ever’thin’. Ailie is
expectin’ sometime in the summer; she lives in Pevett now with that man ’o
hers. Writes more often’n you do, though.” She gave Iridan a playful glare.

“Fahwee, Ma,” Iridan apologized, frowning at his own
inability to speak.

His father saw his dismay. “Aww, ya still talk better’n
Hadon, an’ he’s got all his teeth still. Leastwise ya can grow ’em back. Us reg’lar
folk hafta just live ’thout ’em if’n we lose ’em,” Pa Korian reassured Iridan.
“Them wood swords ain’t toys.”

Iridan had not the heart to tell them it was Juliana who did
it to him. He had blamed an accident in the training yard the morning after the
wedding. They had left Kadris before the rumors of what really happened began
to seep in amidst the lies Rashan put out. The warlock had wanted to deflect
signs of strife in the new marriage.

“We’ll have porridge ’stead o’ stew tonight. No tough bits
to gnaw through. Sure’n be easier’n chewin’,” Ma promised.

Would I talk like them, had I not gone off to the
Academy?
Iridan wondered.

The practice of magic required precise diction, at least
until a sorcerer reached the point of casting spells with no diction at all.
All the students had proper enunciation beaten into their heads, sometimes
literally.

If I had just kept quiet about my magical powers as a
boy, could I have just lived out here, met some nice shy local lass, and
settled in to raising barley and milking cows? It felt so … right sleeping in
my own bed last night.

“Aww wight, Ma,” Iridan managed. “Buh I godda go bag affa
dinnew. Twaining tomowwow.”

“So soon? That war-looker ain’t much for recup’ratin’ ya, is
he?” Ma scolded Iridan in lieu of having Rashan present to chastise. They had
only spoken to the warlock briefly, prior to the ceremony.

“Gomma be a wawlog,” Iridan said.

Yes,
Iridan thought to himself with a sigh,
a
wawlog …

* * * * * * * *

Why am I doing this?
Juliana asked herself as she
headed for the warlock’s chambers. She did not expect to actually find Rashan
within, but that was not the cause of her confliction.
She has as much
reason to be angry with me as Rashan does but that does not mean she has
overlooked it as well. Still, if anyone can get me past that thrice-cursed
warlock’s wards, it would be her.

Juliana arrived at the door out of breath. She had not been
aware of the haste she had been making in her journey across the palace and up
three flights of stairs. She took a moment to compose herself and calm her
breath. She attempted to knock on the door, but it opened as her knuckles were
about to rap against the wood.

Of course she knew I was out here.

“Come in, child,” a lyrical voice beckoned from within, “and
do not worry yourself. I am not half the monster Rashan is and he saw fit to
leave you alive.”

It was not the most reassuring greeting she had ever
received, but she had certainly heard worse. Juliana stepped into the room with
her oathmother. Illiardra sat languidly on the sill of one of the room’s
massive windows, a hefty tome open in front of her, floating unsupported save
by aether.

“I suppose you must want to know how it happened …” Juliana
began, attempting to break the ice before asking favors.