by J. S. Morin
"It is early once more, Grand Necromancer," Ni-Kani answered. She was his favorite of the new ones. She was round-shouldered and flat-faced, not comely in the least, but she reminded him of a Kheshi sailor that Denrik had known, one of the few women he had ever sailed with. Atop that, she had a sense of humor, something the others either lacked or feared to display in his presence.
"I think I really do need to sleep," Jinzan complained. "A bit would harm nothing."
"I agree. We can't have that. We need you harming things, else this effort is all wasted," Ni-Kani joked. "How about I go get you a piglet?"
Jinzan squeezed his eyes shut and leaned his head down to rest in the palm of his hand, his elbow propped upon his writing desk.
"Bring it in cooked, I am famished."
"No," a voice said from behind him. "No sleep, no food. Loramar's way."
"Chioju, I am not Loramar," Jinzan protested. He heard the whine in his own voice and cringed a little. They are breaking me.
"Not yet ... not yet ..." Chioju trailed off, leaving a long, silent pause among them.
"Shall I bring that piglet?" Ni-Kani asked again.
Jinzan sighed. Fatigue and hunger, imaginary though they might be, had worn down his objections. "Yes."
* * * * * * * *
The forest canopy overhead was just sparse enough for moonlight to peek through. The sounds of the rest of the company were dying down as everyone, save the unfortunate guards, settled in for the night. There were six: three pairs traipsing out from the clearing where the motley battalion had made camp and into the dense forest. They each carried a spear.
There were nearly sixty of them in total: stragglers, survivors, deserters brought back into some semblance of the military. Three stripecats they had among them, as well as eight horses and a pair of pack mules. It was a waiting game, to see whether they could hide away long enough for peace to save them from the wrath of the merciless Kadrin airships.
"Gut me, this seems familiar," Tod said once they were out of earshot.
"Yeah, not in no good way, neither," Jodoul agreed. They pushed their way through underbrush, looking for a spot that was light enough to play dice but with cover enough to hide in.
"You ever wonder if they can see it in us? You know, like all them sorcerers and whatnot, with Sources?" Tod asked.
"See what in us?"
"I don't know, something that says we oughtta be guardin' things. First thing seems to pop into a fella's mind when he sees us is 'you fellas, stand there and don't let no one in,’" Tod said.
"Dunno. Maybe."
The two of them found a spot that they both agreed upon. Tod sat down and settled in while Jodoul pushed leaves aside and prodded at the decomposing muck of the forest floor.
"Whatchu lookin' for?" Tod asked.
"Ah, silly thought," Jodoul said, rattling a pair of dice in his free hand. "Just thinkin' maybe I'd find my old ones just lying about."
"We was nowhere near here," Tod said. "We just passed into the trees, coming from the north. Last time, we was south and east going in."
"No, we went in north and west, I think."
"Yeah, from the south and east. That's what I said."
Jodoul gave Tod a puzzled look. "Why's you said it backward, then?"
Tod shrugged.
"Either way, back in Kelvie again, eh?"
"Yeah. Gut me, this is givin' me the shivers."
* * * * * * * *
There was a smell rising from the little corpse, an odd co-mixture of barnyard filth and acrid chemicals. The piglet's Source had awakened Jinzan as he devoured it. Its blood had been collected in a wooden bowl. The silver tray in which the corpse lay was spattered with stray flecks and puddles of blood and the concoction that Chioju had given Jinzan to replace the creature's blood.
A faded diagram, inscribed on parchment older than the crypt, hung in the air above the tray. It was at such a height that Jinzan could comfortably refer to it often. In exacting detail it showed the musculature of the pig, its ligaments and tendons, and the interplay of its bones. Jinzan had cut away much of the skin which made the piglet look like the diagram, though not delineated so clearly.
Jinzan reached within the body with a pair of miniscule tongs that he held pinched between his fingers. Once he had hold of the particular tendon he wished, Jinzan gave it a tug and watched the piglet's leg twitch.
"Good my lord. Now with aether. Same tendon," Chioju said. Though merely an acolyte, his understanding of the subject matter still made him an invaluable teacher. He never slept, never ate, and had the manners of a jailor.
