by J. S. Morin
Brannis knew not what to make of that particular group of culinary adventurers, but he wished them all the best and left them to their curious choice of foods. Brannis had felt no different for his meal of dragon and wanted no part in more of it.
* * * * * * * *
“There you are. I looked over half the estate to find you,” Brannis commented, spying Iridan on one of the balconies overlooking the lake.
The young warlock in training was staring out at the water. He did not turn to look at Brannis when he heard him call out.
“I was not hiding, if that is what you are driving at,” Iridan replied. “I just came out here for the quiet. I always took Solstice as a quiet holiday, with no feasting. What is going on inside there is madness.”
“It does not sound like you are finding peace out here, either. I can go,” Brannis said and then turned to leave Iridan to his solitude.
“How do you deal with her?” Iridan asked, finally turning toward Brannis.
Aha, the real reason he is out here alone, thought Brannis.
“Everything I say to her comes out wrong, and it never passes without comment. It does not matter if there are others about, she takes every chance to diminish my dignity.”
“Well, first off, do not blame yourself for whatever you say. She is good at twisting words and ascribing double meanings where none were meant. She knows what you mean as well as you do, so do not let her fool you into thinking you have offended her. There is very little that I have found that truly offends her, and if she persists in harassing you, I just might let you in on what a few of those are. It would be cruel, but on occasion, she has to be reminded that she often is as well. I honestly think that at times she forgets that,” Brannis said.
It felt odd putting Juliana’s person into so few words. She was complicated, and even Brannis only understood her partially. She often cried at night, or at least did when she was younger, and would angrily deny having done so if it was ever mentioned. Brannis thought he knew her as well as anyone, but it still did not explain the half of her. She was outwardly aggressive and confident, but he had glimpsed beyond the façade a few times. Iridan would too, in time, he was sure.
“She has taken me to her bed twice now,” Iridan confided, his tone and sudden lack of eye contact making his embarrassment obvious. “And when she lies atop me, I cannot help to think back to when she would beat me up as a boy. She looks the same now as then, at least in the face. I know it is foolish, but …”
“It is foolish. That was almost fifteen winters ago. You are a grown man now, and she is a grown woman. She could not beat you now if she tried.” Brannis tried to sound convincing, even if he would not have laid good odds to anyone betting against Iridan in such a fight. “Besides, Rashan sees a warlock when he looks at you. Maybe you should start seeing one as well, and not remembering a time when you were the weaker one.”
“Well, maybe, but—”
“She is your problem now. Learn how to deal with her,” Brannis advised. “I cannot be there to protect you from her anymore.”
Brannis continued on his departure, leaving Iridan to ponder what to do about his future wife.
* * * * * * * *
Brannis could not bear any longer to talk with Iridan about Juliana.
She is your problem now. She has been my problem for a long time, so it is about time someone else had to deal with her.
Brannis could not help Iridan in good faith, since he still held on to the remote hope that Juliana would still be his. He just did not know how. Somehow he thought that if he suggested they both abandon their lives in the Empire and run off together, she would agree.
I am Grand Marshal of the Imperial Army. I am favored by the warlock. Would I really give that all away just to be with her?
Brannis found himself greedy: he wanted to have her and all the benefits of his rank and station as well. The decision might not have been as simple as that, either. The warlock was unlikely to be kind in the face of not only his desertion but also his interference in his son’s betrothal.
The trip back from Raynesdark had been filled with temptation as well. He well understood that Celia had been sent to him to divert him from his interest in Juliana, but he had found himself drawn to her regardless. There was a familiarity about her that Kyrus had felt with Abbiley. She was unpretentious, witty, and easy to talk to. She even looked enough like Abbiley that he found himself lusting after her, perhaps on Kyrus’s behalf.
He had objected when Rashan had suggested inviting her to the Solstice celebration with the Solaran household. Brannis had won a tilt against the warlock when he said he thought it ought to just be family present, which would mean that Juliana would not be invited, either. It would give him time with his family and relieve him from the headache of having the two most life-complicating women he knew present at once. Even in the brief time they had both been around, Brannis could not help but notice the enmity between the two—or rather, the enmity that Juliana bore Celia.
* * * * * * * *
By early afternoon, the festivities began outdoors at Solaran Estate. Two games of yalter had begun on the grounds, one for the children and one for the adults. Since Solstice was an event for the household, and not just the family, both games were being played family versus the help. While the kitchen staff was occupied with preparing the evening feast, there were stable hands, porters, gardeners, stewards, and advisers, as well as their own families, all eligible to play.
Upon the great stone terrace of the manor house sat many of the elder members of the household and the women who felt the game too rough for their sensibilities. They drank warmed cider and watched those at play, commenting amongst themselves upon the game or holding discussions unrelated. The common folk kept their own gathering, just outside the roped-off fields of play, and were much more exuberant in their attention to the games. Many looked forward to the yalter games at Solstice, and the delay for Brannis’s return only increased their hunger for the event.
