by J. S. Morin
Kyrus sighed and rubbed his eyes. He had been staring for too long. The sun was growing dim in the sky outside his office windows. A silent effort lit the room, magically replacing the waning light. Kyrus reached for the teacup at his tableside and found it empty. The teapot was likewise.
"Hours, and no flaws found," he murmured to himself. "I can either send someone to fetch another pot and spend hours more, or just get it over with."
Kyrus hesitated a moment, realizing that his conversation had taken place entirely one-sidedly. He shook his head, stuffing his thoughts back inside his mind where they belonged. I need a cat, I think. At least if he had a cat, he would have a creature close at hand to aim singly-held conversations toward. It would dull the appearance of madness, if not protect against it.
A few deep breaths steadied Kyrus's nerves. He positioned the crystal speaking stone on his desk at a comfortable distance. He would need to rest his hands upon it for however long the empowering took. Slowly at first, he began to draw.
The aether harkened like hunting dogs to his call, alert to spring forth and obey upon a chance whim. He eased the aether into the outermost runes, watching it snake along the surface and flow inward like rainwater across cracked stone. The runes drank in the aether, sucking it down each layer with scant effort on Kyrus's part. Good. A promising start.
The next layer was harder to watch, the glow of the outermost shining in his aether-vision. Directing the flow took more concentration and required deflecting a few missteps. It was like watching the same cracked stone, but through a rain-speckled window. It took more force of aether as well, but Kyrus's experience in shipbuilding had prepared him for the empowering to grow more difficult the farther down he pushed.
The third layer proved bothersome. Kyrus was operating almost entirely by memory. He had carved the deeper runes a tenday ago and not seen them clearly since. The blue-white radiance of the two outermost layers shone too brightly to make any sense of what lay below. Try, fail, and try once more. Eventually Kyrus's efforts drove the aether through.
At the fourth layer the runes began pushing back in earnest. The errant flows sought misremembered pathways and cost more effort with each failure. Kyrus increased his draw. By the fifth layer, he labored. He knew he had the strength and patience within him but light swam before his eyes. The stone grew warm and his hands sweated against the faceted surface, making it slick. Kyrus shut out his aether-vision, guiding the flow by feel as he could no longer see enough detail to aid him. He felt the aether sink deeper: into the sixth layer. He was nearing the end. He gave a great heave upon the aether and the light spell in the room went dark. All that remained was an angry orange luminosity growing within the speaking stone. The runes continued to push back against him. All progress halted and no matter the aether Kyrus added, it did not advance any further. The glow merely increased.
* * * * * * * *
Once Celia had gotten over her shock and anger at being suddenly whisked off via Brannis's transference spell, she found herself missing the convenience of it as she traipsed across Kadris, a city whose sprawling vastness once seemed so grand. Now it was a well-worn maze of hovels, shops, markets, gardens, and plazas. There were a thousand ways through the maze, but obstacles moved about with irregularity, piling petty frustrations upon her with each trip.
The army headquarters was a stark, ugly pile of stacked stone monoliths with nary the touch of a female hand to be found. It was not so much that women were unwelcome there; the leering gazes and the gentlemanly words that greeted her each visit attested to that. It was just that they were given no consideration in the construction or design of the place.
Celia exchanged pleasantries with the minor functionaries. She shared a perfunctory "good evening" with General Westel and inquired about his family. Though she had no affection for the old stodger, his family was well positioned and it never hurt to be in their good graces. Lieutenant Shayl, who kept the closest watch on Sir Brannis, chatted with her a while and informed her about Brannis's state of mind.
"He said there was some fierce magic tonight, Sorceress Celia," Shayl had told her. "I'd wait for him to finish if I was you."
Thus she stood outside Brannis's office, waiting. She gave herself over to the aether as the fading light from the corridor windows gave way to nightfall and gloom. She stood watching the wards, not even finding the customary spot that Brannis usually left for knocking upon. Truly, he wished not to be interrupted.