Jinzan reached out using the Ghelkan technique which Loramar had devised. He fed the aether into the creature's body, into the muscle, using Chioju's potion as a guide through the piglet's veins and arteries. The leg twitched. A bit more aether and it stretched out. Jinzan withdrew his power and the leg sagged back like a weary spring.
"We have not the luxury of time, my lord. Tomorrow I will make sure a full beast is ready for you. We may have to take your practice out of doors," Chioju said with a smile. He stood from his stool and without another word, left the Heir of Loramar to his own amusements.
I could sleep. Jinzan made to rub his aching eyes but remembered the fluid and mucous that stained his hands. He worked two fingers against his thumb, feeling the viscous sludge between them. There was no disgust; his stomach still hungered but he ignored it. Jinzan drifted his vision into the aether.
A lick of aether, a twitch of muscle. A tendril connected back to Jinzan, each tug of his mind causing the piglet's flesh to jerk and spasm. He added another tendril. It burrowed its way into another leg, then another, then the last. He played about, tugging this way and that, the corpse convulsing under his incompetent direction.
As the tendrils branched, he was able to reach down to the secondary sinews, controlling smaller, more subtle muscles. A bit of magic levitated the little corpse and set it on its feet in the tray. Buoyed just enough to balance it, Jinzan worked the legs. The dripping creature that could no longer be properly called a piglet lurched forward. Jinzan scrambled from his chair as the undead puppet stumbled out of the tray and knocked the mess into his lap. Stacks of manuscripts a hundred autumns old were splashed and dripped upon and scattered under tiny, splintered hooves.
Jinzan laughed. He lifted the thing and set it upon the floor where it could cause less havoc, and walked along behind it, still keeping it upright by means of his own Kadrin-taught magic, though he used Loramar's to propel it. He had the incongruous recollection of his own children as babes and how they would grab hold of his fingers, one to each hand, and use them to walk when their own tiny legs were too clumsy.
Jinzan followed it around Loramar's catacombs, accepting congratulations, laughter, and praise from the gathered sorcerers who had all answered Princess Shiann’s call.
* * * * * * * *
Jinzan did not know how much later it was. Getting clear answers about the time from Chioju and Aolyn, his primary attendants, was maddening work. Half his time was spent buried in books and sheaves of notes written in scribbled Ghelkan. The other half was spent putting the entombed secrets of Loramar's work into practice. He had stopped asking for food; the preparation of his subjects was sustaining him sufficiently. Meals of aether did not satisfy the stomach but after a time the gnawing feeling became as a trickling brook or the chirping of morning birds—he ignored it. But the lack of sleep was persistent in its torments.
Denrik, what are you about? Jinzan had an awareness of Denrik's memories, even as they formed unwatched while Jinzan kept awake. The constant influx of new knowledge into his brain overshadowed the trivialities of Denrik's daily life aboard the Fair Trader. With Mr. Tanner gone, the ship was even more mundane by comparison to Jinzan's adventures within the moldering pages.
To his repertoire he had added a snake and a chicken, both strangely different from the pig. The most important addition was his latest work, a monkey the size of a goblin. He h
ad not needed Chioju to tell him that a monkey was built closely to a man. He got the monkey to walk and to grasp and to beat upon the table with its fists. He did not need to pull each muscle in series; he had discovered perhaps Loramar's most important revelation.
The Source of the monkey had been sucked dry—the manner of its demise. That had left it well intact, enough so that it could be used as a temporary vessel. The Source and brain in concert rule the body. Though an intact brain makes it easier, the Source can move the limbs on its own. Jinzan constructed a river in reverse. It began at his own Source and flowed upstream, forming major tributaries, then smaller rivers and brooks that wound through the creature's body. Instead of leaving the whole system of aether lashed to his own Source, he transplanted it to the resuscitated Source of the deceased monkey.
The monkey ran like a Takalish water clock. It would need to be refilled, but so long as it was supplied with aether, it would persist at whatever task it was given. Loramar had commanded legions of men and beasts by such means.
