Aethersmith (Book 2) (57 page)

“You know I prefer a clean death. This sort of business
reminds me of the Kadrins. I will not presume to tell you your job, though.
Yesterday was torment, waiting for word of the prisoner relenting,” Jinzan
said. He looked better rested than his claims would have led one to believe. He
would not leave Zorren without an answer to the question of what the Kadrin spy
knew of the Staff of Gehlen … and of Anzik.

“It was your idea that even let us keep him captive this
well. I have never questioned a sorcerer before. At least, not under such
duress. It is amazing the difference in the sorcerous mind, compared with the
mind of a soldier or a common sneak.”

“Well, let us get on with this,” Jinzan grumbled.

He followed Narsicann down the dungeon passageway, unused
cell after unused cell. Iron doors, iron bars, a place for souls forged of
iron, with hearts that were cold lumps of stone.

The Kadrin spy was in the last cell on the right. He hung
limp in his chains, dangling from the wall by his wrists, his buttocks not
reaching the floor to allow him to sit. His head lolled forward, but perked up
at the sound of their approach. The Kadrin was naked, looked to be perhaps
thirty or thirty-five winters in age if the age of a sorcerer was to be judged
thus. Stripped of the illusions he had worn when they found him, he looked
slovenly; his hair was flecked with grey, as was his unshaven scruff. Most
notable about his appearance, though, were the runes covering most of his
flesh, carved in shallow knife-cuts.

“What is his name?” Jinzan asked. He felt sick to his
stomach. The prisoner’s own filth pooled beneath him.

“He has not said. You will find him quite hungry and
thirsty. I told him he would be fed when he gave me a name. He has not even
tried to lie about one,” Narsicann said, visibly less bothered by the
conditions.

“Has he tried to use magic?”

“He figured that one out quickly. I brought some reports
down to read while I waited for him to awaken. He tried to draw as soon as he
woke. The sound alerted me that he was ready to interrogate.”

 A key hung in the lock, a convenience in a place where
sorcerers could almost as easily manipulate the mechanism by magic. Narsicann
turned it, and preceded Jinzan into the room.

The prisoner mumbled something, his voice weak, dry,
incomprehensible.

Narsicann kicked him. After a grunt, the prisoner cleared
his throat, spat, and tried again: “Just Jinzan. The other one can leave.”

Narsicann looked to Jinzan, question clear in his eyes.

“Go ahead. I am in no danger from this one, even turned
loose,” Jinzan reassured him.

Narsicann’s patronizing smile in reply assured Jinzan that
such was not the question he was worried about. “Just give a yell if you need
anything,” Narsicann told Jinzan before exiting the cell.

“Food and water. Whether I give him either remains to be
seen, but I want them at hand.”

There was an awkward silence, broken only by receding
footsteps. The prisoner looked up at him, bloodshot eyes judging him, weighing
him.

“There, you have me all to yourself. Now where is the
staff?”

“Not so simple as that,” the prisoner replied.
“Introductions first, I think.”

“You already know my name. Give me yours.”

“Ah, here is where we make it interesting. I know who
else
you are, Captain Denrik Zayne.” The prisoner grinned with cracked, bleeding
lips. Jinzan’s heart quickened. “That torturer of yours … I had no grasp on his
throat. You, I can deal with.”

“Deal? What sort of deal do you think you can make from that
position, whatever knowledge you may possess?” Despite his bluster, Jinzan
worried that there might be a true answer.

“Here, not much, maybe something. There? Everything.”

“You will have to do better than that.”

“Tanner, for starts,” the prisoner said. “Kyrus set it all
up. Brilliant. Has a sword at Denrik Zayne’s throat. I can give the word.”

Jinzan’s expression turned from annoyed to fury instantly.
He drew aether, and thrust it into the runes on the prisoner’s chest, ignoring
his revulsion at the man’s condition. Lightning sparked and crackled along the
prisoner’s exposed skin. He screamed, thrashing convulsively in his chains.

“You Kadrin bastards! I shall have that wretched swordsman
tossed over the side of the ship. We will see how he fights sharks with that
blade of his. If that was your master plan, it will not work.”

