by J. S. Morin
"You are not so bad-looking, Councilor Fehr. I almost regret not treating you with more respect," Aolyn remarked. Jinzan heard a jingling from beside his head and turned to see two eyes looking him up and down from adjacent chains. He shuddered.
The door at the end of the corridor was well-warded, as promised. Standing in the macabre corridor, he felt comforted by the familiar glow of runes in the aether-vision and lost himself for a time, tracing them with his eyes (which were safely ensconced in their sockets, where he liked them). He picked a rune at random and began examining how it was connected to the runes about it, finding interactions and cross-links, modifiers and amplification runes. Each of them he knew, drawn from the same basic runes that had been handed down from the age of dragons. The ward was impressive in its complexity, spread across a door half again his height and writ in characters no larger than his thumbnail. It would take seasons to unravel it fully. Testing it and seeing its reactions he might, by trial and experiment, divine enough to disable it.
Jinzan had failed Megrenn. Zorren was burned and overrun with Kadrin rabble. The High Council was in exile, their allies poised beneath the headsman's axe. He had no time for academics, no time to research how the Great Necromancer had protected his studies. He leveled the Staff of Gehlen at the door.
"Stand well clear. Do not approach until I have told you it is safe," Jinzan told his guides, the acolytes of the Cult of Loramar.
"As you say, Councilor Fehr," Chioju replied.
Jinzan jammed the carved wings of the Staff of Gehlen against the warded door and activated its power. He watched as ward and staff fought for aether—the staff to steal it, the ward merely to retain it. The runes blazed as parts of the ward designed to resist attack sprang to life. It had kept out all intruders for over a hundred winters, but the ward was never created to withstand such an assault as Gehlen's creation could call forth in Jinzan’s hands. The ward's aether flickered.
Jinzan let loose a tiny jolt of power, causing cracks in the stone door. Even a small break in his assault on the ward's defenses was enough for it to replenish itself. He renewed his efforts to drain it. Like pushing a rock uphill...
Upon the fourth jolt of force, the door crumbled. The Grand Necromancer's sanctuary lay open before him.
"Congratulations, Heir of Loramar," Chioju said. Jinzan did not turn to regard the acolyte. He stepped over the rubble of the warded door, more interested in the works of his master.
* * * * * * * *
"You waited well, human," the voice resonated through Varduk's whole body. Jinzan had warned him what to expect when dealing with dragons, but standing in the presence of Fr'n'ta'gur awed him. Even twenty paces distant, the dragon loomed over him. He imagined that he could walk upright within one of the great reptile's nostrils.
"Thank you for seeing me, mighty one," Varduk replied, thankful as well that the dragon preferred to show off by speaking his own language fluently. "I have come on a matter of great import to my people."
"Your people? I was not aware that you had people any longer," Fr'n'ta'gur said, chuckling at his own joke. Varduk felt the ground vibrate beneath his feet. He looked up at the ceiling of the great cavern, worried that the dragon's mirth might bring it down atop him.
"We are scattered, yes, but we fight on as best we can. If you know of our plight though, may I assume as well that you know our cause?" Varduk asked.
"Oh yes, I have heard of the demon who has ransacked your lands. He slew one of our kind as well, the foolish Ni'hash'tk, when she tried to take one of the Kadrins' cities for her whelp. That was an idea put into her vacant skull by one of your fellows, I believe."
"It was an endeavor of common cause, mighty one. One of our sorcerers was also lost that day for his own folly," Varduk told the dragon. It seemed more diplomatic than to mention that Jinzan had been one of the few to survive the assault on Raynesdark and that he had managed to acquire the Staff of Gehlen in the bargain. "It demonstrates though that the demon is a threat to your kind as well as mine. He is bent on conquest and will not let your lands lie in peace."
"Then he will find his doom at that time. If he finds it before then, it will not be my doing. You see, I remember him from before his self-imposed exile. My goblins, generations ago by their reckoning, once traded with Kadrin while he ruled beside four emperors. He understands our power, and our position. If he attacks the dragonlands, it will not be one lair's defenses against him, but a rallying of my kind against him. We are unassailable," Fr'n'ta'gur proclaimed. Varduk was enough of a student of history to know how dubious a claim that was, but was in no position to argue.
