by J. S. Morin
Oriedel Conniton's home was an old farmhouse situated on land given over to hayfields. The hay had been cut and baled, and tall stacks dotted the rolling landscape. There were no signs of livestock, dogs, or farmhands about. No sign hung anywhere in sight to name the place or identify its owner.
"The directions Davin gave say this ought to be it," Brannis said. He referenced a slip of paper with beautifully penned instructions accompanied by a small illustration.
"Well, let’s go knock on the door then," Soria said as she dismounted. "You overthink these things, Brannis. If this is the wrong house, we ask directions. If they get offended, we apologize. If they are crazed, get out of the way and I'll deal with it." Soria gave a meaningful look at Avalanche. Brannis had been relieved to find it undisturbed in their room upon returning to The Golden Elk.
"We are not here to kill anyone."
"Brannis, you'd think you’d have reached the point of enough people trying to kill you by now that you would just expect it. I certainly do." She tied her horse's reins to a fence post and waited while Brannis did likewise.
The farmhouse itself was a bit too spacious to be called a cottage, but it had the look of one. Glass windows were the only signs of money at work in the construction. All else about it looked plain and unassuming, from the unstained wooden beams to the thatching that had gone out of style so long ago in Acardian cities but was still common in the countryside. A thin trail of smoke lazed from the chimney, assuring them that someone was within.
Brannis knocked and waited to hear footsteps. He thought he saw movement in one of the windows, but it was gone before he could confirm it.
"Who might you be?" a woman's voice asked.
The door opened a crack. An eye appraised them briefly before it opened fully. The woman inside was middle aged and wore a plain brown dress with full sleeves and a closed neck.
"I am Kyrus Hinterdale. This is my betrothed, Soria. May we have a word with Expert Oriedel Conniton? He had left word that he wished to see me, and I came as soon as I heard."
"Oh, Mr. Hinterdale? Of course, of course. My Pa has mentioned you a time or a hundred. I'm Darbie."The woman stepped aside to allow Brannis and Soria inside. She shut the door as a wave of heat greeted them. "Sorry about the fire. Pa doesn't abide the chill well anymore. We sweat through the cold months, for his sake. My husband is out for more firewood, but I'll go tell Pa you're here."
A rhythmic thumping approached from the other room. "Confound it girl, I am neither deaf nor infirm," a wheezing voice announced. A hairless old man, stooped and supported by a cane, came into the room. Brannis looked closely at his face, recalling the elder sorcerers in Kadrin and trying to imagine them as old as Oriedel appeared. If he was twinborn there was a good chance he had seen his twin before—some colleague of Caladris's for certain.
"Pa, I would have brought them in to see you. You didn't have to get up."
"Bah. I’ve had enough of lying in bed waiting for death to claim me," Oriedel said, belying his infirmity by waving his cane in Darbie's direction. "I have waited a long while for Expert Hinterdale to turn up, and here he is. I will not converse with him like an invalid."
"Papa, at least see reason. Let me make up your chair for you," Darbie said. She did not wait for approval, but arranged a nest of blankets and pillows in the chair nearest the fire. Oriedel grunted a thanks and settled himself in.
"It is a pleasure to meet you, Expert Conniton," Brannis said, hoping that the familial squabble was sufficiently resolved for introductions.
"Yes, Kyrus, nice to finally meet you too. Darbie my dear, I have a lot of odd business to discuss. I think if they would be so obliged as to let you borrow one of their horses, today would be a wonderful day for a ride, before the snowfall arrives."
"Are you sure, Papa?" Darbie gave Oriedel a long look with hands on her hips like someone who was in charge about the house.
"Yes, go. They are here on the King's business, and I must still steward his secrets. I am not yet so feebleminded as to be useless."
"By all means, pick whichever horse you like. Both are friendly and well-mannered," Brannis said.
"The one with the black spot on his forehead is used to a stronger rider, if you think that matters," Soria said, referring to her own horse. Brannis frowned, but could not dispute it.
