by J. S. Morin
“We have no heading,” Captain Mulrak reported. “We’ll have to climb above again to check the sun.”
“Just keep going,” Axterion replied. “We’re not here to find, so much as to be found.”
The pieces all fit. Years ago, he had helped Brannis unravel the mystery of the demons’ hiding place. Though he had never reported back about it, Axterion had long suspected that the boy had found them. Direct intervention was the only explanation for why the interior of Podawei could remain unknown to the Kadrin Empire despite history’s greatest sorcerers and warlocks originating from within their borders. To think that mere happenstance or some natural phenomenon could keep so many curious eyes from learning their secrets defied logic. Many had never believed in the existence of demons; that was one great defense their secret had. But Axterion believed. He had known demons—by the winds he’d had tea with them. Now he finally had the impetus he needed to go looking.
Hours passed. The trees betrayed nothing. No stump marked a logger’s work. No trail wove among the gnarled and serpentine roots that broke the forest floor. No cut or rope around a trunk marked a trail. The Dragon’s Kiss flew low, for most of the branches started higher than the rooftops of Kadris, and posed the greatest threat to their flight—as far as the crew knew. Axterion held rank enough that he needed no justification for his orders. Being known as gruff, crotchety, and the only one who kept Warlock Danilaesis in line, kept most from arguing.
If only he could keep Danilaesis in line.
The mood of the crew was tense. It didn’t take a captain’s keen instincts to tell that much. It also didn’t take a naturalist’s study to know that the trees around them were obscenely old. The buildings in Kadris—some of them, anyway—dated back more than a thousand winters, but they were stone and all stone looks the same when runes preserve it through the ages. The mountainous trunks humbled the sky sailors, and it was not a humility that became them. They had become ants at the feast table, just noticing the gods that loomed above.
Several times more, the captain looked at Axterion with a question poised on his lips. A glare would shove that question back to where it came from. Let the men grumble and gossip and fret. There were more dangerous duties they could have been called to, and ones with far less urgency for the empire. Axterion had no patience for soldiers who didn’t soldier.
The ship stopped. Axterion had given no order, and neither had the captain. But it was not the drifting halt that required an anchor. One moment the Dragon’s Kiss had been drifting along, the next it was not. Glancing around for answers, Axterion noted that the sailors had stopped as well, frozen mid-action in whatever task had occupied them.
Letting his eyes slip into aether-vision, Axterion scanned the area. The Sources of the ancient oaks and pines blotted out most of the detail in the aether. But Axterion’s eye for aether was keen. Though he had felt nothing, no disturbance of the aether at all, the ship and crew were all enchanted. It was the first part of their mysterious halt that had made sense. Now the question became: who worked such subtle magic that his sensitive Source had detected nothing at all amiss? There was one simple way he could think of to find out.
“Come on out and show yourself, you ghost-Sourced old bugger,” Axterion shouted into the wilderness. He walked around the ship, looking for any sign of someone approaching. “You’ve as much as admitted you’re around, now get over here and face me, before I go hoarse. I’m looking for Illiardra.”
“You’ve found her.”
Axterion spun to find the demoness behind him. Illiardra wore the garb of a peasant musician and carried a harp beneath her arm. It was a change from the fey dresses she wore when acting as Rashan’s consort, but he supposed clothing tastes were fickle among her kind. “How’d you do that?”
“You’re not as perceptive as you believe.”
“I need your help.”
Illiardra had a laugh life a child, bubbly and lacking self-consciousness. “What do you need my help with? I am no subject of your empire.”
“Technically, your whole forest is inside the Kadrin Empire.”
“No mortal creature has set foot in this forest and left alive,” Illiardra replied. “How then do you think it yours?”
Axterion waved a hand between them, as if swatting away flies. “Forget that. I’ve got a warlock problem.”
“Young Danilaesis?”
“We don’t grow them in orchards,” Axterion snapped. “Of course Danilaesis. He’s got it in his head he’s the next Rashan, and I’m losing my grip on his leash. I figured I needed the world’s leading expert on taming madman warlocks.”