Brannis had always enjoyed the game. His family was generally outmatched by their servants in the adult games, and he had been playing amongst the elders since he was fourteen, trying to even the match in the Solarans’ favor. The older a sorcerer grew, the greater the temptation to leave physical tasks to others or just use magic to complete them. With the strict ban on magic in the friendly games of yalter, this left the laborers of the estate in greater position. A sorcerer in his fortieth summer might still retain much of the vigor of youth, but not so much as a lad of twenty who wrangled horses all day, or a courier whose days were naught but rushing about carrying missives.
Brannis arrived late to the game and found his family already hard pressed. He considered seating himself among the elders and relaxing to watch the game, thinking that finally yalter might be beneath his station. When the players caught sight of him, though, he was quickly disabused of that notion.
“Brannis, there you are. Get over here, now,” his sister Aloisha shouted from the playing field. “This is getting embarrassing.”
Aloisha was eight summers his senior and recently appointed to the Inner Circle, and yet she was out on the yalter field, running and sweating among the commoners and his other relatives. Brannis was thankfully unarmored, safe as he was in his family’s own home, but he carried Avalanche at his hip out of long habit of having a blade wherever he went. He unbuckled his sword belt and left it on the terrace, then ran off to join the game.
* * * * * * * *
“I forget at times how young he is,” Rashan commented quietly to Axterion, who sat beside him watching the children’s game.
He had been pleased to learn that the old man was still alive, though he had been in his forties when Rashan had left the Empire. He had thought at the time he killed Gravis Archon that the last living person who remembered him from his early days had died.
“Hmph. You look younger still. Looks lie. You are no more an unblooded lad than you look, and Brannis is no more a boy than he looks. Thinks t
oo much to be a knight, if you ask me. Broods. Not so much as that boy of yours, though. No, that one thinks the world watches him, and is shamed by it.”
Axterion was in a lucid mood and liked having someone older than him around. Though by rights he could have reclaimed the head position in the household, Rashan had left the honor to Axterion, deferring to him in matters of family. It seemed only fitting, since Axterion knew them all from babes, and Rashan had only recently met most of them.
“He will grow out of that. He has been looked down on for too long. I shall just have to show him the sort of power he really possesses,” Rashan said.
The warlock took a sip of the cider and remembered days that had passed centuries ago. Tradition meant more to those who had more remote times to remember. Rashan had sat upon the same terrace during the reign of Escelon the Fourth, and had drunk cider that tasted much the same as that which he held in his hand.
“You do not even see him out playing at yalter. Boy his age ought to enjoy his vigor while he has it. Too young to be getting caught up in this warlock business,” Axterion said. He was good at complaining; one of the few benefits he saw of his extreme old age was that he could complain about nearly anything with authority.
“I was warlock much younger than him,” Rashan observed, grinning at his great nephew Axterion.
“Bah, and look what that got you! Off to war before you knew a woman. Caught up in bloodthirst and plots of war. Made enemies of well near everyone but the emperors and a few apprentices. You even left a grand mess to clean up when you ran off after the Dead Earth,” Axterion ranted, growing crotchety and loud as he went.
“That is not how—”
“I was not done! You got too much power and responsibility at a young age, and got arrogant for it. It turned you into a liar, a warmonger, and a bully. You thought you were the best at everything, and you were not.”
“Wait a moment—”
“No, I think I will not wait. You turned the Kadrin Empire into a pariah among all the nations of Koriah. Folk would not trade with us, and our folk would turn up dead when they traveled widely. Spent a good many winters trying to prevent them allying together to come crush us after you disappeared. You may have been a good general, but you were a lousy diplomat, a bad father, and a worse author,” Axterion harrumphed.
The old man was breathing heavily after his tirade, and many of the family were surreptitiously listening in to hear the warlock torn down a bit by someone who had little to fear from retribution.
“Are you quite finished?” Rashan asked.
“I think so, yes. Been meaning to yell at you since I heard you were back. First good chance I got. Colossally large mess of yours I had to clear up,” Axterion replied civilly. The fire had gone out of him after he had given his grievances a proper airing.
“I understand the rest, but what was that about being a bad author?” Rashan suspected he had just discovered a key piece of a puzzle he had been curious about since he had found that his room at the palace had been violated.
The old man paused for a moment before answering, as a cheer went up from the yalter field. Someone had just scored for the servants. It seemed that Brannis’s presence was not enough on its own to swing the balance to the family’s favor.
“That book of prophecy you wrote. Pure drivel. Glad you only gave it the one go and stuck with—”
“It was you that broke into my room!” Rashan said. He did not sound quite angry but had rather just found the answer to a question that had dogged him since learning of the book’s disappearance.
“Well … yes. You were thought dead. I was your replacement as High Sorcerer, and I felt it my duty to get into your quarters and see if anything was amiss,” Axterion stated. “You always had an overblown opinion of your rune-carving skills. Those wards were good, but I was better.”
“How did you break through? I found nothing amiss after a century away when I checked on them.”
Rashan was more curious than angry. The old man was entitled to his bragging if he had truly been the one to break into his quarters. Gravis Archon had seemed to think it an impossible task.