"Very well," Darbie said. She went over and kissed her father's bare head. "You treat these folk well. You waited a long time to talk to Mr. Hinterdale, don't go bashing him about with that tongue of yours."
They waited for Darbie to depart, Soria watching through the window to see which horse she picked. Brannis could tell by her smug expression that it was Soria's that Darbie had picked.
"Ahh Brannis, there is so much to discuss."
"So you know as well," Brannis said.
"Know? Oh, I know lots. I even know, unless I am sorely mistaken, that this is Miss Juliana's twin here before us. I cannot say I am surprised that you sought her out."
"I found him," Soria corrected. "Now who are you who knows so much?"
"I think I have it figured out," Brannis said. He narrowed his eyes, giving Expert Oriedel a shrewd look. "Axterion!" Brannis smiled. He turned to see if Soria recognized the resemblance as well.
Oriedel burst out in a fit of laughter, a sick, rasping sound. It was several moments before he recovered enough to speak.
"Brannis, here I thought you had finally made something of yourself and you prove yourself a fool. Axterion, if he was ever twinborn, would have to have died decades ago."
"Maruk?" Soria asked.
"Father?" He pieced together the familial resemblance and the opinion that he was a failure.
"Yes, yes. Dead in Veydrus, but only half-dead here. I was never half as good at life extension as Caladris, at least not here in Tellurak."
Brannis ground his teeth. His shock at discovering his father gave way to the old hard feelings between the two of them.
"What did you have me come all this way about?" Brannis asked. "Are you looking for someone to avenge you? Is that it?"
"No. I have little time left in this world, and none left in the other. I want to reconcile, if that is still possible."
"I think you may be too late for that, Father." Brannis folded his arms across his chest. "You had ample time before you died to make amends, but you never took the opportunity."
"Ah, but it was only just before then that you had earned a reconciliation."
"Earned?" Brannis asked.
"Earned?" Soria echoed. "He was your son. He shouldn't have had to prove anything to you for you to treat him like a son."
"Hah! Brannis, you were everything I worked against, in both worlds. You were born into a world of privilege, given every shred of leeway possible, and coasted on the reputation of your family. Even your admittance to the School of Arms was on the strength of your family ties, not merit. You were too old for a new student."
"But I excelled at everything. I graduated with ribbons. I served in combat."
"Yes, and botched the Kelvie mission, by all accounts. I heard in correspondence with Caladris that you acquitted yourself much better at Raynesdark. I would have congratulated you on that—had I still been alive." Oriedel turned toward the fire.
"Well, that comes as a great relief. I only had to lead a battle against a dragon, her cannon-toting goblin army, and a Megrenn sorcerer to finally live up to your expectations."
"I understand that the victory has done little to ensure your long-term survival with the demon running Kadrin now. You are a threat to him. Just bridging the worlds was evidence enough of that."
"You are trying to convince me to kill him? Well, no harm in telling you that I am already working out how to do that, but not for your sake. I was unaware you even had a sake left to worry over until moments ago. As far as I was concerned, killing you was the greatest favor Rashan has done me."
Oriedel's face fell. He looked up at Brannis with rheumy eyes, tears forming at their cor
ners. "You cannot mean that."
"What part of my childhood torments did you not play a role in? I had no draw, a Source like a sparrow—why send me back to the Academy winter after winter? I was too stubborn to give up, too determined. You should have stopped me, spared me the embarrassment of Ranking Day."
"That was Gravis's decision. He could not admit his little error in prophecy. He was High Sorcerer. I could not overrule him," Oriedel said, hunching further beneath the warmth of his blankets.
"Well, if that was all you had brought me here for, we shall take our leave," Brannis said. He took Soria by the hand and turned for the door.
"It was not. Two things else I had. Things you should know, though after those comments I am tempted to let you go in ignorance."
"What things?" Brannis asked. He glared a challenge at the old scribe.
"First is a book I tracked down—a journal. When I first thought of vengeance against Rashan, I felt impotent. When Caladris sent word that he was twinborn, I did the only thing I could think of from this side: I figured out who he had been."
