Sourcethief (Book 3)

by J. S. Morin

  "Prepare the grapples!" Juliana ordered. She began lowering the Starlit Marauder in among the trees where she could find room. It was not large by sea-ship standards, but it was still a snug fit for a forest. She found something close enough to a clearing for her purposes and brought them to within twice the height of a man off the ground.

  With the touch of another rune, the sides of the ship opened down into ramps. Grappling hooks flew from the sides of the ship, snagging tree branches to all sides of the Starlit Marauder and anchoring her in mid-air. Ropes dropped down to ground level as well, allowing the soldiers on deck to disembark without having to jump down and risk an ankle injury or worse.

  Her men poured into the forest in pursuit of the Safschan troops they had spotted. Her first instinct told her to go with them, but she had her plan already set and kept to it. She remained on board the Starlit Marauder, rendering the grapples a needless precaution; so long as she was at the helm, the ship would not drift off.

  She bided her time, panning the scene in the view-glass for signs of returning soldiers. After a time, Juliana grew bored of her vigil and went down to the belly for something to eat while she waited.

  "Surrender!" a voice shouted from outside the ship. It was Kadrin being spoken, but with a hint of a Safschan accent to it. Juliana rushed up to the main deck to see who was awaiting her. The voice sounded familiar. It seemed that twenty of her men had not been enough to hinder him.

  "Surrender yourself, Tiiba, or I'll just cut the lines and fly off without you!" she shouted down once she saw who it was. For over a week, Rakashi had been hinting to Juliana's twin, Soria Coinblade, that his twin was hiding in the Kadrin countryside, too proud to ask for rescue. The dark-skinned Safschan blade-priest with mismatched eyes—one brown, one milky white—stood below the railing of the Starlit Marauder with three Safschan soldiers. "Will you vouch for those three?"

  "I will. Please, allow us aboard."

  Juliana lowered one of the ramps to the ship and threw down a rope. Tiiba came up first, his lean, hard body well suited to climbing. He, embraced Juliana briefly before any of his men arrived in the hold to see them.

  "We'll talk in private," Juliana assured him in a whisper.

  Tiiba informed her of her crew’s demise. With Tiiba's magic and skill with the blade, Juliana knew her men stood no chance. Had it been just any rabble among the Safschan army hiding out in those woods, she would have liked her men's odds against them, whether she joined them or not. If it was Tiiba ... well she could not very well lend aid to a blade-priest over her men's objections. There would have been a mutiny, and she likely would have had to kill them herself. The thought of not helping Tiiba was not even considered among her options.

  Juliana took the ship above the scattered clouds and guided them north as fast as she dared fly it. By nightfall they had gotten out to sea, putting the Aliani beneath them as protection against being spotted by the forces of either the scattered Megrenn Alliance or the Kadrin Empire. She left the ship as stationary as the winds allowed—its magic resisting much of such motion on its own—and went below to see about her guests.

  The Safschan soldiers had taken over one of the crew quarters, preferring to bunk together in the unfamiliar surroundings. They seemed wary of her, but were polite enough when she inquired about their comfort. She found Tiiba waiting when she returned to her own cabin.

  "Thank you," Tiiba stated simply. From the proud, self-sufficient warrior, it spoke volumes.

  "These eyes of mine have never seen you before, yet I'd know you anywhere, Rakashi," Juliana said, preferring to call him by his more familiar Telluraki name. "You're most welcome."

  "I am sorry it had to cost you your crew to save me—to save us. Will you be able to return to Kadrin after this?"

  "After what? I lost my crew in battle. I survived and escaped with the ship. Merciful One, even without lying I can claim that. Besides, I think you underestimate my alliances in Kadris. There are a half dozen or so who I could flatly tell what I've done and who wouldn't think worse of me for it," Juliana said. She noticed that Tiiba was looking her over with an amused smirk on his face. "What?" she demanded.

  "You. Look at you! It is as if Soria played dress-up instead of becoming a warrior. Soria claims to hate long hair, preferring illusions when her disguises call for it, yet yours falls halfway to your backside. You are thinner too, obviously not as used to real work as Soria, and you've plumped yourself up a bit as well," Tiiba said, cupping his hands below his own chest. Juliana felt her cheeks flush.