Her mission was routine, but orders were orders nonetheless. Caladris had found out that Sir Brannis had been at Dolvaen Estate for a meeting, and it vexed her superior that Brannis went about on his own, working toward ends he could not divine. Find out what he was there for, Caladris had said. Take all night, if that is required. Wrest is from beneath his pants if that's what it takes. He could be downright crude when far enough down in his cups.
A sudden blindness came over Celia as the wall of aether that had been warding Brannis's office went dark. She was disoriented for a moment, but the light from the ward was replaced by a shining beacon within the room. Unable to see the door in the aether any longer, she switched back to the light and allowed herself inside. There was a strange sensation, even before the door opened. She was unable to place it.
Brannis was inside, hands upon the new speaking stone he had been working on. A ghastly orange light shone from the crystal, providing the only illumination in the room save what little starlight entered through the windows.
"Celia," Brannis shouted, twisting about to look at her. She was unaccustomed to surprising him; she had thought he always kept one eye to the aether, knowing her by Source before she even opened the door most visits. She had assumed he allowed the ward to fall to allow her inside. "Stay back. I have to draw a dangerous amount to keep pace with this thing. It is threatening to force back all my aether, I think."
"Brannis, what are you doing?" Celia asked, shouting over a throbbing sensation that she recognized as coming from her Source. It fought back reflexively against Brannis's draw. The sensation grew more pronounced as she entered, though it was a good six paces to reach him. "Runes shouldn't be doing that. They're glowing in the light."
"I know, but everything should be fine once I finish filling it, just keep back in the meantime."
"No, something is wrong. Those runes were complex, but nothing that should be taxing you," Celia said. "Hold it steady a moment, let me have a look at it."
"Poor idea ... having a hard time ... keeping a hold as it is."
Celia looked to Brannis himself, previously distracted by the speaking stone. She noticed the look of pain on his face. He isn't going to be able to hold much longer if he doesn't finish empowering that stone. She moved closer despite his warning. Rather than feel an increase in the ache in her Source, she felt it ebb.
"Thank you. Let me have a look," Celia said. She put her face as close as she dared, peeking around Brannis's long fingers as they trembled, holding onto the runed device. "I think I see a flaw inside."
"A flaw?" Brannis shouted with a touch of panic.
"I doubt you'll get this filled before destroying it. I'm surprised you haven't already."
"I can't hold it any longer," Brannis said. "Get away. Run. Out the balcony and jump for it." He bowed his head over the stone and she felt his draw once more.
"Brannis, you're just making it—"
"GO!"
Celia turned and bolted for the balcony. She tore open the windowed door and rushed to the railing. She leaned over and he stomach rose to her throat. The gloom well hid the street below, starlight shadowed by clouds, but she knew the height of that balcony.
"JUMP!" Brannis shouted. She turned to look at him. He had picked up the crystal, pulling it close to him, buried against his stomach.
"I ... I can't!" She looked down once more, then back to Brannis. She saw him turn his back to her.
BOOM.
* * * * * * * *
Celia regained her sense of
sight, but still saw floating spots before her eyes. There was a pitched whine that pervaded everything; she could hear nothing else above it. She screamed Brannis's name but could not tell if her lungs held any breath to shout.
Dizzy, she slumped against the balcony railing, surveying the devastation. The room was gone, largely. Kyrus had shielded the direction of the balcony with his body. Toward the other side of him the blast had torn the building apart. The sturdy, ancient structure of stacked granite blocks was open to the air, more a courtyard surrounded by ruined walls than a proper building. The entire front was ripped open, making Kalak Square visible from where she sat, illuminated by flames from the explosion. She saw no bodies, but knew there must have been. She had spoken to too many men for them to have all exited the building in the few moments since she had seen them.
Kyrus? She saw no sign of him.
