Sourcethief (Book 3)

by J. S. Morin

  "Really ..." Caladris said, turning a vacant look upon a far corner of the ceiling. "I wonder, is it possible he managed the same trick as you, long ago?" All trace of anger in Caladris had been washed away by the curious puzzle Kyrus had just laid before him.

  "Why kill himself though?" Kyrus asked. It seemed an odd degree of trouble to go to for a suicide. He had not considered that the story showed a link between worlds, but a hint of who Agga might have been, what Rashan might have been doing around that time. Could the death of Rashan's twin have started him on the path to madness?

  "Perhaps he did not want his life's work passed on to another. Cleaned up his business before he moved along, so to speak. A normal man might not care, but a twinborn just might. Unable to bear the thought of his organization living on without him."

  "Sounds like spite to me."

  "All the more reason to believe it. Rashan seems nothing if not spiteful," Caladris said. Kyrus frowned but said nothing. That was never the impression I got of him.

  "It hints at Rashan's power, but I fail to see how it helps find a weakness," Caladris continued.

  "It gives a time period when he was in Tellurak, if that really is what happened," Kyrus said. Rashan seemed shocked that I had made it between Tellurak and Veydrus. Was that just a ruse?

  "Well, I have my suspicions about the accuracy of history when measured to an individual day, unless it was a noteworthy event," Caladris said. "From our side, there may have been nothing worthy of note."

  "Maybe Axterion ..." Kyrus mused aloud.

  "The old cave-wit? My father would be lucky to remember his morning feast most days. You want him to think back to a hundred and more winters ago?"

  "I ... I think I do," Kyrus said, turning to walk away. I can ask him about Xizix as well. I am beginning to think I am not foremost in Caladris's worries.

  "Ah, Kyrus, one last thing," Caladris said. He had called after him just before Kyrus left the wards that ensured their conversation was private. "You say you wished to know of more of my little secrets; I have one for you that I had originally thought imprudent to share."

  "What is it?"

  "Rashan confided in me that once he sees you married off to Celia, he intends to seek his heirs from Juliana," Caladris said. He fixed Kyrus with a lewd grin, delighting in the look of murder in his eyes.

  "What makes him think—"

  "Just his plan, mind you. I might see clear to getting you two sparrows in the same nest. I could take Celia for my next wife, that way ... good healthy lass, you know."

  "Aunt Faeranna is still alive, you bastard," Kyrus said. His anger on behalf of Brannis's family no longer came as a surprise to him.

  "Just a matter of time, you know. She was never the same after Danilaesis's cradlefire," Caladris said, citing the rare condition that affected aether-strong infants. In Danilaesis's case, his had happened just before birth. "I am an important man, too hale and healthy to be without a wife. Good of the empire, you know."

  "I hope Aunt Faera lives to see Celia turn sagging and grey," Kyrus said.

  He ripped apart the ward and slammed the door behind him as he left.

  * * * * * * * *

  Kyrus wanted to see Axterion straightaway, but he had an appointment to keep with Dolvaen. The latest confrontation with his uncle had left his stomach gurgling and a burning sensation in his gullet that had nothing to do with harnessing aether. The bit about his aunt had nearly goaded him to violence, right there in the same library where he had sat as a boy listening to his nursemaid read from Adventures of Boppy the Rabbit. The incongruity compounded itself when he remembered that it had been Brannis, not himself, who had experienced those memories.

  Am I truly so much Brannis now? Soria may be right. Kyrus's access to their shared memories was growing so acute that he often could not readily tell whose memories were whose, except by context.

  Kyrus's transference spell from the front courtyard of his familial home to Dolvaen's was scant exertion. The more he practiced the spell the more comfortable it became. He floated to the ground amid the flowers in Dolvaen's back garden. Fully in bloom, they displayed a panorama of color. A gardener who saw him appear gave a curt nod and excused himself from the vicinity.

  At a small garden table set for two was the de facto High Sorcerer of Kadrin. With the warmth of late springtime, the pitcher of juiced lemons on the table seemed a pleasant offering, no matter how contentious the meeting promised to be.

  "Good morning, Sorcerer Dolvaen," Kyrus called as he approached. Dolvaen looked up to the sun, which was playing hide-from-his-lordship among the clouds.