“I set up wards all around it, on floors above and below even, diverting aether away from the area. Your ward relied on having a draw of its own. I denied it aether until it weakened, and broke it,” Axterion said. “Then after making a search of the room, I took your book of prophecy and sealed it back up. That ward you saw was my copy of yours.”
A row erupted on the children’s field, as one of the Solaran children was caught using magic on the field of play. Axterion did not have to look to know that it was Danilaesis that was at fault. The boy was too full of his own skills to abide by the simplest of rules. Being among the youngest of the players allowed onto the field, he was too immature to cope with being physically outmatched. He was too short to pass the yalt over his opponents’ heads, and his hands were too small to catch it well. He had settled for spending his time chasing after it and had now started sneaking spells in to disrupt the servants’ children. He was being escorted from the field by his father Caladris, who was overseeing the children’s game.
“Of all the treasures in that room, all you took was that worthless book?” Rashan was incredulous. “After all that work, you found nothing else to your liking?”
“I had no designs of becoming the next warlock. I had no need of your finery or that sword of yours that Brannis now carries.” The old sorcerer nodded in the direction of where Brannis had left Avalanche to go play yalter. “I wanted something distinctive, such that anyone who challenged me could see that I had really been inside. But alas, not one but you ever seemed interested.”
“So where is it? What have you done with it? That sort of thing is dangerous in the wrong hands,” Rashan said, but Axterion waved away his concerns.
“I taught out of it at the Academy for a time, but I have kept it in the family library ever since.”
“You taught from it? You old fool, what kind of troubles have you caused with that nonsense?” Rashan seemed genuinely annoyed with the old man.
“Pshaw. I taught from it, surely. I did not represent what you had written as true prophecy, though. I do not believe there is aether strong enough to pierce the mists of time, but I see the benefits of crafting prophecy to manipulate events. Many prophecies have altered the course of events, but for the knowing of them, not because some pompous fool actually saw it coming. Knowledge of the future, even false knowledge—no, especially false knowledge—is powerful stuff,” the wily old sorcerer said. “Your book was a good example of bland, generic prophecy, written with no talent for it. I used it as an example of prophecy written to sow discord rather than actually predict anything.”
“The others say that your wits are failing you in your dotage, Axterion. I begin to suspect you have them all fooled,” Rashan said, and Axterion just smiled. “So you have not tried to act on any of the prophecies written within? There is one in particular I would worry to have in general knowledge.”
“The one about the Empire being consumed in fire in … oh, about seventy winters from now?” Axterion asked.
Rashan had written that one after a particularly bad day, promising volcanoes and wildfires consuming the Empire in a great blaze from which none would escape.
“No, not that one. There was another, about a monster in the form of a sorcerer …” Rashan did not wish to relate the rest of it with others possibly around to hear.
“Oh, that one. Boring. Never had much use for it. Worried folk might think you predicted your own impersonator, demon?” Axterion hinted. “I would give you more credit than you deserve if you had actually managed that trick. If a demon in your form was undone and discovered by this ‘prophecy’ of yours, it would be the first use for it I have ever found. You are too much of Rashan Solaran to be an imposter.”
Another cheer went up from the yalter field, as the Solarans had scored. With the early twilight approaching, the game would be ending s
oon, and the Solarans had barely scored all match. Iridan had decided to join in for a while but had wearied of it quickly and excused himself with a vaguely explained injury.
“I should like the book back, in any event,” Rashan told the old sorcerer.
Axterion shrugged by way of reply. “Very well. It is yours after all, I suppose. I shall fetch it this evening.”
“Good. The less people see of prophecy the better I shall like it.”
Rashan did not state it, but there were other things within those pages that he did not want seen or spoken about. They had been the idle ramblings of his poorest moods, but many of the “prophecies” had laid bare secret fears and fearful secrets. Of all in the Empire, he most feared Brannis reading what lay within its pages. The boy was too clever by far. Prophecy or no, there was knowledge to be gleaned from those pages, more than Rashan had even realized at the time he wrote them. He would feel safer once he had it safely back in his possession.
* * * * * * * *
The feast had been festive enough, but Brannis’s thoughts were elsewhere. As he retired to his rooms, he did not intend to sleep. He had been to the libraries of the Tower of Contemplation on his way back home and had selected a number of volumes to take back with him for study.
War with Megrenn was a foregone conclusion. Despite the devastation visited upon the goblin army, the Megrenn had lost nothing in the assault and had gained for themselves the Staff of Gehlen. It was an object so old that none Brannis had spoken to had any idea of its powers, save for how it had been used in Raynesdark to keep the volcano dormant. While the winter cold bought Kadrin time, Megrenn would be certain to begin a campaign against them when the weather warmed. With much of their cavalry comprising exotic beasts purchased from across the northern seas, they fought best in hotter climates. It was not an ideal composition for an army, but Megrenn was playing to their strength as great traders and buying what they could not scavenge from their resource-poor lands. With less magical strength than Kadrin, at least for a period stretching from mid springtime to early autumn, they would have the advantage in strength of arms.