"You know?" Brannis asked, his anger momentarily forgotten.
"Yes. Kadrin twinborn are almost invariably Acardian. I got Caladris to round up the imperial birth records and cross-referenced them against Acardian records. I compared them to death records and ruled out any that died overly young, eventually narrowing it down to a single, ancient old man for whom no death record existed."
"So who was he?" Brannis asked, hungry for a name.
"Agga Tenthread, also known as Agga the Ratkeeper, Agga the Wordmonger, and a dozen other aliases. He ran a network of spies and information brokers that started and ended wars, profiting in both directions."
"This journal, where is it now?" Brannis asked.
"On the shelf in my bedroom. It is titled A Rat's Tale. It was written by one of Agga's underlings but widely regarded as fictional—exaggerated at best. It is easy to conclude such, based on the fantastical elements contained within—unless, of course, you know that he was also Rashan Solaran."
"Rashan has made mention, in vague terms, of running such an organization between worlds."
"Between worlds, you say?" Oriedel scratched at his bald head. "I can think of no mention in the journal. It is possible that the writer either was not twinborn, or intentionally omitted evidence."
Brannis took a moment to find the book amid Oriedel's small personal library, stacked on shelves that dominated his tiny bedchamber.
"I apologize, Father, for my harsh words. This could be a great help to me."
"You sound like you are preparing to leave. Have you forgotten I said I had two more things to discuss? That list is down to but one."
"What was the other thing?" Brannis asked.
"Well, I might be able to explain why Kyrus was the odd son in the family, taller, scrawnier ... very Solaran, you might say ..."
"No," Soria said, incredulous. Brannis could say nothing at all.
"Twinborn heredity is a twitchy thing at best, but it is not all guesswork," Oriedel explained. "Your mother was a ravishing woman in her youth."
"I cannot stand here and listen to this ..." Brannis said, preparing to leave.
"You should," Soria said, catching him by the arm. In a whisper she added, "Your half-sister still has my horse."
Chapter 6 - Twice the Bargain
The rain-soaked deck of the Fair Trader nearly slid out from under Tanner's feet several times as he made his way from the crew quarters to those of Captain Zayne. You would think twenty years of sword fighting would give me better balance than a deckhand, Tanner thought as he watched the crew walk about like nothing was amiss.
He slumped against the captain's door, his shoulder's impact standing in for his first knock.
"Captain Zayne," he shouted over the wind.
"Come in, Mr. Tanner," a calm voice called from within.
Tanner ripped open the door and hung on by it until he was safely within the captain's cabin. He dripped from every part of him, and the trip had only been half the length of the ship.
"Thanks, Captain. Don't mind me asking, but don't you usually man the wheel in a storm?"
"A bit of rain, heavy I grant you, but no proper storm. Those lads would think less of me for making a drama of it," Captain Zayne answered. He was working in a ledger, and turned his attention back to it as he finished. Tanner had the sense to wait until he gained the captain's attention before blustering onward. At length the captain pushed the ledger aside, leaving it open so that the ink might dry.
"I despise sums but no one else about is fit to do them for me. What excuse have you brought me this morning, Mr. Tanner?"
"I hadn't thought of it that way," Tanner said. "I suppose I ought to complain I don't know where to bring the kid, now that I've got him. I guess that's as good a reason as any why I haven't delivered him yet."
"You have him?" Denrik leaped from his writing desk, knocking the chair over.
"On an airship. Just waiting on a place to bring him."
"How did you come by an airship?" Denrik asked, eyes narrowing. He pulled back from Tanner, his exuberance gone with a change of the wind.
"I took some of your man Stalyart's advice: I lied to Kyrus. This whole business wasn't getting done if you two had to work out an agreement; he couldn't meet your terms and you didn't trust his. So, I changed your terms."
"And just what have I agreed to?" Denrik asked. He crossed his arms and twisted up his face in a sneer.