  "Just a bit," she admitted. "I never had to worry about them getting in the way fighting until rather recently, and I had no armor to worry about fitting." It occurred to her that Rakashi's wanderers' oath might not apply in Veydrus. In Tellurak he was honor-bound not to father any children while away from home, so Soria felt at ease around him. She had always suspected that might be all that held him back from pursuing her romantically, but it had held him back, and that was enough.

  "Well, your Source certainly looks stronger than hers, so maybe the extra armor is not so necessary."

  "Really? That much stronger? I had always thought maybe a little ..."

  Tiiba laughed.

  "Listen to you ... you know no one in both worlds as qualified to make such a judgment. It is nothing like the difference between mine and Rakashi's, but the difference is notable.

  "If I might delve into another difference between you and Soria, you seem to be more erudite," Tiiba said, gesturing to the book on Juliana's desk, whose title proclaimed it to be The Peace of Tallax.

  "It was left for me, I think to give to Kyrus. There were two books, this one and a book of amateur prophecies that Rashan Solaran wrote. I gave Kyrus the other one, and he's studied it half to death. This one ..."

  "I have read it," Tiiba said. "It is a very old story and traveled far beyond the borders of the Kadrin Empire, if indeed it even originated within what would become its borders. I know the story."

  "Then you know why I hesitate to give it to him."

  "Yes," Tiiba said. "If he is as strong as you claim, then I can see why."

  * * * * * * * *

  Kyrus had a standing invitation to the emperor's table each night for dinner. Initially he had indulged Emperor Sommick and attended the pretentious, crowded, drawn-out feast that was offered in the main dining hall. Once he discovered that he could get his dinner from the same cooks, delivered to any room in the palace he chose, he rarely bothered with the emperor and his sycophantic courtiers. The palace servants were deferential to the emperor and his guests, but they feared "Brannis" enough that they would not deny his request to be served separately. Once they accepted the duty though, they found that Sir Brannis was far more forgiving, personable, and patient than Emperor Sommick, and he paid the staff a bit extra for the convenience of personal service.

  While he would occasionally work through his dinnertime—his plates of rare delicacies surrounded by notes, books and reports—this night he shared his dinner with Sorceress Celia. The emperor's comment earlier in the day about their relationship made him feel the need to be more diligent about the attention he paid her. Rumors of the two of them being anything other than shy lovers wending their way down the road toward betrothal would work against him.

  Ever since the death of his friend Iridan—Rashan Solaran's son and heir apparent as warlock—Kyrus had been playing the long game, working toward the day where he saw a weakness he could use to throw down the demon warlock and end the destruction his mere presence in the empire seemed to cause. His uncle, Caladris Solaran, had warned him that Celia was being used to ensure his restraint when Rashan was around. His uncle and the warlock had gone to some length to trick Kyrus into believing that Celia was twinborn and Kyrus's object of affection from Tellurak. Kyrus's belief in that lie was Rashan's protection. The warlock trusted that Kyrus would keep his careless use of magic in check if his beloved was nearby—or her twin.

  Kyrus could not be sure wh
at would happen if the warlock discovered that his ruse had failed. The warlock was brilliant, devious, and manipulative. He was also a madman, a view shared by a growing number of people in the empire as more of them got to know him. Kyrus had learned both by experience and by reading about him in history books that Rashan had long struggled to rein in his bloodlust. He also abided by a personal tenet to never allow an enemy who had shown him violence to live. Kyrus was not sure how he would react to being deceived. There was the chance that the moment Rashan discovered that Kyrus knew of the ruse, he would attempt to kill Kyrus on the spot.