“Backup plan,” the prisoner managed between coughs as he
recovered control of his muscles. “Anzik is twinborn, too.”

Jinzan’s hot blood turned to ice.
No
. His mind fought
to deny it, but the prisoner knew too much. Had he seen clues, and not known
them for what they were? Anzik had always been odd, but had never shown any
knowledge from Tellurak. He had just always been cursed by constantly seeing
aether all around him.

“Where is he?” Jinzan demanded.

“Which one?”

Jinzan hesitated. “Both,” he answered.

“Anzik is in hiding. I do not know quite where. His twin is
asleep within arm’s reach of mine.”

“So is that it?” Jinzan asked, seething. “You would hold a
young boy hostage? Where do you have him?”

“Well inland.” The prisoner managed to make a joke of it.

“So is that the bargain you propose? Your life for Anzik’s
twin?”

“No,” the prison replied. He tried to say something else,
but the words failed him. With effort, he instead said, “Water.”

Jinzan waited for a guard to fetch water and stew. He placed
them well clear of the prisoner as he worked magic to loose him from his
shackles, and deposit him gently on the cell floor away from the muck of his
bodily excretions.

“Your name, now,” Jinzan stated as if fulfilling Narsicann’s
bargain from the previous day.

The prisoner crawled over, and drank sparingly from the jug
of water, seeming to lack the strength to tilt it back far enough to drink his
fill.

“Faolen. Faolen Sarmon, Fourth Circle, personal agent of
Warlock Rashan Solaran. We crossed draws briefly at Raynesdark, though you did
not know it at the time. That is sort of my specialty, or was until you carved
runes into me like that staff you want back so badly.” Faolen picked up the
bowl of stew, seeming surprised to find a wooden spoon in it. He began eating,
poking at the steaming food before he took a bite.

“What deal do you propose then, Faolen Sarmon?”

“My life for the Staff of Gehlen.”

“I thought you did not know where it was,” Jinzan retorted,
having caught Faolen in a lie.

“I do not. I have access to Anzik’s twin, though. I can get
messages through to Anzik. I can get you back both your son and the staff,”
Faolen replied.

“Were you not tasked with finding and retrieving the staff
yourself?” Jinzan asked. “Would that not be a betrayal of your mission?”

“I would buy my own life with it, if I could. Had I not been
caught, I would most certainly have taken the staff back. But I have my
priorities.”

“What of the other boy? If I find the staff on my own, what
becomes of him?”

“I plan no harm to that boy in either case. He is to be my
apprentice. Of course, I could not say what might happen if I were to die here,
or go mad. But I
intend
no harm.”

“Very well, have Anzik bring me the staff, and you may have
your life, Kadrin traitor.”

* * * * * * * *

Rashan was gone. The
Ironspar
had borne him aloft
with a crew of sailors from the navy and the ship’s sea captain. Kyrus gave
even odds of anyone besides the warlock surviving the trials he was sure to put
them all through.

With the warlock gone, Kyrus was in charge of the top-level
affairs of the Empire. Or rather, Brannis was in charge of those, and Kyrus was
tasked with being Brannis. It was getting more complicated the more he thought
about it. Without a complete picture of the state of the Empire, he took
Rashan’s final bit of advice, and sought out Brannis’s uncle Caladris.

The Tower of Contemplation seemed deserted compared with the
energy abounding in the days leading up to the coronation. Kyrus passed several
junior sorcerers along the stairs, the sort who got their assignments and
carried them out; no one who had a choice seemed to be about.
The murders.
The Circle are more in tune to the politics of those killings than I had
realized
. He exchanged perfunctory greetings with a few who recognized him,
but the acquaintances were not mutual.

As he neared the top of the tower, he could hear voices. It
sounded as if the Inner Circle were having a heated debate. It seemed like
meeting with Caladris separately would have to wait. As he summited the
mountainous stairway, he gave a salutatory nod to the two guards flanking the
entrance, their trident-like weapons held at the ready. The guards returned the
nod of the army’s commander, though their own chain of command ran parallel to
his, up through to the Inner Circle. Kyrus stood, and contented himself to wait
out of the session, ready to take Caladris aside immediately afterward.