  "I suppose it is still morning, though just. Would you join me, Sir Brannis?" Dolvaen swept a hand to indicate the seat beside him. Kyrus obliged him and sat looking out at the arrayed flora. Everything smelled sweet, from the flower-filled air to the lemony tang wafting from the pitcher.

  "I presume you wish to discuss my standing with the warlock?" Kyrus asked. He took the pitcher and poured a glass.

  "Indeed. I can only consider that it is just a matter of time before you two come to violence. It is still my hope that you seek aid and take initiative to strike first."

  "You are more practical than this. Surely you brought me out here for more than to repeat your same arguments again."

  "True enough. The demon and the emperor each grow more intolerable by the day. We do not see it with Rashan since he is away, but each time he returns he seems more rabid a wolf than when he last left," Dolvaen said. He took a sip of lemon to give Kyrus time to speak.

  "You say that, but he seems little different to me," Kyrus replied.

  "You were next to him at the pageant. Who sends lightning after a Founding Day illusion? I ask you that." Dolvaen gave Kyrus a challenging look, slipping once more into the role of an academic debater.

  "Fine. That I grant you. But he seemed worn a bit thin right then and it was an excellent likeness of the dragon Jadefire. I saw her at Raynesdark and had to remind myself that it was mere illusion. My guts clenched at the sight."

  "Aye, my point precisely. You had every right to react just like him, but you, a neophyte, held your ground. Our proud and mighty warlock smeared his trousers and took violence to a puppet."

  "Very well, what say I stop playing the murderer's counselor for a moment and agreed with you? What then? I am growing weary of dire warnings with no help behind them," Kyrus complained.

  "Truly? Or is this another gambit to win an argument?" Dolvaen clearly still remembered Kyrus's ploy to retain Emperor Sommick's authority before the Inner Circle.

  Kyrus paused a moment, lips pursed. Dolvaen was strong, stronger than Caladris or Fenris. That much was clear by their Sources. Rashan was a mystery, his demonic Source invisible and his concealed power immeasurable. Perhaps he was no stronger than Iridan had been, just more skilled and focused. Illiardra had insinuated as much when she called Iridan a copy of Rashan, more than a mingling of her blood with his."Truly."

  "Very well then," Dolvaen said with a smile. "We have a lot of planning to do before the emperor makes a laughing stock of the empire." He lifted his mug and drained the remainder of his drink in one go.

  "Why? What has he done now?"

  "Done? Still doing is more like it. He's taken the simple task of picking out an empress and turned it into a jousting tournament of noble lasses. He's taking them to his bed two at a time to see which he likes best," Dolvaen practically shouted.

  "That sounds ... sporting," Kyrus allowed, unsure how else to approach the subject. "Does seem a bit crass."

  "He has paired them up by their dislike of one another. It has half the noble houses up in arms. They find it to be no suitable way to treat a future empress."

  "I wonder if he knows that," Kyrus said with a hand to his chin. He narrowed his eyes. "He could be waiting for the first to refuse his offer."

  Dolvaen scoffed. "That blathering buffoon?" He paused as if to consider his own objection. "No, too sly a trick, I think."r />
  "It would fit well with Rashan's thinking. Emperor Sommick spent a lot of time with little company but the warlock's. 'Have at least two reasons for anything you do,' right?" Kyrus looked off at the flowers ... anywhere to avoid looking at Dolvaen while discussing the subject.

  "Two? Picking an empress and what else?" Dolvaen asked.

  Kyrus squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. "The obvious."

  "Oh," Dolvaen said. He cleared his throat. "Yes, that."

  "I have another matter to get us clear of this sordid topic," Kyrus said. "I want you to make your peace with Caladris."

  "Fine sentiment, but that bovine uncle of yours is as good as a food-taster for Rashan. I think Fenris a more likely ally, if we were both to approach him."

  "Caladris has been doing everything he can to keep Rashan in check," Kyrus said, laying his uncle's duplicity at Dolvaen's feet. "He knows you work against Rashan and has kept that knowledge from him."