“I failed with Rashan,” Illiardra pointed out.
Axterion scoffed. “After a hundred winters. I’d be happy for a season or two of peace from the boy’s tantrums.”
“What do you expect me to tell you?”
“If I knew what you’d tell me, I wouldn’t have come,” Axterion replied. “You can talk to him though. He associates you with Rashan; he might take better heed of what you say.”
Illiardra shook her head. “I have no association with the boy.”
Axterion gritted his teeth and scowled. He was unaccustomed to dealing with his elders, nor was he in the habit of resorting to cheap tricks to get his way. Above all, however, he hated to lose. “He’s as much a product of your failure as Iridan.”
Illiardra rose, her delicate feet leaving the deck of the ship until she looked Axterion in the eye. “Leave my son out of this.”
“Rashan pushed Iridan until he got himself killed,” Axterion continued. “No denying that. Even Rashan admitted his fault there. Well, he put those same fool notions into the boy, and now Danil’s grown enough to put those deadly notions into practice. Except he’s not Rashan; not as strong, not as cunning. Imagine Rashan on his most bloodthirsty day, and you’ve got Danilaesis. He’s headed down a mountain pass toward a bridge that won’t take his weight. Except he thinks he’s feather-light, thanks to that bloody warlock of yours. Tell me how this isn’t your problem?”
“I was not Rashan’s keeper,” Illiardra replied. “In the end, his decisions were his own. I could not redeem him.”
“Hope’s not lost on the boy yet. He’s crazed as a cat in a bathtub, but he’s not so set in his ways. Rashan had a hundred forty summers before you met him. Danil’s only thirteen. Humors do some strange things to a boy at that age, but he’s got it worse than most. Set him to rights now, and you can spare everyone a load of hurt.”
“He would not listen to me,” Illiardra replied. “I am a woman, and no warrior. In the heat of youth, he would think of me as a conquest, to make himself a true heir to Rashan’s legacy.”
“A good knock in the head would cure him of that.”
“And I am not the one to supply such chastisement,” said Illiardra. “There is another though, to whom he might pay heed. You had another grandson … he could serve your need.”
“Brannis?” Axterion asked, frowning in puzzlement. “He’s been dead six winters now, ever since … aw, bugger all. You must know something about him that I don’t, or you wouldn’t have mentioned him. Brannis isn’t dead, then, I take it? Where’s that boy been? We could’ve used him all these winters, and who cares if the empress blames him for Rashan’s death.”
“He is blamed rightly, though by the wrong name,” Illiardra replied. “I know you are aware of the twinborn, Axterion Solaran; your wife was one of their number. It was not Brannis, but rather his twin who possessed the magical power to end Rashan’s immortality. If I do bear some blame for the state of your grandson, it is but a small measure. To atone for that small measure, I will bring word to your other grandson that you need his help with Danilaesis Solaran.”
Axterion rubbed his chin. “I suppose. I wouldn’t mind seeing Brannis myself. Blast it all, where’s that boy been?”
Illiardra ignored the question as rhetorical. “I will return you to your city, along with your ship. The crew must remain with us.”
“Pardon me?” Axterion replied. “I think I just misheard you. You’re not kidnapping these men. I’ll have this forest down around your ears.”
“I am not the only one of my kind to take note of your presence,” said Illiardra. “The warning spells alerted me while I was visiting another world. A dozen more of my kind are watching us right now. You blundered in, and only by the grace of my intervention are you being allowed out. Just you. Consider yourself honored by the exception.”
“Now just you—”
There was a swirl of aether as Illiardra’s magic grabbed hold of him, and Axterion was swept into the void between worlds, the place where aetherial transport was possible. Unseen forces tugged and prodded, but he knew his way in the space between worlds. Those forces tried to drag him off in the direction of Kadris. Axterion dug his mind’s heels into the aether and held his ground. Time passed slowly there he knew, and so after a struggle that felt like minutes, he knew that hardly a blink had passed in Podawei Wood. When he reappeared in the same spot he had occupied a moment before, the shock on Illiardra’s face was plain.