"We would be very generous if you were to come to our aid in—"
"Do you know," Fr'n'ta'gur interrupted, "why I had my goblins bathe and clothe you thus, before you were allowed to enter my presence?"
Varduk paused. He felt a cold sweat on his brow.
"I assumed so that my scent would not ... offend you, mighty one?"
"No."
Varduk waited in nervous silence as Fr'n'ta'gur's neck stretched, craning around to regard him from all sides.
"It was to improve your taste, in case I caught you lying to me."
Varduk managed half a scream before the dragon snapped its jaws shut around him.
* * * * * * * *
Human, awaken.
Narsicann obeyed, not by compulsion, but rather the shock of the mental intrusion.
"Who is this?" Narsicann asked aloud to the empty bedchamber. Even in the aether, he could see nothing that might have addressed him.
Speak up. If you talk aloud your mind is quieter, the voice in his head scolded him. Narsicann looked to the small table where he had deposited the few belongings he had brought with him. The Ghelkan speaking helm was still there. Normal spells for speaking mind-to-mind worked only over short distances. The owner of the mysterious voice had to be close by.
Who is this? Narsicann asked, thinking the words this time.
You wished to speak to me, I believe.
Are you the demon king of Azzat? Narsicann asked.
How many have you requested meetings with since arriving in my kingdom, High Councilor Narsicann Tenrok?
Just yourself, Your Majesty.
I am Xizix. I will speak with you because you mentioned two subjects that intrigue me, and that is two more than usual most seasons. Come to me.
Now? Where do I go?
Yes, and follow my directions. Take up the helm you brought with you. I wish to see that as well.
Narsicann had not packed for his trip. He had gone to sleep in normal attire. He pulled on boots and cloak and ventured out into the night.
Xizix directed his path. Narsicann found the streets deserted before him, a sight he never saw in Zorren, which was bustling on some level throughout all hours of the day. There was something ... unwholesome ... about relinquishing mankind's grip on the land to nature's whim. Narsicann noted that he was approaching the royal palace as he followed the demon king's instructions.
You grow close now, he heard as he came to the outer wall that defined the palace grounds. Very close.
Am I to enter the palace? Narsicann asked.
"No," said a gravelly voice behind him. Narsicann turned to see an ogre-sized creature with leathery, ashen skin. A clawed hand closed around his neck—thwarted briefly by a shielding spell that provided an eggshell's protection—and lifted him effortlessly into the air. The demon's other hand picked up the speaking helm from where Narsicann had dropped it while struggling to free himself. "I dislike finding spies in my kingdom, but I would parlay with your master from a safe distance. How does this helm work?"
Let me go, demon! Narsicann screamed in his head, unable to draw breath to do so with his voice.
"Bah, letting you go will not make the helm work. I am no fool," Xizix joked, his grin a forest of dagger-pointed black fangs. He turned the helm over, inspecting it. It seemed like it might barely fit over the demon's head if he was without his two pa
irs of horns—one pair jutting up and curling back, the other pair curling about and framing his face, resembling a beetle's pincers.
Let me go and I will show you, Narsicann thought desperately.
"How hard can it be?" Xizix asked. With an easy twist of the wrist, he broke Narsicann's neck.
As the demon lumbered back to his palace, dragging Narsicann's corpse by the neck as he went, his head reformed, becoming smaller and smoother. The horns shrank and withdrew within the creature's skull and he placed the helm atop his head.
* * * * * * * *
The rooms beyond the warded door were more than a repository, but less than a home. There were rooms for storage and meeting, but the remainder was given over to study and research. There were libraries and laboratories, but neither kitchen nor larder. It was a place for the study and practice of death.