She switched to aether-vision but her aether-sight was blinded, a wash of indistinguishable blue in all directions. She stood up to have a look for him in the light, but thought better of it as the balcony wobbled beneath her. A moment's careful, seated observation told her that it was she who swayed, not the remnants of the structure.
On hands and knees despite the peril to her dress, she crawled into what was left of Kyrus's office, enacting a small shielding spell after she cut her hand on glass shards.
The floor of the room had collapsed, but not shattered. A sizable chunk lay propped at an angle, forming a ramp down to the rubble below. If anything was left of Brannis, it would be down there. She followed the floor down, turning to descend feet-first, but the precarious slab was not up to the task. It gave way.
Celia screamed; at least, she imagined she did. Her ears gave no confirmation, just a continuation of the same whine.
She stopped mid-air before she got the chance to find out whether her shield was up to a task more demanding than broken glass. The fire-lit stone jags had come just an arm's reach from piercing her midsection. She floated along, pulled by magic.
She turned and saw Kyrus—clothes shredded to rags at the front, seated on the rubble of the ground floor, propped on an elbow. She drifted toward him. His mouth moved but what questions he might have asked of her, she knew not. She did not feel the light grip of magic release her until she was pillowed atop him, gathered in his arms.
The state of immediate shock wore off with safety apparent. She buried herself in his chest and cried silently against his bare skin. He stroked her hair and she felt a rumbling in him that must have been from speaking. Wracked with sobs, with Brannis the one to comfort her, she could not imagine betraying him.
Caladris and Dolvaen can both drift in the winds, she told herself.
Her arms were tucked up before her as she huddled in Kyrus's embrace. She felt for a cord about her neck. It ran down to where a small stone pendant hung, nestled quietly between her bosoms. It had been a gift from Rashan. It might only work once, he had told her, but it was time to call for aid.
Treachery, warlock. Brannis betrayed by-
She felt the stone twitch in her grasp, its magic spent. She tucked it back in its hiding place and allowed Kyrus to comfort her.
Chapter 8 - The Northern Front
The rushing wind across her ears was the only sound Juliana heard for hours at a stretch. True quiet was beginning to sound eerie, as if there was some aspect of the world that was missing. The deck of the Starlit Marauder was growing comfortable beneath her feet. Attuned as she was to the sound of the wind, she could easily detect a discordant note: footsteps on the stairs.
"Stay below," Juliana shouted. "If you need me, give a yell and I'll come down."
The footsteps continued, heedless of her.
"I come prepared," a voice called back to her. She had known it would be him; his men were afraid of her. She turned to see the Safschan version of her friend Rakashi carrying a coil of rope, one end already looped around his waist. He crouched low as he made his way across the deck.
Juliana tilted the Starlit Marauder in a shallow banking maneuver, forcing Tiiba to scramble for a handhold. She glared back at him when he turned an angry look her way. It was the sternest look she could envision on him. Rakashi had always been hard to rile.
"You are still upset," Tiiba commented.
"They sure spent the long coin educating you now, didn't they?" Juliana turned her attention back to flying, sparing glances enough to note that Tiiba was tethering himself to the railings. I oughtta turn this thing upside down, let him dangle a bit.
"Is all well up here?" Tiiba asked. He was close enough that he was not shouting to be heard. Juliana refused to turn.
"Everything is fine. Go on back down."
"I cannot help but notice that we appear lost. We veer and circle too much to escape notice."
"Looking for Denku Appa," Juliana muttered, daring Tiiba to hear her above the winds.
She felt his hand take her by the chin. She jerked her head away, having hated the gesture since Rakashi had used it on her as a girl. It had taken her a year and more to break him of it, but he had gotten over his need to look her in the eye when talking to her. Tiiba seemed not to have learned.
"Look at me!" he shouted. Juliana turned, startled to hear him raise his voice for anything but to drown out the gale of the Starlit Marauder's passing. "What did you just say?"