  "The fact that Caladris plays a layered game comes as little surprise. Have a care that he does not play it a layer deeper than you expect. Why else would he bare his plans to you? Naïveté is one of the last traits I would ascribe to that gluttonous feline. You however, may have fallen prey to a logical story and a familiar voice."

  "I ... I think," Kyrus could not shake the feeling that Dolvaen might have been right. "Just speak with Caladris. He already knows your stance, even if you are unsure of his. What risk is there to you?"

  "An afternoon spent with that drunkard," Dolvaen muttered.

  "If he doubts or troubles you, tell him: I know nothing," Kyrus said, the latter in Acardian. He watched for a glimmer of understanding, but found none.

  "A password of some sort?" Dolvaen asked.

  "Something like that," Kyrus replied, his hopes of finding an alternate twinborn ally fading away.

  * * * * * * * *

  The vaulted ceilings of the Solaran dining hall echoed with the comings and goings of servants, the clatter of silverware, and the approach of a guest for the lone diner. Three hours past noon was an unpopular time for a night's meal, but Axterion was wont to being in bed before the rest of the household took their evening repast. With the whole kitchen staff at his snap-to, he had his choice of meal and a bit of peace to accompany it—except for days when he found himself beset by companionship.

  "Good afternoon, grandfather," Kyrus greeted him. The ancient sorcerer turned to regard him as he approached. It was a reaction Brannis had seldom gotten. Between Axterion's failing eyes and Brannis's Source being bright as a freshly blown-out candle, the old man had hardly laid eyes on his grandson. Kyrus shone in the aether well enough that Axterion could see him approach from out of doors to inside.

  "It was. Whether it stays that way remains to be seen," the old man said, eyeing Kyrus warily as he spooned a mushy vegetable stew into his mouth.

  "I have a matter that Uncle Caladris was unable to help me with. Have you a few moments?"

  "Bah, you have me trapped betwixt an empty stomach and a full bowl, and you well know it," Axterion observed. He gave a little grunt for emphasis as he took another bite of stew.

  "I have an odd matter to discuss."

  "Good. Gets boring about the place. Draw and cast, my boy."

  "I am trying to trace back Warlock Rashan's whereabouts to before he left the empire. I believe he went away for a while, shortly before the Battle of the Dead Earth," Kyrus explained.

  "Well, makes sense Caladris’s not knowing. At that time I hadn't put the lad into your grandmother yet," Axterion said, drawing a shudder from Kyrus at the thought.

  "Can you recall the 6177th springtime since the Founding? That was just prior to the Battle of the Dead Earth, which was on the 37th of that springtime. I am interested in, say, the 10th through the 30th," Kyrus explained. He had no idea how long Rashan might have taken to get to Acardia, or what other tasks he might have attended to while there.

  "I think so. Had a mighty fine time that springtime, what with the world coming to an end and all. Got a lot of living done in just a season. Focuses the mind, realizing you're bound for a shambling eternity of taking orders from Loramar once he gets finished killing you."

  "What about Rashan? Do you remember what he was up to?"

  "Looking under the stable-hay for anything to throw in front of that necromancer's army, best as I can remember. That's about when he made that sword of his. It worked like a charm, too, if you fancy killing half the empire's young sorcerers along with everything halfway to the horizon in every direction that was either living or pretending to."

  "Did he go anywhere? Did he take leave? You were in the Inner Circle back then, were you not? You must have heard if he did."

  "Ahh, of course I was," Axterion replied, latching on to his pick of the questions. "Young for it, too. They knew what they had on their hands: bold, strong, good head on my shoulders ..."

  "But what about Rashan?"

  "Seem to remember him going on his knees to find an ally or two. Not his strongest skill I might add. The stone folk told him to go bake in the sunlight—fairly certain they find that insulting. Went looking for the spirits of Podawei Wood too, but if those rumors of forest spirits ever were true, they weren't anymore."

  "Podawei Wood?" Kyrus echoed. Kyrus's mind went back to the book of prophecies: Seek a way among the spirits.

  "Aye, but just old spinsters' tales," Axterion said. His face twisted into a queer smile and chuckled at something that had apparently popped into his head. "Look at me calling anything 'old.' Besides, those forest spirits are all holed up in the deep jungles of Elok, way off across the sea. No reason for a handful to stay behind, right beneath the empire's breeches."

