by J. S. Morin
"Is that it? Why does he need to see me so urgently?" Kyrus demanded. He had been looking forward to his work on the new speaking stone, and the whims of Emperor Sommick did not interest him.
"The emperor offered no explanation. He merely instructed me to have you to the palace at once."
Kyrus could tell the messenger was enjoying the little thrill of power he was getting from ordering about the man who oversaw most of Kadrin in the emperor's name.
"As fast as I can get there, is that the idea?"
"Indeed it is, sir," the messenger confirmed.
Kyrus pursed his lips. He glanced down at the hemispherical crystal in his hands, set it down on his work bench, and walked out toward the balcony.
"Would not want to disobey such an unambiguous order," Kyrus called back. As he passed through the doorway, he began to lift into the air, borne aloft by a bit of levitation magic. He used no word or gesture, and though he still often muttered the words in the solitude of his own head, he thought he was getting better at doing entirely without. For his next spell, a mental recitation was in order.
Doxlo intuvae menep gahalixviu junumar tequalix ferendak uzganmanni dekdardon vesvata eho. Kyrus knew that the two aether-blind young men in his office were oblivious to the amount of aether he had to draw in to enact the transference spell. They had no idea the risks, the potential for disaster, or the complexities of navigation. Kyrus suspected that their jaws gaped as he was surrounded in mid-air by an opaque sphere. When it vanished, he was gone.
* * * * * * * *
Several sorcerers were at court when Kyrus's magic deposited him a few feet up in the air in the middle of Emperor Sommick's throne room. In crossing the city of Kadris, Kyrus had caused a sizeable disturbance in the aether. Some who were not normally sensitive to the aether perceived it as well, much the way that it is said a deaf man can hear a dragon's roar in the soles of his feet.
"Ah, Sir Brannis!" Emperor Sommick called out, a delighted smile on his lips. If he was awed by the spectacle, he didn’t show it. "My, but you are prompt."
"Your message instructed me to come with all haste. This was as fast as I was able. What do you require of me?" Kyrus asked. He found himself in the middle of open court as he settled gently onto the floor of the throne room. All around the periphery of the room, gaudily dressed courtiers loitered, vying for the emperor's attention. Aside from the few conservatively dressed members of the Imperial Circle, they were largely of the idle nobility, with a few well-connected merchants mixed in for flavor. Kyrus, clad in a Solaran-crested tabard over practical military garb, a common longsword dangling from his sword belt, might well have been a squire or a messenger.
"Well, if you take a look at the board, Sir Dorrin seems to have placed me at a decided disadvantage." Emperor Sommick gestured to the side of the dais where someone had fashioned a large chessboard from aether for the emperor's amusement. It was all solid and opaque, as usable as any real board with knee-high pieces, but Kyrus's aether-vision saw that they were simple constructs. A crowd was gathered about the base of the dais to watch emperor and knight contest a battle of imaginary warriors. "I seem to have taken too long for his liking, and he has suggested that I resign, as my position is untenable."
"Oh ..."
"I was hoping that, as a noted devotee of the game, you could arbitrate and tell me whether I ought to be allowed to continue pondering my next move in peace, or whether Sir Dorrin is not full of wind and I ought to give up."
"Of course, Your Highness," Kyrus said, proud of himself for neither sighing aloud nor transferring himself right back to his workshop. As Kyrus ascended the dais, one of the halberd-toting guards behind the emperor edged back.
"Sir Dorrin certainly has the upper hand, but no, it is not certain that he would be victorious," Kyrus concluded after a moment's inspection. The board was a garbled mess of pieces, with even exchanges to be had in a number of places, though none were taken. Kyrus saw the influence of the Academy of Arms in the conservative style of play, with only a single pawn for each side having been captured. For all that though, there was nothing resembling a competent defense.
"You see, Sir Dorrin? You have yet to best me. I will fight you to the bitter end!" Emperor Sommick stated with flourishing hands. "Now, if you all will clear the audience chamber, I have matters I wish to discuss with Sir Brannis." With that, the two guards thumped the hafts of their halberds against the stone dais and began herding the courtiers from the throne room. It made for a colorful pageant; the human peacocks strutted even as they were being evicted from the emperor's presence.