"I was looking for Denku Appa," she admitted. "That little island Brannis got stranded on. Seemed as good a place as any to leave you and your friends."
"Stop the ship. We go in pointless circles anyway. Come below and let us talk in peace."
She studied Tiiba's mismatched eyes; one was missing a patch that would have made the resemblance to Rakashi uncanny. There was no sign that he was willing to negotiate the point. Her eyes flicked briefly to the rune-blade sheathed at his back. Tiiba's eyebrows raised and he turned his head as if to say: violence?
Juliana gritted her teeth, blinked, and shook her head just slightly. The Starlit Marauder came to a halt and drifted slowly in the breeze. The buckles and straps that kept her at the helm fell loose as she extracted herself. She shouldered her way past Tiiba on her way down to her quarters.
She was sitting on the edge of her bunk when he arrived, coiling up the length of rope he had brought on deck. She noticed things about him that only Soria's eyes were accustomed to noting: he stood with his weight to his back foot, his left shoulder foremost to her, the coil of rope was held between them as he wound it back into neat loops. He's worried I might attack him. She sighed, forcing a smile onto her face.
Tiiba's posture eased. He closed the door behind him as he entered and set the rope down on a chair. He took a spot beside her on the bed.
"Decisions can be hard things to make," Tiiba said. "The materials from which you build them can make them good or poor, no matter the skill that goes into crafting them."
"So this is where you try to convince me that you killed Iridan because you love me?" Juliana said. She did not like the feeling in her eyes. Her vision was blurring and she blinked to clear it.
"So you think me jealous then?" Tiiba said, the hint of a chuckle in his voice. He was kind enough to refrain from actually laughing.
"To protect me then? I admitted we fought, after all."
"You told me you had to hold yourself back from killing him," Tiiba said. His tone was as mild as a grandmother's.
"What are you herding me toward, Rakashi?" Juliana asked.
"You spend so much time with Brannis that you pick up his habits. Think less, reason more. Why did I kill your husband? I am Safschan, fighting alongside our Megrenn friends. He slaughtered our troops, our sorcerers, he cut down three of my brethren: blade-priests, not just Safschan. I knew them like brothers, but it was not vengeance for them either."
"Why then?" Juliana asked.
"Because I am a warrior. I met my foe on the battlefield and slew him. I was the better, the luckier, the one left alive. That is the way of war."
"Why you, why not someo
ne else?"
"They tried ... and died. Success is the crime that draws your anger. Because I love you, I never told you it was me. It was a badly made decision, but built on love," Tiiba said. He put his arm around her. Juliana sat rigid, unrelenting for the moment in the face of his attempted reconciliation.
"Not jealousy?" she asked.
Tiiba pulled away from her, gesturing up and down the length of her with both hands.
"Of this? What warrior babe might issue through those hips without cracking them like a wishbone? Where would a suckling babe find his milk? I have seen Soria in the bath pools, and doubt your magic enhancement will make you any milk. Get us on to Safschan, and I shall introduce my current mistress and show you what a mother looks like." She stared after Tiiba as he rose with an amused smile on his face.
"But I always thought—"
"Keep your Brannis. Have skinny sorcerer children with him if you wish. But keep your thoughts out of my loins. I have always thought of you as a niece. It disturbs me that you think otherwise of me ..."
Tiiba closed the door behind him.
* * * * * * * *
The town of Neirasch was nearly deserted save for a few soldiers who had been left behind to purchase time for the fleeing refugees. Their lives were the only coin the demon would accept. They looked fresh, unsullied, grim—and it was an experienced and knowing eye that did the judging.
Rashan stood at the fore of three-score Kadrin infantry, freshly disgorged from the Looming Blade. It was Rashan's new favorite among the airships: the largest in the fleet, freshly runed, and converted from a captured Azzat freighter that had passed through the wrong waters and caught the warlock's notice. The ship was large enough to comfortably carry those soldiers and many plundered luxuries.