by J. S. Morin
With that, Gravis turned away from Rashan. Iridan was impressed, despite hoping for the confrontation that apparently was not forthcoming. He had yet to see anyone best Rashan at wordplay, despite he and Brannis being around each other so much, and Brannis being pretty good at twisting people around in a conversation.
“Have you seen the emperor?” Rashan called after him. “I had hoped to present myself to him tonight.”
Gravis spoke over his shoulder as he walked away: “Emperor Dharus does not like these affairs. He keeps to himself mostly.”
Frowning, Rashan set off to make the acquaintance of the important personages of the modern empire. Iridan followed after and caught up with him.
“I had really hoped to see you draw against the high sorcerer,” he said. “I bet you would have beaten him.”
“Of course I would have. You yourself could offer him a challenge. I was just offering a quick answer to the mystery he does not want solved, and I would have offered it up with a fistful of humiliation. However, I was not planning to kill him,” Rashan said.
“Why would you kill him?” Iridan asked, puzzled.
“I knew you overheard the second reason he gave. I assumed you knew the story. I skipped my final two ranks at the Academy to become warlock and enter the emperor’s service. On Ranking Day, after brushing aside all the students, I called out the high sorcerer, my grandfather, and challenged him to a draw.
“Well, he cursed me and insulted me, but he could not rightly refuse. He did take the time to remind me of the only previous time a student had challenged a member of the Circle—in that case one of the faculty of the Academy. That draw had resulted in the faculty member winning, and he used his stored aether to kill the student where he stood for his ‘impudence.’
“Well, I took that poorly, and when I bested High Sorcerer Kormar Solaran, I blasted him to ash. Then I went over to the emperor and offered him my services as warlock. Escelon the Fourth liked the thought of having a warlock and had never gotten on well with Kormar, so that was that. I made many enemies that day, but I made the only ally that mattered.
“Gravis obviously suspected he was to play the part of Kormar tonight. Sadly I just wanted to prove a point. I have no grudge with him, despite the whole incident with the dungeon earlier. I practically goaded him into it.”
“So what will you do now?” Iridan asked.
“The hour is late. If he is not attending the revel, I will not disturb the emperor tonight. I shall see him in the morning,” Rashan said, shrugging nonchalantly. “I think—”
“Oh, I do not think the emperor is in Kadris,” Iridan interrupted. “He is likely at his seaside palace this time of autumn.”
Rashan frowned. “Hmm. If I set out tonight, I could make it there on foot by morning.”
Iridan gave him a skeptical look.
“I would prefer to skip dealing with Gravis and just have the emperor reinstate me,” Rashan said. “Even peace-loving Tameron would not have refused the services of a warlock, wanted more like me even, to defend the Empire. This Emperor Dharus will surely prove reasonable.
“If you will excuse me.” Rashan nodded to Iridan and started for the door. “Oh, and Iridan, try to find some company. This is a revel.”
Rashan smiled back at him as he made his exit.
Chapter 18 - Usurpers Usurped
Rashan could have used magic to cross the distance to the Palace of Waves in but a few heartbeats, but with all night to spare, he wanted to see his homeland as he traveled. Using magic to speed his stride, he jogged across the countryside quick as a startled hare.
He crossed rolling hills of pastureland and plots of furrowed rows of corn and wheat and barley that had been harvested earlier in the season. Under the night sky, the colors were muted, but forcing his vision to the world of color and light, he could make out enough to experience the simple beauty of the Kadrin landscape.
Where the moonlight caught the trees, he could make out yellows and oranges and reds among the foliage, and fallen leaves crunched lightly under his step. Towns and villages dotted the land, their lamps and candles showing pricks of light against the slumbering darkness of the mortal world. Rashan could name all of them in this millennia-old corner of the Empire; there were so many things in the heart of the Empire that changed slowly enough that even an immortal could recall them from his youth.
On and on he ran, leaping over small streams and dancing lightly across the Darfall River, its smooth flowing water shimmering under the moon’s glow. He cut through Reislor, a small township where they made the wine he had always preferred, darting through the streets and giving the nocturnal residents a moment’s pause before they dismissed his passing as a trick of the eye. He noticed the faint change of light and knew that the predawn was approaching, and so altered his course and headed for the seacoast.
He raced down the rocky beach and veered straight into the water. The shoreline was on the Fallreach Inlet, and he meant to cross the short way, avoiding an hours-long detour by land. Leaping atop one of the larger rocks, he vaulted up above the waves, continuing his run on the water as he landed, as if he were in meadow of undulating earth.
On the far shore, he could see his destination, the Palace of Waves, set on a rocky cliff overlooking the sea. The palace was a coastal fortress, as functional as it was luxurious. Many an emperor had made it his adopted home, with the natural beauty of the sea to the south and east, and pastoral countryside and the villages of Brekt and Puhr just inland to the west and north, respectively. The quiet available away from court in Kadris was also a compelling reason to spend much time at Waves.
He had timed his journey well enough. He would be there shortly after dawn. He hoped Emperor Dharus was an early riser.