"I hope this means you have something more substantial to discuss now that the room is cleared," Kyrus said, dropping the formal, polite tone he took with the emperor when others were around.
"Yes, and for more than to congratulate you on the conquest of Megrenn. I heard the news of Relleth's fall after I had already dispatched the messenger. The conquest was all a result of Warlock Rashan's efforts, even if that particular victory was not personally his doing. It does pose the interesting question of the possible elevation of noble families by the granting of holdings in the former Megrenn lands, but that is something to mull over for now and discuss later." The emperor's tone changed from frivolous to scheming. He was neither the fool the Inner Circle had taken him for, nor the great conqueror the commoners saw him as. Unleashing Rashan immediately after his coronation, he had caused such misconceptions to spread like a plague among peasants.
"What then?" Kyrus asked.
"I had an epiphany. I find myself buffeted along by sorcerers on all sides. Rashan and Caladris would have me believe that there is a rival faction among the Inner Circle that opposes me; they dictate my actions in the name of solidifying my standing and keeping that faction in check. My daily responsibilities have been handed to you, and you act in my name whether I agree with your decisions or not. General Chadreisson commands my army—one thing I am thankful for, since sixteen white soldiers vex me enough as it stands. Sorcerer Dolvaen oversees the affairs of the Imperial Circle. And yet, when Warlock Rashan is not out burning cities and obliterating armies, he takes up each of those mantles and hangs them about his own shoulders. Does that not sum up my current predicament?"
"I suppose it does. I am glad you understand the circumstance."
"And yet, my one and only duty is to find an empress and father an heir. Any nobleman with an eligible girl among their brood parades them in front of me, from spinster crones to girls three winters shy of their moonflow. I will admit that I am in no hurry to choose one, as the attentions of the flowering beauties between those two extremes has been quite diverting, but to what end?" Emperor Sommick asked.
"Re-establishing a healthy imperial line," Kyrus answered. "That alone is worth all the combined efforts of the rest of us. Had Rashan not been the one to expose the puppet emperor, there would have been a civil war. Two factions or more would have fought for control. Continuous, stable succession is what the empire needs now."
"All well and good for when I die. What of now? What of ten summers from now, or thirty? Am I to watch my heirs groomed into docile lackeys of the Inner Circle? The other nobles seek to curry favor, to ally themselves with me, because this is where they see their paths to power and influence," Emperor Sommick reasoned.
"Close ties to the imperial royal family have always been a benefit to any house. You have more to consider in your decision than merely the charms of a potential empress," Kryus said. He hoped he was making his impression on the emperor, for the consequences of his decision might play out over generations.
"Aha! And that was the very seed of my epiphany. You see, I wondered that it might perhaps work both ways. Perhaps I can glean some benefit by marriage that might last past my own generation."
"You are thinking to choose a bride based on what her house can bring the imperial family?"
"Yes. I intend to find my empress from the sorcerous bloodlines," Emperor Sommick said, his face spreading
in a dragon's grin. Kyrus's eyes widened.
"No."
"Why not? I will have aether-strong heirs, and in a few generations my line will not be subject to the whim of the Circle," Sommick reasoned.
"It may sound nice for a hundred summers from now, but in the meantime you have a great many people with those powers you propose to take on, and they will not give up their monopoly on magic lightly. Beyond that had you decided who you would seek as your empress?" Kyrus asked the last as a growing knot in his stomach warned him of one name that Sommick was best to keep off his lips.
"Well, you see, you and I find ourselves in similar predicaments. The Imperial Circle wants you married off to sprout a new generation of little Brannises with freakish Sources. They want me breeding out a litter of heirs so that, if the dagger-in-the-back faction gets their way, at least they will have the next emperor sorted out ahead of time."
"I can see the similarity in circumstance. Go on ..." Kyrus allowed.