Jinzan had quickly browsed through each room, finding small caches of unfamiliar magical items squirreled about, but had settled in when he found Loramar's research library. There were a number of tomes that the necromancer had obviously used for reference, but most were his own works. Chioju and Aolyn took turns watching over him, for how long he knew not, as he pored over the pieces to the puzzle. He hoped to discover what had made the greatest opponent of Rashan Solaran so powerful.
"Aolyn, fetch me something to eat. I just realized that I'm famished," Jinzan ordered. Since breaking the wards, the flippant attitude of the two acolytes had been replaced by extreme deference. It seemed that neither had expected him to succeed in breaking Loramar's wards.
"As you wish, Councilor Fehr." The young Ghelkan sorceress departed, leaving him to the silence of the crypt. He was content to read the personal diaries first, hoping they might guide him to where to begin learning in earnest. It was slow going, reading in faded Ghelkan script. His studies would quicken when he got to actual magical writings, since they would be in the common rune language, which was used in some form by all trained sorcerers.
"I have something for you, Councilor Fehr," Chioju announced, returning in Aolyn's place. The hollow-eyed acolyte carried a wicker cage with a songbird in it.
"I asked for a meal, not a companion, nor is the air down here quite foul enough to need it as a warning. Go find me a haunch of lamb or a bowl of stew, something substantial," Jinzan commanded.
"There are things you do not need these books to learn. There are some things we can teach you. Tonight, I will show you how to sustain yourself on a creature's Source," Chioju replied. He held the caged bird forth with a grin.
"No. Get gone and bring me food. You may well know tricks I do not, and I may learn them in time, but tonight I am tired and hungry, and I am more likely to kill you and the bird and decide later which to eat, than I am to try to fill my belly with bird aether."
What was that about bird aether? an echoing voice asked in Jinzan's mind.
Jinzan shooed the acolyte away with a hand gesture, waiting until he was alone until he responded.
That was a trivial matter. What news, Narsicann? Jinzan asked, having expected to hear from his colleague as soon as there was news from Azzat.
Oh, I am afraid I decided to simplify the lines of communication. I am the one you truly wished to speak to, the voice informed him.
You are the demon who rules Azzat? Jinzan inquired.
It is amusing how I can go generations as a myth, but the emergence of another demon rekindles the belief. Yes, I am Xizix, ruler of Azzat.
Narsicann must have explained then why we wished to speak with you.
He mentioned two items of interest to me. Rashan Solaran is one, and a mysterious sorcerer among the Kadrins is the other. Speak. You have my attention.
We seek to rally forces against Kadrin, specifically in putting an end to Rashan Solaran's bloodthirsty predations, Jinzan began. The other matter is less pressing but may become even more of a danger. The Kadrins have another sorcerer, a young man named Brannis Solaran, with a Source beyond reckoning.
I will end your speculations on the first matter abruptly. While I may lend certain information about Rashan, I will not stand against him unless he sets foot upon Azzat.
You fear him as well, then? Jinzan asked. Distance made him bold, as did his recent victory over Loramar's defenses. Sitting amid the necromancer's works, he felt like a proper heir to the master's power.
We have an agreement that predates your birth. He may be a lying snake dealing with your kind, but he dares not break his word among the immortals—at least not more so than he already has. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say he would not be so blatant. For my end, dangerous as he is, I will still not act to break that pact.
What of the second matter, then? Brannis Solaran.
If you can arrange to send him here, I would deal with him. I will not leave Azzat undefended.
I find that acceptable. Thank you. If you could pass the helm back to Narsicann, I would speak with him.
Oh dear ... I believe there has been an idiomatic failure. My Megrenn is outdated, I fear. I said I 'simplified the lines of communication.' You were supposed to have inferred that I killed him already. Goodnight, Jinzan Fehr.
When the contact ended, Jinzan realized that he had not picked up his own helm from where it rested on the desk.
Chapter 4 - A Time for Celebration
Tanner walked the crowded streets of Kadris, head down, letting his eyes absorb the puzzle of feet and carts and loose cobblestones, avoiding obstacles and collisions by instinct. Armed and uniformed, he was still jostled occasionally, but he made no complaint and offered no apology for his carelessness.