  "Are you sure he did not find them? It is Rashan, after all," Kyrus persisted.

  "You can talk yourself in circles about that crusty old sack of lies—and yeah, I can call him old—but you have to trust your judgment. Discount him entirely and you waste knowledge, listen with open ears and he'll fill your head with deceit."

  "Maybe I can go have a look for myself ..."

  "Careful lad. They don't use aether like we do. No draw. They just use it where it drifts. Not sure how they do it. Might be they take hold of that shiny Source of yours and use it to twist you up like a bread knot."

  "What would you suggest then?" Kyrus asked. Few in the family ever asked Axterion's opinion. He had spent most of Brannis's lifetime convincing them he was senile. It seemed only Brannis and Danil had caught on.

  "Might be that you can find that lass, Illiardra. Nice voice on her, but couldn't see her worth a two-copper horse. Old as a dragon's tomb though, by her word," Axterion suggested.

  Kyrus thought a moment. Axterion was in a helpful mood by his standards. Can I trust him? Who else has he talked to?

  "I have no way to find Illiardra again, but I have heard of another who might know. Have you considered that the rumors of a demon ruling in Azzat might be true?" Kyrus asked.

  "Rumor? Rumors are for the piddling folk. High Sorcerers call them 'reports' and we get them sorted out to truth and lie. Of course there's a demon. Keeps Azzat set off from everyone else's affairs," Axterion said. He scratched his head and squinted one eye shut. "Name was ... Zizzle-pick ... Zipicks ..."

  "Xizix?" Kyurs offered.

  "Sure, if you say so," Axterion agreed. "I've got a mind like an iron strongbox: rusty on the outside, but still sturdy where it matters."

  "Do you think I could trust him for advice?" Kyrus asked.

  "Why ask me, boy? I never met the thing. Haven't set foot in Azzat either, though your grandmother insisted it would be pretty there," Axterion said.

  "She had been to Azzat?" Kyrus asked. Brannis had never met his grandmother. She had died when Caladris was young and even he had little memory of her.

  "Naw. Nothing that exotic. She just figured it would look like Acardia," Axterion said.

  Kyrus's mouth hung open. He meant to say something; truly, he did. The little
workshop in his brain that assembled words into sounds was busy gawking out from his eyes as well.

  "What? You act like it was supposed to be some big secret. Anyone with half a brain was fooled by your impersonation. Those of us with full brains worked it out right off," Axterion said. Kyrus could see beyond the crotchety little frown to the bit of smugness tucked in behind it.

  "You are twinborn?" Kyrus managed to put words to the obvious question.

  "Naw, but your grandmother was a nobleman's lass in Acardia and told me all about that whole mess. She never got pulled into Rashan's pit of spies and informants. I protected her from that much by my position."

  "How much do you know?" Kyrus asked, incredulous.

  "Assume 'everything' and you'll be half right. I was High Sorcerer for over seventy summers, boy."

  Kyrus looked about. There were no servants visible in either light or aether, but he leaned forward to whisper anyway.

  "Am I doing the right thing, undoing Rashan?" Kyrus asked. He is the one I can turn to. Not Caladris. Not Dolvaen.

  "One or the other of you won't outlive me. He never was right in the head, but he's worse than I remember him. I heard about the Founding Day pageant. It could be you one day that spooks him, you realize."

  Kyrus gave his grandfather a hug and left the wisest man in the Empire to finish his mushy stew.

  * * * * * * * *

  The solitude of his office in army headquarters was a welcome respite. Kyrus needed time to digest a great many words, many of them likely lies, and everything was quiet here except for the noises he created himself. The wards all about the room dampened every other sound, from the noise of the street to the adjacent offices and floors below.

  Kyrus ran his hands over the speaking stone, finished in every way except for the activation. It was the last thing he wanted to take care of before setting off to find the reclusive ruler of Azzat. He peered through the glassy surface. Layer upon layer of runes were built up within, each aligned to interact with those on the layers above and below. The surface layer was laid bare before his seeing eyes, the one just below obscured but discernible. Past that, he had to send little jolts of aether into the device to illuminate the runes. It was far too little to activate the speaking stone, but still got the runes within to shine and reveal themselves.