“—listen here,” he continued. “You may have been born when this world was a ball of clay in the gods’ hands, but I’ve been around a while myself. You won’t shoo me away like some thick-tongued sorcerer garbling out his spells and waving his fingers in the air. You may have a subtle way with aether that you can work it without drawing it in first, but when I call the aether, it answers. Now, if you’d like to bandy spells back and forth to see if you can evict me by trickery before I cave in that demon Source of yours to find out what immortals are made of, by all means, let’s. But unless you’re willing to roll up those sleeves of yours and fight me over it, I’m leaving here with all the men I came with.”
Illiardra drifted a step back, her feet dangling in mid-air. “Perhaps the madness in Danilaesis’s blood is hereditary.”
Axterion snapped his fingers. It was a showy gesture, and it had nothing to do with the exacting work of pulling apart the spell that held the crew of the Dragon’s Kiss in thrall. But with a grunt of effort, Axterion freed them—and the ship as well. He gave Illiardra a glare he perhaps ought to have used on Danilaesis long ago—the look that demanded obedience and promised death.
“We’re going now. If I don’t hear from my other grandson in five days’ time, I’ll be back, and I won’t be alone.”
And he went.
Chapter 20
“When you take the short path through learning, you learn only the short path.” –Takalish proverb
Cadmus and Harwick sat across a table next to one of the panoramic windows of the Jennai’s finest dining hall. The room had been cleared except for a few guards near the entrance, and Vaulk, who was acting as both chef and waiter. A clutter of paper filled the space between them, along with a mug of ale for Cadmus, a wineglass for Harwick, and a platter of sugar-dusted pastries for them to share.
“This is all quite detailed,” Harwick commented. “I’ll need some time to pore over it on my own. If you don’t mind me asking, did you put this all together since my agreement with the Megrenn boy, or did you have this all tucked away on speculation?”
Cadmus shrugged and took a swig of ale. The negotiation had gone well. Harwick was experienced in politics and needed no hand holding. “There was nothing to speculate over. I’d never thought of sending you to the Kadrins as an ambassador. That’s not my fight. Far as I’m concerned, the boy was a consultant, not an ally. If getting peace in your world gets me more use out of him, all the better. Rust it all, I wouldn’t mind your help once this matter boils down.”
“I still have my responsibilities in Acardia. I’ve been remiss on that count as it stands.”
“Well, don’t you forget about finishing those books,” Cadmus said. “There are some real diamonds in all that coal. I look ten years younger and feel twenty.”
Harwick chuckled. “I look twenty younger and feel forty. Blazes, Cadmus, you weren’t that old to begin with.”
“I worked for a living,” Cadmus replied. “I might have been able to buy and sell half of Acardia, but I got there working with my hands. Takes more of a toll than years alone would account for.”
Vaulk stopped by the table with a pair of pitchers, refilling both men’s drinks. “Anything else I can get you gentlemen?”
“Nothing for me, thanks,” Cadmus replied.
“You wouldn’t know any Veydran confections, would you?” Harwick asked. “I might as well get my palate acclimated to the food.”
“Sorry,” Vaulk replied. “I mostly do Korrish and Acardian. I can bake you a batch of spiced crescents if you like.”
Harwick waved him away. “Fine, go bring something distracting.” He waited until Vaulk had left the dining hall. “Do you know I once thought that man’s twin was a Megrenn spy?”
“I’m the one who got him out of Acardia before your people hanged him for treason.”
Harwick snorted. “If we didn’t hang Denrik Zayne, why would we hang a disloyal baker?”
“He wasn’t disloyal,” Cadmus replied. “He was finding Korrish twinborn for me. And he’s good enough with politics that he helped me put together our agreement. All but that one letter that Anzik wrote in your language.”
“It bothers you, doesn’t it?” Harwick asked, smirking over his wine glass.
“I’d like you to read it aloud before I send you off with it.”