"Councilor Jinzan Fehr," an unfamiliar voice called out, surprising him. Jinzan had begun putting names to the voices of his new followers, but this voice was not one of theirs.
"Enter," Jinzan called out, coughing. His lungs were more used to the congested air of the crypts than to the exertion of raising his voice.
"Councilor, Princess Shiann awaits you above. She will not descend and requires your presence." The man before him in Ghelkan formalwear could have been an ambassador by his age and bearing or a messenger reserved for choice occasions. Jinzan fought back an inclination to send the man away. Shiann watches my wives and children. She gives me shelter. I must relent.
"Very well. Lead me."
* * * * * * * *
"Councilor Jinzan," Princess Shiann greeted him. Her features were stony; she did not meet his eye as she had on previous meetings. She sat in a painted chair held aloft by four girls of barely flowered age. Whose magic held it up, hers or the girls', he did not bother to examine. They were surrounded by guards and attendants.
"Princess," Jinzan replied, bowing his head slightly.
"You have a guest," Princess Shiann said. "He was sufficiently unusual and persuasive enough that I felt it worth interrupting your studies."
"Who is he?" Jinzan asked.
"He said you would know him by the phrase: I have come with newses," Princess Shiann quoted, speaking the latter in Acardian.
Jinzan smiled. "His name is Tureg, Hjall Tureg. He is the best sailor I know. Where can I find him?"
"We shall discuss that matter once you have bathed, groomed yourself, and had a change of attire. I shall, in the meantime, have a cross word with your keepers of late," Princess Shiann said.
"Is my appearance so offensive, Princess?" Jinzan asked.
"The room you will be provided will have a mirror. See for yourself. I must warn you, you will be allowed no contact with your family. I will not subject them to seeing you in this state."
* * * * * * * *
Jinzan marveled. A stranger looked back at him from the mirrored glass. His hair stuck together in greasy clumps. His skin was ashen. His cheeks were hollowed like an urchin's. The eyes were the startling change; they sank within his skull, retreating from the world of life, it seemed. They were rimmed in a red he had never seen upon a drunkard's morning eyes and the flesh around them was swollen and dark.
When he stripped to enter his bath, he noticed for the first time the change in his body as well. His skin was stretched tight over every bone and the few muscles he still had. It was pale, except on his hands which were bloodstained. He shivered, though whether it was at his appearance or the sudden exposure of sheltered flesh to the breeze, he could not say. He dropped into the steaming water.
An hour later he still soaked, relishing the human comfort that he had been well on his way to forgetting. He had brought a small mirror and a razor to where he bathed and used it to shave off the haphazard stubble from his face. When neither soap nor comb could remedy his hair, he shaved his scalp bare as well.
He jumped when the door opened unannounced. Wide eyed, he watched Princess Shiann enter with neither guard nor advisor in tow. There was also no Tureg.
"Get out of that bath immediately. I told you to make yourself presentable, not lie there soaking," Princess Shiann ordered. She was looking directly at him. Jinzan was three times married and had been unclad in front of many other women in his lifetime, but he found himself unable to lift himself from the water's protective covering in front of Shiann.
"Princess, if you would—"
"Now!"
Jinzan scrambled to his feet, water pouring off him in tiny waterfalls. He turned away from her to shield his more private regions, twisting his neck to look for where his fresh clothing was kept. Princess Shiann stalked over to the suite's lone bed and snatched up the robes that lay there. She nearly handed them to Jinzan but pulled away at the last moment.
"Dry yourself first," she ordered. Jinzan was skilled enough to dry himself with aether. A cocoon of heat surrounded him, sucking air past him as it rose. Jinzan kept his back turned to the princess as he did so, realizing only too late that the mirror ensured she had any view of him she wished. He finished quickly and took the proffered clothing when it was handed to him. "I may have fancied you when we first met, Jinzan, but I think you have cured me of that."
Jinzan did not know how to reply. He finished dressing while she watched as if he were a gawking curiosity.
At a gesture from the princess, the door opened. Jinzan smiled when he saw his old friend enter.
"Jinzan, my good friend," Tureg called. As a guard closed the door behind him, Tureg spread his arms wide in greeting but then pulled up short. He had briefly given the impression he might hug Jinzan.