The conversation within involved too many people talking
over one another for him to make out more than occasional words. All at once,
it broke off.

“What ho! Sir Brannis, that Source of yours gives you away.
Get in here!” he heard Caladris’s voice bellow from within the Sanctum.

One of the guards held out an arm in the direction of the
Inner Circle’s meeting chamber, formally showing Kyrus the way. Kyrus met the
man’s amused expression with a wry smile of his own.
Done in by my own
Source. I wonder which of them keeps an eye to the aether to have noticed me.

Kyrus walked the few paces to the stairs that led up into
the supplicants’ floor of the Sanctum, the center of the Imperial Circle’s
power. He had been there before, but the last time he had attended a full (or
as full as available sorcerers allowed) session, Gravis Archon had been High
Sorcerer. The seating arrangements had moved since then, placing Caladris to
one side of the vacant High Sorcerer’s seat, and Dolvaen to the other.

“Brannis, my boy, come in, come in,” Caladris beckoned.

Kyrus entered the chamber, and stood near to the center. It
was far less intimidating than it had once been. With his aether-vision, he
could see the sorcerers behind him, taking away from the feeling of being
surrounded. He could also tell who were the powers among the Inner Circle, and
he knew them much better than he had his last time before them all.

“We were just discussing you, Sir Brannis,” Fenris added.
The old man to Dolvaen’s other side had a shrewd look to him that morning.

“What about? I take it that you have received Emperor
Sommick’s proclamation, then?” Kyrus ventured a guess. There was little else
about him worth discussing, at least in an open council section.

“Yes, indeed. Are we to believe this document is
legitimate?” Dolvaen asked, cutting to the quick. “I find it hard to believe
the emperor would hand control of the Empire to you so shortly after having
gained it back from Rashan.”

“The emperor was under no compulsion. He read the
proclamation over prior to signing it, and I witnessed the signing myself. My
own signature below his is also authentic,” Kyrus replied.

I ought to have expected them to raise a fuss over this.

“What threat did Warlock Rashan use to obtain this signature?”
Fenris asked. “I do not doubt that it was the emperor’s hand, but I wonder at
his motivation for doing so.”

“Warlock Rashan is quite persuasive. He made the emperor see
reason behind appointing another to take on the daily duties of administering
the Empire. The emperor still has ultimate authority, but he chooses not to be
bothered by the intricacies of rulership. He will drink, and feast, and go
about selecting an empress. He strikes me as well qualified for all three
tasks.”

“You are an admirable wordsmith, Sir Brannis, but you well
admit that Rashan convinced him to leave you in charge of the Empire,” Dolvaen
said. “I would propose that you cede that authority to the Inner Circle. It is
well established that we have kept the Empire operating smoothly for longer
than anyone had realized until a season ago. In light of the likely coercion at
hand, it would be prudent to know that the Empire is in experienced hands.”

“As acting High Sorcerer, that would leave the Empire in
yours, presumably?” Kyrus asked, directing his question solely at Dolvaen.

“In the Inner Circle’s hands, yes. I merely lead them.
Warlock Rashan hinted that he might forgo the title of High Sorcerer, which
would leave me in that position.”

“I thought that Rashan disliked using seniority as the means
to promotion,” Kyrus replied innocently. He knew the ages of the Inner Circle
members well enough to know better.

“Indeed he had made clear as much,” Dolvaen replied. “But as
much as you may credit my life extension both Fenris and Caladris are my
elders. I suppose I ought to take it as complimentary, though. But no, I am in
line for High Sorcerer because of my strength of magic.”

“Ahh, I see. Well, I think I have a solution that would
satisfy both sides. We can allow the emperor’s edict to stand, yet still allow
the Inner Circle to retain charge of Kadrin affairs,” Kyrus said, trying to
keep a smirk from his features.

“You would write an edict of your own, further ceding power
down to us?” Dolvaen asked.

“No.”

“No?”

“Dolvaen Lurien, I challenge you to a draw, for the position
of High Sorcerer, or acting High Sorcerer … whatever post it is you hold.
That
will settle both issues to my satisfaction,” Kyrus proclaimed.

So much for keeping out of politics. I suppose that
document precluded that, though
.

There was a stunned silence in the chamber.