Harwick raised an eyebrow. “You know, I hated dealing with you as a businessman. You knew when you had a man pinned by his purse strings, and you never let him forget it. But you’d have made a fair politician with a bit of polish. Bit ham-fisted, asking me outright, but the distrust is well-placed. I don’t know what the boy is playing at either, but I’ll take the opportunity to see my second home again.”
“And your son …”
Harwick paused, lips pursed. “Not sure I’m going to like what I see. Whatever that boy’s twin did to get his own allies to turn on him, I hope it hasn’t taken root in Danilaesis. Unfortunately, I fear you might have only heard the echo, not the scream.”
Cadmus pushed a page across the table. It was written in a more delicate hand than the treaties and notes penned by Cadmus and Greuder. “Aloud.”
Harwick sighed and took the letter in hand, adjusting his spectacles. After a moment’s struggle, he took them off and chuckled. “Haven’t any need of them, it seems.” He cleared his throat and began to read:
“Greetings and so forth. On behalf of the Ghelk, Megrenn, Safschan, Narrack, and all the other peoples of the Megrenn Alliance, I extend the following offer of peace. I propose a redrawing of borders … he goes on in some length as to a proposal … I would also propose a reduction in standing military forces to no more than one active soldier per eighty citizens … Kadrin had one per twenty-four, last I knew … and a moratorium on airship travel over one another’s territory until such time as trade relations are established, which may be negotiated in future treaties. I would also propose regular summits between sorcerous officials of all treaty signatories, and the designation of a neutral third party for arbitrating disputes … by the winds, I think the boy’s been reading my Acardian legal framework for the post-monarchy era. He goes on for a while on the particulars and gives some tentative suggestions. Oh here’s a bit near the end: and should you decline to accept the premise of negotiations, the Megrenn Alliance is prepared to reach farther afield for allies, and expand the conflict until such time as we are able to overmatch the Kadrin Empire. I hope that with reason ruling our actions, we can avoid the needless loss of life that would ensue. Signed, Anzik Fehr.”
“Looks like more is written than just a name at the end,” Cadmus said, pointing to the bottom of the page. He had followed along as Harwick read, watching for signs that the former Veydran twinborn was making things up instead of reading them, but he had found none.
“Oh, just the boy’s formal title,” Harwick said. “Similar to Kadrin titles, it’
s a fire that belches more smoke than it should. He claims to be elder sorcerer of the Megrenn Alliance—certainly not by age—protector of the Ghelkan people, betrothed to Princess Anju, and heir of Loramar. That last bit’s puff if I ever heard it. My twinborn spy network has withered in recent years, but I know that it was his father that unearthed Loramar’s tomb and took up the title of heir. I don’t think that’s the sort of thing that’s hereditary.”
“Who’s Loramar?” Cadmus asked.
“The last one to seriously threaten the Kadrin Empire,” Harwick replied. “A necromancer—that’s a sorcerer that brings the dead to semi-life and makes armies of them—he had a grudge with Rashan’s conquest of Ghelk, and nearly succeeded in wiping us from the face of Veydrus a hundred winters—er, years—ago.”
Cadmus took another swig of ale as he pondered something. “Is that boy one of those necromancers?”
Harwick smiled in reply. “Probably.”
Kezudkan ambled along at the head of a procession through the tunnels of the daruu city. It had no name; it was simply “the city” in their tongue. That was going to change, he assumed, once word spread of Veydrus. The Korrish daruu that followed him gawked and questioned, exchanged greetings with Veydran natives, and just generally enjoyed the feel of bare feet on the stone. All of them wore cloth, but he could see the envious gleam in their eyes at the precious metals worn by the upper class daruu of Veydrus.
Taking the low road through the market quarter, Kezudkan fielded questions of every sort. How did they get their water pumped in? How did they get by without humans or kuduks to do the ox-work? Did the daruu of Korr ever live like this? Kezudkan answered all the questions he could, but deferred others for when they dined with their hosts that evening.
“Do they accept payment in tenar?” his cousin Ilgadru asked, eyeing a suit of silver chain.
Kezudkan grinned. “No, but if you like, I can put it on my credit. It turns out I have quite a tidy fortune at my disposal, thanks to the use of my machine.”