  Kyrus looked across the small, intimate table, into the eyes of Celia, who smiled at him. There are worse ways to protect myself, I suppose. Despite knowing that she thought she was deceiving him, Kyrus managed to put the thought behind him well enough to enjoy her company for stretches. She had a sharp wit and a mischievous sense of humor, traits she shared with Juliana—a secret he preferred to keep from the latter. She was a survivor, he reminded himself, a victim of circumstances thrust upon her by his uncle and the warlock. Had they met under other circumstances, he might have fallen in love with her. As it was, he had to keep the conversation away from Tellurak, dreams, and the name "Abbiley," lest he forget himself in anger.

  "You seem distant tonight. I mean, more than usual," Celia said. "Normally there are whole little work-crews of tiny gremlins working in that head of yours all day, but they seem to have the monopoly on your attention tonight."

  "More conspiracies. The better the war seems to go, the more attention folks around here seem to shift to their own advancement," Kyrus said. He picked at his pheasant. It had been cooked in a sauce made from exotic fruits that had been plundered from Megrenn trade cities. But pheasant-au-plunder was not to his liking. The cooks had tried their best with it, but did not know quite what to do with the unfamiliar ingredients. Celia seemed to have enjoyed hers though, so Kyrus suspected his mood was to blame.

  "Who this time?" Celia asked. She treated it as court gossip, of no more or less import than who was courting whom among the nobles. It was an odd preoccupation, but Kyrus had come to realize that it was a pastime not relegated entirely to the courtiers and servants.

  "Do you really want to know, or are you just making conversation?" Kyrus asked. It would not be the first time she had gotten more information than she had bargained for when Kyrus had opted for candor in his responses with her.

  "Really," Celia confirmed. Kyrus shrugged, figuring that it was harmless enough if either Caladris or Rashan found out—his uncle was the more likely, as the warlock returned infrequently. If the information came back to him, he would at least get a better idea how far he could trust her.

  "Emperor Sommick, this time. He is thinking that he might prefer to choose his empress from the sorcerous bloodlines," Kyrus told her.

  "Ooh, does he have a sorceress in mind?" Celia asked, eyes wide. Kyrus usually had poor luck at determining what would be deemed salacious enough to garner her interest, but he had suspected that this particular tidbit would be like a jewel to a magpie.

  "A few. I let him know there were limits though," Kyrus said over his glass as he brought it to his lips. He raised his eyebrows to make her think that he had forbidden the emperor from considering her.

  "Oh? You are in the business of telling emperors who they can marry?" Celia teased.

  "Yes. If you thought to find yourself a better suitor, I am afraid you will have to look elsewhere," Kyrus joked.

  "Brannis ... I mean, you cannot tell him so, but I would not consider empress an improvement in station," Celia said, a dreamy, sappy look in her eyes. Kyrus took another drink, lest his expression betray his skepticism.

  As Kyrus drifted off to sleep that night, Celia's head pillowed on his chest, all he could think was that his ruse was still effective. It crossed his sleep-heavy mind briefly, just before he lost consciousness.

  Chapter 2 - A Step Down a Wayward Path

  "Better you than me," Lord Harwick said. He picked up Brannis's bishop and set his knight down in its place, accepting the trade Brannis had left open to him. "The emperor bothers me enough with that nonsense. I would teach him the game, but I fear he does not have the wits for it."

  "I would not be so certain of that," Brannis replied. He took Lord Harwick's knight with one of his pawns. The move required no thought; Brannis had his response planned out well in advance of his opponent's play. "He used it as a pretense to talk to me in private about his choice for empress."

  "Ah, so that explains what your little disagreement was about," Lord Harwick said, not looking up from the board. Brannis could tell by the movement of the lord's pipe that he smiled beneath the contemplative hand that obscured his mouth.

  "What do you mean? Who says we disagreed?" Brannis asked. His eyes sprang wider for a moment and his breath caught in his throat. He had counted on the throne room's wards to keep his conversation with Sommick private.

  "Oh, someone just happened to mention to me that the emperor's collar seemed to be a bit ripped after his talk with your twin. How many else took note of it, I know not. But I keep good eyes in my pay. They are well rewarded for noticing such details." Lord Harwick's hand moved for a pawn, but he withdrew it, choosing another in its place.

  "It was a misunderstanding,” Brannis explained. “There were no hard feelings by the end of our conversation."