"You're willing to wait on delivery of Rashan's head. Boy for the staff, with the head once Kyrus can manage it. He thinks he needs the staff to do it, and you agreed."
"No."
"Oh, come on Cap'n," Tanner said, imitating the crew's familiar usage of his title. "You think I don't know that? Spit, I doubt Kyrus believes it, but this way he doesn't have to lie to Rashan about why he gave up the kid. I don't think he wanted him around either."
"He cannot have the staff. I still intend to kill Rashan Solaran myself. Though I would happily see his head perched on a spike, I shall not relinquish my claim on it meekly. Did you depart entirely from our plan, or did you still tell him about the demon of Azzat?"
"I told him all right. Don't know if he'll go see this Xizix of yours, but you got his attention at least. I already left Kadris so it's not like I can go back and warn him. Is it a trap or something?"
"Mr. Tanner, why for all the sunken gold in the Katamic would I tell you if it was? Even if you are aboard an airship, you could just turn about and return to Kadris."
"Yeah, but I was curious, and I won't. A deal's a deal, and I'm good on my word. You're getting that kid of yours back soon as you tell me where to bring him," Tanner said. A sudden roll of the ship threw Tanner against the wall as Denrik considered what to tell him. The old seaman's legs moved reflexively with the motion of the ship; he hardly moved, fixing Tanner with an equally unmoving glare.
"How well do you know Khesh?" Denrik asked at length.
"Khesh is a big place. I know some of it," Tanner said with a shrug.
"The northern regions. In particular, the northeast," Denrik clarified.
"Been all over Mongrel Khesh." Tanner used the informal name for the northern regions, where the mixing of blood was common and foreigners nearly outnumbered native Kheshi. "I don't speak the language so I’ve never spent much time in the south. Hope you're not expecting me to be a cartographer though. I follow the city signs at the crossroads when I'm in Khesh."
"Do you know Kandelgar?" Denrik asked.
"Sounds familiar. What does he look like?" Tanner asked by way of reply.
"Kandelgar is a city, you sword-brained lout. Have you been there? Do you know where to find it in Khesh?"
"Ask some local? Usually I ask two or three and if their stories agree, I take it as true."
"You are truly worthless ..." Denrik shook his head. "Get over here." Denrik moved to a table covered with the navigational charts and began digging through a
pile of maps.
Tanner attempted to peer over his shoulder but needed to hold one of the ceiling beams to steady himself. He had eaten well just before the storm began and was regretting it.
"Here." Denrik stabbed a finger down on a bright Acardian navy map showing the northern region of Khesh and the surrounding waters. Tanner saw Kandelgar on the coast.
"Where's that, about where Ghelk and the Ogrelands run into each other?" Tanner asked.
"Finally! Yes." Denrik slapped a hand to his forehead. "That is the spot I will meet you. How long will it take you to get there?"
"Well," Tanner said, trying to put on a smile despite the clenching sensation in his gut threatening to eject his breakfast. "That depends on how we work out a few other details."
"Your payment?" Denrik asked.
"I'm thinking about doubling it."
"I can still toss you into the Katamic if you think to hold my boy hostage like the rest of them tried," Denrik said, turning fully toward Tanner.
"Hear me out. You've got two sons, right?" Tanner asked. "One here, one there."
Denrik perked up. "You mean to find Jadon too? Why?"
"Couple reasons. One: so I can get off this stinking ship, and two: so I'm not lined up in your cannon’s range in both worlds at once. You've threatened to toss me into the Katamic enough times for me to wonder what's kept you from doing it. Near as I can figure, my dying scream gets heard in one world, I've got friends who can hunt you down in both. You make me disappear, no one knows and you're in clear seas."
"How delightfully convoluted. Had you considered maybe that I was just more prudent than to waste my only line of communication to my enemies?"
Tanner paused a moment, his protruding brow growing furrowed.
"I want to go with Stalyart ... this world's Stalyart," Tanner said, eluding the question of whether he had overthought his predicament. "I've already sent the one in Veydrus to go find you there."