"But you see, there are only a certain number of available sorceresses. The blood scholars do an efficient job of pairing them off young. The best of them are promised by thirteen or fourteen summers, and much as I was told I could choose whomever I liked, I think I would prefer not to anger the Circle more than this plan will already," Sommick explained. He hesitated a moment when he noticed Kyrus's unblinking stare boring into him. "Of course, there is one girl, Zoula Gardarus, who the blood scholars hinted is being kept aside for your uncle Caladris as his next wife. She is only fifteen springtimes old, but seeming more a girl than a woman, if you catch my meaning."
"My Aunt Faeranna is still alive," Kyrus observed in a grim tone.
"Well, it is not my conjecture about your uncle's contingencies; blame the blood scholars or your uncle. In any event, aside from the Gardarus girl or deciding to knock the scion of some other bloodline into the mud to take his betrothed, that would leave ... widows," Emperor Sommick said.
Kyrus barely thought. It sort of just happened. One moment the emperor was outlining an ambitious but perhaps ill-conceived plot to marry into the sorcerous bloodlines from the comfort of his throne, the next moment, the ruffled collar of his doublet was bunched up in Kyrus's fists, his toes the only thing keeping him from being held up entirely by his royal accoutrements.
"Ah, you ... you see," the emperor stammered, "this is why I wanted to speak with you first. I ... I would not want there to be ... to be a misunderstanding between us. If ... if you would just see fit to ... to you know ... put me down, I can explain." Kyrus looked into the emperor's eyes for a moment, seeing fear in the dilated pupils, the sweat forming at his brow; he could feel the emperor trembling and dared not look down for fear of finding that the emperor had wet himself.
"Explain," Kyrus ordered, letting out a deep breath to regain control of his temper. He loosened his grasp and floated the emperor back to his throne as gently as he was able. "I apologize. You seem to have found a sensitive subject for me." Kyrus turned aside to allow both of them to compose themselves with a bit of dignity.
"Brannis, I am new to much of this whole business, but if I have learned one thing in my life it is to judge men—and women—by more than just their words. I see a lot more pass between people than they intend to reveal. Your own courtship of Sorceress Celia, for example, seems to be rather ... dutiful. Her affections seem genuine, if I am any judge, but you, my friend, seem to be playing at it for the audience."
Kyrus turned to look at Emperor Sommick, wondering just how much he might have underestimated the man.
"You seem to have confirmed my suspicions," the emperor continued, "which makes me glad of having noticed. My thought would have been to take the warlock's widowed oathdaughter as my empress, but now I see that you still think to pursue Sorceress Juliana yourself."
"I would advise against it," Kyrus cautioned.
"Indeed. I need allies, and you are much more valuable as such than any possible alliance by marriage. I have had the blood scholars go though their archives and find the best matches with me in mind, and she was foremost among eligible sorceresses. However, I did not restrict them to those that were available in the traditional sense."
"You are not considering Celia Mistfield as your alternative, then? I had assumed that was the choice you implied when you mentioned 'widows' and not merely 'a widow.'"
"No, too lowborn. The Mistfields are barely a scrawled note in the margins of the blood scholars' records. That was fine for you, who truth be told, I think they feel could use his own blood thinned a bit in future generations. But I seek to start a bloodline from noble stock on one side."
"Who then? I have been shown the same records and can think of none who could be made to fit your criteria."
"Of course not," Sommick said with a nervous chuckle. "I think I would like to marry Aloisha Solaran."
"My sister?" Kyrus shouted in reply. He was amazed how quickly his outrage came, despite her being of Brannis's blood and not his own. "She is married already."
"Yes, and not happily. Arranged marriages often are not, but hers is a rather vexing case for the blood scholars. Eleven winters and no child, nor the pretense of real effort. She maintains her birth name. They do not share a home together —"
"Juran lives in Naran Port and is the senior Circle member there," Kyrus sought to excuse his oathbrother. Juran Destrier was a good sort, by Kyrus's measure—or rather, had been by Brannis's.
"Yes, and Aloisha could have easily joined him there if she chose. As I told you, Sir Brannis, I consider myself a keen observer of people; sorcerers are not so different in that regard. Your sister may one day relent and bear him a child or two, but it would not be eagerly. She is ambitious, covetous of her new position in the Inner Circle. I think she might like the chance to become empress."