Tanner needed to sort out how he would present his plan. He had forced himself to head for army headquarters lest he spend all day brooding over the matter. "I just need him for a few days ..." he said to himself, barely moving his lips or putting breath behind his words. He shook his head and tried again.
"Brannis, I think I have a plan. We can try trading the boy for the staff ..."
"You know, maybe we shouldn't be keeping the kid from his father. Think of it as good will ..."
"Brannis, you ever think that maybe pissing in Denrik Zayne's ale isn't doing me any good in Tellurak and might get me tossed in the Katamic one of these days soon? Let me just bring him Anzik."
Tanner gave the last one some serious thought. No, he dumped me in that wooden teacup with Zayne. He knew I was as good as dead and didn't care. Tanner stopped. He noticed that the cobblestones had given way to the wide flagstones of Kalak Square and looked up to see the Kadrin Army headquarters. Kyrus was inside, or Brannis, or whoever he was. A half-formed plan floated through Tanner's mind telling him to run, to flee Kadris and Kyrus in one world and Captain Zayne and the Fair Trader in the other.
Tanner's feet were moving again before he had time to daydream up more trouble than he could figure a way out of. He had already made things bad enough by agreeing to Denrik Zayne's plan. Keeping his eyes straight ahead, he crossed Kalak Square and made his way inside.
Soldiers inside saluted, each raising a fist as Lieutenant Tanner passed. Tanner gave a perfunctory salute in return without meeting anyone's gaze. Even the one superior officer he passed made no comment at his lack of deference. Everyone knew he was on his way to see Sir Brannis, and that meant no one dared delay him.
When Brannis had first taken the position as Grand Marshal, Tanner had heard the news secondhand from his post in Naran Port. Some of the soldiers there had joked that Sir Brannis was the warlock's singing boy. Others claimed he was Rashan's bedmate. None had credited him with being the mastermind the warlock saw in him. None would have dared say anything to Brannis's face about it either. He had Rashan's protection.
Since Kyrus had taken Brannis's place, that had changed. The new Brannis, the one with magic, no longer played the jolly comrade by making up for his inexperience with good nature and humility. Kyrus might nod to his underlings as he passed by, but rarely spoke with them. Rumors had spread about some of the things he had d
one since "discovering" his magical powers; most of the soldiers preferred being ignored. The talk had ended about Brannis being sheltered under the protection of his demonic benefactor. He no longer seemed to need it.
The upper floor of the headquarters was nearly deserted. Officers came and went when need arose, but when other places were available to them, most tried to be elsewhere. Tanner was not the most sensitive Source when it came to feeling the aether, but he knew that strong magic was at work. The feeling grew as he approached the office that Kyrus had converted into his workshop. The door was closed when he reached it, as well as locked and warded.
Tanner knocked, knowing that he would have to wait for Kyrus to let him in. It was just as well, since whatever was going on inside might kill him if he were to intrude. He had seen the speaking stone Kyrus was working on. Even with his limited expertise in rune-carving, the sheer complexity of the thing was worrisome.
After a moment, Tanner felt the shifting in the aether as the wards lifted. The door swung inward and allowed him entry.
"That time already?" Kyrus asked. He was bent over the incomplete speaking stone, looking up from it as Tanner entered. Tanner had seen it grow over the course of its construction—layer upon layer of glass added, runes carved, then back to the glazier to begin another cycle.
"Yeah," Tanner replied. The door closed behind him as the wards sealed them in.
"Just a moment. I was nearly finish—"
"Can we skip the lesson today?" Tanner interrupted. Kyrus blinked, his attention turning fully on Tanner as he stood up.
"To what end? Surely you are not—"
"We need to talk."
"This would be about Denrik Zayne I assume," Kyrus said. "Is he ready to bargain?"
"Well, he made an offer. I don't know if I'd call it bargaining."
"He may have missed his chance, I fear. At this point if he gives up the Staff of Gehlen, I might be able to convince Rashan to stop slaughtering his people. Maybe," Kyrus said. "So what is he offering?"