  "Oh, on your side perhaps, but if the emperor is any sort of nobleman, he will hold a grudge. They've all got little ledgers tucked away in their heads of who crossed them," Lord Harwick warned. "Puppet or not, Rashan is propping him up. Sommick's father was too infirm to make a trip to Kadris, or he might have been crowned instead. I do not relish the thought of a crusty old thing like him being next in line for succession."

  "He is eight winters younger than you, uncle," Brannis said, smiling.

  "Sorcerer years, my boy. My body is half the age of his," Lord Harwick replied, bristling. He looked somewhat older than his twin Caladris, but nothing close to his seventy-two years. His own unnatural youth he could at least attribute to clean living and good pedigree, but Caladris looked little more than half his winters, clearly not a work of nature.

  "Anyway, I suppose I might as well tell you, he has designs on marrying into the family."

  "What?" Lord Harwick asked, incredulous. His attention was now fully removed from the chessboard. "You cannot mean our family. Setting aside for a moment the fool notion that he could arrange his way into having aether-strong heirs, there is no one to be had. You have a ... second cousin I believe, on your mother's side. Cannot recall the girl's name, but I think she is at the Academy right—"

  "He means Aloisha."

  Lord Harwick burst out laughing. He had to take the pipe from his mouth before it fell out.

  "It may be ill-conceived, but I fail to find it funny," Brannis said, confused by his uncle's mirth.

  "That is because you still have damned fool romantic notions about love. You got betrothed to your little sweetheart and it all seemed roses and honey—later complications aside," Lord Harwick added to forestall Brannis's objections about how well his betrothal had gone. "Not Aloisha. She and Juran Destrier hated each other when they were children. You were probably a bit too young to recall the tantrum she had when she discovered they were arranged to be married. We made them go through with it. They got past the point of staring daggers at one another, but never warmed to married life together."

  "It almost sounds as if she might welcome a change," Brannis said, trying to sound optimistic. He had never before been privy to his sister's marital problems. "Not that I plan to do anything of the sort, but Sommick asked for my help in arranging it. He ... seemed to think I had done something similar for my own benefit."

  "Oh he has these great, ominous plans in his head, but our Sommick is still an axe-handed idiot. Even a fair number of his supporters within the Circle might prefer him dead rather than see a dynasty of sorcerers from a single bloodline. If he t
hinks you would have gotten Iridan killed for your own ends, he must not have seen the pyre at the memorial," Lord Harwick said. "And since he was standing not a spit's distance from me, I suspect he saw it and just thinks you faked that anger. If you did, I shall eat my pipe." He took the pipe from his mouth and waved it about for emphasis.

  "Aloisha was always ambitious. Do you not think she might like the title of empress?"

  "Maybe if there were no emperor ..."

  "Are you planning something?" Brannis asked.

  "Hah, no, I am still content to wait until you have learned enough real magic to stand better than a kitten's chance in a stripecat cage against Rashan. Once he is out of the way, we can worry about taming the emperor."

  "Spit," Brannis said, looking down at the chessboard. "You have me again." Brannis tipped his king over.

  "Got to get that mind of yours clear. I can carry on talking and still play with all my wits. How do you expect to learn to fight a warlock if you cannot keep a chess game separate in your thoughts?" Lord Harwick began setting up the pieces again, using magic rather than his own aging fingers. The black and white armies arrayed themselves in perfect rows once more.

  "All right. But if I win this time, I want you to write out that lightning spell you have been promising me all week," Brannis said. He took the white set and opened with his king's pawn. "It had best be worth the effort learning it when I already know the one from Powers of the Sky."

  "Brannis my boy, you never learn the best ones from books. You might use them as a start, but there are always improvements to be made. No sorcerer with any wits puts the best ones between bindings. Private journals perhaps, but not those pedantic old tomes. The one I will show you will be much easier to use silently. I almost hesitate to even let you practice these aloud in Veydrus. Mutter and waggle fingers in the safety of your own home for this one, but let slip nothing in Kadrin. Kyrus needs to skip to the end."