"Good to see you as well, old friend," Jinzan replied in a more reserved manner.
"Councilor, you ... are you all right? You look unwell."
"You should have seen him a short while ago. I felt like I dug him from his own tomb," Princess Shiann said.
"You look well, at least, Mist—" Jinzan caught himself in an old habit, but stopped short. "Tureg."
"Captain, I think we may speak before the princess," Tureg said.
"Indeed," Princess Shiann agreed. "Captain Tureg and I enjoyed a nice conversation in your extended absence."
"She is a princess in Khesh as well, Captain," Tureg explained. "We may be able to offer help to one another."
"Stalyart, you continue to amaze me," Jinzan said. "Princess, this half season so close at hand ... I never knew."
"It seems we two keep our cards face down, rarely peeking," Princess Shiann said. "To call me princess might be to exaggerate, but I have influence and title. I think we need to take this fight to the other side if we hope to win. Veydrus appears lost unless you truly can replace Loramar. This Kyrus fellow I hear tell of ... now he just might be able to bring us a new sunrise. It has been so gloomy here of late."
"What do you propose?" Jinzan asked.
"You must put my dogs on the scent. I will arrange them for your use."
Chapter 10 - Plans for Aftermorrow
They awoke to a light dusting of snow over the small tent they had shared. Overnight the Acardian countryside had transformed from grey and brown to pure white, with tall grasses poking through here and there and a dusting of powdered sugar on the leaves. Brannis was the first to wake. The predawn light had been enough to rouse him. He lay there for some time listening to the wind and Soria's light snoring, his thoughts a jumble.
I am alone against him. Celia has doomed me. Perhaps she saved me as well, but now there is no shield of liars between me and him. If Rashan's temper had aimed my way, could I have stopped him? Brannis looked to his side, studying the relaxed features of his beloved. No. I sent her away to protect against this.
A stirring in Soria's slumber broke Brannis's thoughts. He had to tell her delicately, though he had spared little thought as to how. A note
too strong and she would rush back to his aid, safety be gutted. He blew into his hand to warm it before brushing aside a lock of auburn hair and stroking her cheek.
Soria stirred once more, stretching out to work lethargic muscles loose. She reached an arm around Brannis and pulled herself close. Her eyes opened and she looked up at him and smiled. By a trick of the light, her eyes took on a bluish to their normal green. In their waking languor, they looked much like Celia's—when hers had no guile in them, and Soria's no fire.
"You've been awake a while, haven’t you?" she asked. "You don't look sleepy at all."
"I suppose so," Brannis replied.
"That's not like you. " Her brow knit; her own sleepy expression had faded.
"Caladris is dead," Brannis said. Nothing in his musings had provided him with a more tactful approach.
Soria gasped, her eyes widened. "What happened?"
"Dolvaen too, and all the rest of the Inner Circle, save Fenris and my sister."
"Get away from there," she shouted, hurting his ears from so close. She pushed herself up onto her hands to tower over him, her back against the top of the little tent. "If Rashan is clearing out every sorcerer worth the blood in him ..." Soria must have noticed Brannis's nonchalance. Her frantic reaction settled into a look of suspicion. "It wasn't you, was it? Some accident?"
"Well, that began it, but I think it was more that Rashan's patience with leniency had run out. The murders of my father and your grandfather came with a stay for those who yet lived," Brannis said.
"Wait, wait, circle about. What 'began it'? There was some accident, wasn't there?"
"I leveled the army headquarters when that speaking stone I was making threw back every bit of aether I put into it. I was able to shield myself from it, but the building took the worst of it. It was late, not many still left working at that hour. I have not heard a count of how many might have died."
"That's awful," Soria said. "But how did the Inner Circle end up dead for it."
"Celia's doing," Brannis said. He watched as Soria's jaw clenched. "Stop that, she might well have spared me Rashan's wrath last night. She blamed sabotage; I suspect that it was my own error in some way. Either way, she told Rashan of the plots against him involving both Caladris and Dolvaen. If she knew anything of our parts, she said nothing to Rashan in my hearing."