"What about Juran? I do not see him as the sort to stand idle for such an affront. Fenris Destrier is Inner Circle as well, and I cannot envision him taking his grandson's cuckolding in stride, which is what this would amount to."
"Oh come now, this is why I need your aid. You have played it masterfully thus far, but your plan to remove Iridan from your path has not fooled me. I need that same ingenuity for my own plan. Find a way to clear the path between me and your sister."
"I had nothing to do with that," Kyrus objected. He wished he believed it, but as much as he placed the blame for his friend's death on the hands of Warlock Rashan, he could not acquit himself so easily of failing to send aid.
"Of course." Emperor Sommick's smile was sly and condescending. Kyrus realized no argument would convince the emperor that his guess was mistaken.
"Why her? If you do not limit yourself to unwed sorceresses, why not pick an easier target?"
"Think a while on that one, Sir Brannis. The answer should be easy enough for you to figure out."
"Shall I take that as a dismissal?" Kyrus asked.
"You may take it as you choose. Everyone else around here seems to treat my words that way." Emperor Sommick sighed, giving the ceiling a melodramatic look. Kyrus decided to ignore the emperor's theatrics and nodded his acknowledgement. He took his leave, watching as the eager throngs in the corridors filed back into the audience chamber to resume whatever waste they put their days to. Kyrus was glad of the wards that protected the throne room from eavesdropping. Despite a reasonable understanding of their workings, he always wondered who might be capable of peering through them.
* * * * * * * *
The Starlit Marauder hung in the sky over the lightly forested region east of Munne. The ship drifted along, not obeying the current of the springtime breezes. At the helm, Juliana Archon guided their way, using the runes on the ship's wheel to steer and propel them. The whole arrangement was a masterwork of aethersmithing. Until the coming of Kyrus Hinterdale, there had been no one with a Source strong enough to activate so large and intricate a device since the early days of the empire.
Men lined both railings, looking below for signs of Megrenn forces that had scat
tered after the recapturing of Munne. There had been reports of raiders in the area and the Darkstorm had been lost after being dispatched to investigate, with no word of any survivors. Thus it was with some trepidation that the Starlit Marauder and her crew now combed over the same bit of woodlands.
"No sign of anyone, captain." The call came from the crew on the left railing. It was echoed by the crew on the right railing. Juliana had rules about airships; they were not boats. There were no ports and starboards on the Starlit Marauder, by her decree. The ship had a left and a right, a nose—which could also be properly called the front—and an arse end, or back. The bottom of the ship was the belly, inside and out. The top was, regrettably, still called a deck, since all other terms seemed to fit it poorly.
"Keep looking. The Darkstorm might have crashed of its own accord, but my guess is someone had a hand in helping it. They can't have disappeared. They're down in those woods somewhere," Juliana shouted. The ship's runes parroted her voice down to the lower decks.
It would have been an easier search to conduct in the barren seasons. The stretch below them was deciduous forest, sparse but in full foliage. They were hoping to catch enemy soldiers as they moved about. Were they to remain undercover, there was little they would be able to see from the air. Juliana considered using her aether-vision to aid the search, but with so many Sources in the wilderness, her aether-sight was not keen enough to make out humans unless they drew dangerously close to the treetops.
"Captain, I think I've got them!" one spotter yelled from the right-arse end of the railing.
"Where?" Juliana shouted back. Her hands were already moving at the controls of the viewing panel, its glass surface magically displaying images of the forest below.
"Just behind us, a couple of dung-eaters. Prob'ly more of ‘em somewhere down there, too."
Juliana gritted her teeth, reminding herself that it was not the time to be tossing her own men overboard. She hated that epithet for the Safschan people. It was jingoistic nonsense that the army encouraged. It was hard to demonize the Megrenn as a people, since many of them had as much Kadrin blood in them as the soldiers of the empire. The Safschan though, with their dark skin making them stand apart, were far easier targets.