* * * * * * * *
Rashan made a quick check of his garb, cleansing it of dust and sea spray he had accumulated on his trek, then levitated up the side of the cliff, to the level of the palace. Built of piled and fitted granite blocks fifteen centuries ago, it was not half the work of art the Imperial Palace in Kadris was, but it possessed a gravitas that accompanies extreme old age in a structure. The palace and surrounding lands had been a part of the Empire so long that most folk had forgotten it was conquered land. Folk had long stopped thinking that Brekt and Puhr were odd words in the Kadrin tongue, and merely added their own dialect atop the names to make them sound right. The palace had once been the seat of power of a kingdom known as Strachlann, and which once ruled nearly half the continent, in the days when they boasted twin brothers who were both warlocks.
But now the palace was an escape for the Kadrin emperor from the duties of rulership. He could retreat to the Palace of Waves and leave the running of the Empire in his advisers’ hands. For many an emperor, it was best that they rule little and delegate much. From the lack of concern of the emperor’s absence, Rashan suspected that this emperor was one of those. It mattered little once he was taken back in. He would serve the emperor via explicit orders, or by vague ideas and a license to carry them out at his discretion, whichever his highness preferred.
Rashan walked around to the front gate and announced himself to the sentries on duty. The unfamiliar garb of a warlock confused them, but it bore enough resemblance to the vestments of the Inner Circle that they hurriedly sent someone to fetch one of Emperor Dharus’s councilors. Despite the guards’ protestations, Rashan did not wait outside but walked right past them and to the audience chamber.
After but a few moments, a tall, broad-shouldered woman with black hair to match her black robes entered the chamber as well.
“Who are you really?” she demanded, crossing her arms and attempting to look stern.
Rashan had seen such bravado too many times, though, and saw through the front put forth and realized the fear it hid.
“I am who I said I am: Rashan Solaran. I have returned, and I would give my fealty to Emperor Dharus, whom I have regrettably not yet met,” he replied, with a slight bow at the waist.<
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“Emperor Dharus does not wish to be disturbed. He has a standing order that none but his personal attendants enter his presence. I apologize if you have come all this way, but you will not see him,” the sorceress explained.
“I think it is time he consider an exception to that order. Go to him and tell him that I am here. I doubt his tutors would have left me out of his history lessons. He will change his mind,” Rashan said.
His patience was waning by the moment. He was unaccustomed to having to deal with lesser advisers of the emperor obstructing his access to his liege.
“Sir, if you are a loyal servant of the emperor, you will honor his wishes and—”
“What rank are you? Fourth Circle?” Rashan snapped, interrupting her practiced dismissal. “What is your name, child?”
“Um, Shaeila Archon … and I am Third Circle,” she added indignantly.
Before she could resume her attempt to send him away, Rashan continued: “Well, Shaeila Archon, Third Circle, I am Warlock in this Empire, and if you do not head straight to His Majesty and present my petition for audience, I am going to rip the Source clear out of you,” Rashan spat. “Now, GO!” And he pointed back toward where, he knew from many previous visits, the emperor’s private suites were located.
Without even replying, Shaeila Archon took a few quick steps back away from Rashan, then turned and fled from the room. Rashan missed the days when he could issue orders and they got obeyed with little to no fuss. He sensed a clear lack of strong leadership and discipline among the upper echelons of the Empire these days.
Rashan paced the audience chamber and waited for the Archon girl to return. He looked at the throne and could picture Liead sitting there, with his empress seated on the arm and little Merenon in his lap. He wondered what kind of emperor this Dharus would turn out to be, though he knew in his heart he would not find another like Liead again.
“He will not see you,” Shaeila called from the doorway where she was peeking out. “Please, return to Kadris and serve the emperor by serving High Sorcerer Gravis.”
She pulled away from the doorway and scurried down the hall. Rashan, though, would have none of it.
He may tell me whatever he likes, but I will speak with Dharus.
He started down the hall she had taken. He could hear her footsteps racing away ahead of him, growing distant. If she thought to elude him, she need not have bothered. He knew very well where he was heading and cared little for whomever else he might find along the way. He was finished taking their excuses and diversions, and had no intention of waiting any longer. Rashan headed right for the emperor’s suites.
The double doors to the sitting area of the suite were locked with a ward, but he tore the ward to shreds and pushed the doors open anyway. The sitting area was empty, but he heard voices out in the gardens. He made his way through the velvet-covered furnishings and out into the garden.
Despite the brisk chill in the air, the outdoor garden was kept verdant through magic. Species of flowers and other plants from throughout the empire and from lands beyond bloomed in a mosaic of colors all about the garden. Rashan had taken to growing lotus flowers of his own, but mostly for the aether they produced in abundance, not for any love of botany. The splendors of the garden were lost on him in his foul mood.
On the far side of the garden, he saw two sorceresses: Shaeila and an older blonde woman. Both were conferring with a lounging figure, in white silks, that ought to have been the emperor.
“Rashan Solaran, I presume. Be gone, I say. Back to Kadris with you. You would serve me? So be it, but do not disturb me,” the emperor called across the garden in a lilting tenor that gave every indication of idleness and indolence. He sounded as if he could not be bothered to meet Rashan.
Rashan, however, paid the voice little attention. Something that the two sorceresses clearly had not counted on was that Rashan preferred aether-sight almost exclusively. He saw clearly in the aether that there was no emperor in the garden. What was being shown to him, what was speaking to him, was an elaborate puppet constructed of aether. Rashan’s eyes narrowed dangerously as he strode toward the two presumptive puppeteers.
“Stop! I command you, as your emperor, stop!” the puppet called out.
Rashan reached into the aether and grabbed at the tiny loose edges available to be found on the excellently crafted spell. With a mighty mental effort, he began unraveling it as he approached, and the “emperor” wavered and flowed and then dissipated entirely.
“Where. Is. The. Emperor?” Rashan spoke slowly and clearly, lest there be the slightest misunderstanding.
He pulled Heavens Cry from its sheath. Neither of the sorceresses had likely ever been threatened with a blade before, and both were clearly unnerved by both Heavens Cry—a wicked-looking implement to be certain—and its wielder, who was either a madman or a warlock, and very possibly both.
“W-W-Warlock Rashan,” the elder sorceress stammered. “That was all the emperor there was.”
She fell to her knees and hung her head, expecting to die. Her hair fell in front of her face, and there was a sniffling whimper as she began to cry. Shaeila leaned away, as if hoping to pass unnoticed as Rashan’s attention was fixed on her companion.
The crying sorceress began to lift into the air, until her head was up even with Rashan’s, or just slightly above, so he could see her face.
“First, you will tell me your name and circle. Then you have possibly ten breaths to explain what you just said. Speak truthfully and I might not kill you.”
Much more than ten breaths later, after a lengthy conversation with the older sorceress, Rashan himself rose into the air, and a great shimmering sphere of aether enveloped him. The air shook with power, and aether from every direction rushed in a torrent into it. When it suddenly vanished, Rashan was gone as well.
And neither of the two sorceresses had been killed.
* * * * * * * *
In the courtyard before the Tower of Contemplation in Kadrin, a shimmering sphere of aether appeared briefly. When it suddenly vanished, a very angry warlock dropped lightly to the ground. Had anyone been close by when this happened, they would have noted the somewhat incongruous scent of a dozen or more species of flower before it dissipated in the fresh morning air.
Rashan stalked right toward the tower, drawing in aether as he went. He tore open the door, nearly wrenching it from its hinges. The startled attendants just within scrambled to clear a path for the warlock as he made for the stairs. Rashan moved purposefully as he ascended, but did not rush; he was still drawing in aether.
By the time he reached the top, many of the lower floors of the tower were cleared of staff. Rumors of Rashan’s return had spread, and the furious demon marched up the tower stairs as he sucked in more aether than any of them would have believed in a tale; that was reason enough for most sensible folk to find elsewhere to be.
As he walked into the Sanctum, those of the Inner Circle who kept one eye to the aether were forced to blink back to normal vision, lest they be blinded in their aether-sight; Rashan was nearly as bright in the aether as the sun was in the sky.
“Warlock Rashan,” Gravis Archon said, “this council has other business to attend to. If you will kindly return after highsu—”
A hand clasped around Gravis’s throat. The high sorcerer gasped as he was slammed against the back wall of the Sanctum, where a leaping Rashan Solaran had just pinned him, Heavens Cry held poised to strike in his other hand.
“For nearly forty winters, there has been no emperor?” Rashan screamed the question in Gravis’s ear.
The rest of the Inner Circle, those who had already been in attendance in the Sanctum at least, looked on in horror. Those who had been busy in their offices below came up to their desks cautiously to see what was befalling.
“We did what we could when Tameron the Second died suddenly, leaving only a boy for an heir. When Dharus died not long after, we had no other choice,” Gravis gasped.
Ra
shan noticed the high sorcerer trying to draw aether and slammed him against the wall to break his concentration. The sorcerers watching from within the chamber winced collectively, but none dared intervene; Rashan was nearly glowing in the visible light range by that point.
“No other choice? What of cousins, uncles? There must have been a legitimate heir somewhere,” Rashan insisted.
“We were better suited. The Circle has always been the guiding hand of—”
“TRAITOR!”
* * * * * * * *
On the streets of Kadrin that morning, the ground shook and a noise was heard unlike any before, a great thunderous crash. Those who had a clear sight line to the Tower of Contemplation could see a cloud of dust and smoke rising from a hole near the very top.
And those with very good vision could make out the black-clad figure standing in that hole, one foot set upon the blasted rock that was once part of the rune-carved wall, surveying the empire that he had, quite possibly, just conquered.
Chapter 19 - That Witch I Fear
A harsh knocking awakened Kyrus, coming from downstairs. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut to gather the strength to open them properly, and blinked several times to clear the blur he saw at first. The knocking repeated as he rolled out of his bed and found his shoes. He had fallen asleep fully clothed, which left him one way-marker of etiquette closer to being able to answer the door to polite company. He stumbled down the stairs as he tried to bring his mind around from its torpor.
“One moment,” he called down ahead of him, hopefully forestalling any further knocking. He paused briefly to run his fingers through his matted and tangled hair quickly before opening the door.