by J. S. Morin
"You killed nine of the Inner Circle last night and half the sorcerers of the Circle are leaving with smiles on their faces," Kyrus mused aloud within the warlock's hearing.
"Oh, that reminds me," Rashan said. He raised his voice and called out over the departing cacophony of conversations. "If any of you are missing friends or acquaintances, a number of lesser conspirators were dealt with later last night as well. Check with the blood scholars, to whom I have given the names of those whose bloodlines have been ... trimmed a bit."
Kyrus looked at Rashan with incredulity. Rashan caught the look and frowned in reply. Kyrus did not shy, but kept his disapproval written plainly on his face.
"What?" Rashan snapped. "I tried the gentle hand last time and the infection festered. This time I just lanced the boil all at once."
Kyrus looked at the others who had remained behind. A few guards stood against walls—he caught Varnus's gaze and lingered just a fraction. There were Aloisha and Fenris, risen from their seats but seeming ill-inclined to depart. Emperor Sommick had gathered attendants and departed by a rear exit as soon as decorum allowed. It was still not private enough.
"I would like a word with you in private," Kyrus said to Rashan. He looked at no one else.
"Hey Brannis, you cannot just be rid of us. You are just the emperor's—" Aloisha began.
"Very well," Rashan cut her off. "You have other duties to attend, be about them. Guards, you are dismissed." Fenris chuckled and said not a word. His steps were slower than most in the Circle, but none of them took him any direction but away, once he was commanded. Aloisha huffed, looked sorely tempted to make some argument, but ultimately followed in Fenris's path, passed him, and disappeared from view. The guards sorted themselves out by the various entrances, and were astute enough to close all doors behind them.
"Efficiency. It does get better around here," Rashan said, gazing after the departed guards.
"In part, that is what I wished to speak with you about," Kyrus said. Rashan turned, his attention snapping back to Kyrus.
"The efficacy of the guardsmen?" Rashan asked, incredulous.
"No, of when things will get better. Bloodlettings in the Sanctum are beginning to become a regularity. We are pressing a war against peoples who no longer have the will or ability to strike back at us. Raynesdark continues to sit atop a volcano without its ancient wards against eruption. When will we start seeing 'better'?"
"I think it will start with an Inner Circle that no longer devotes its energies to subverting all thought of imperial rule," Rashan said with spread hands.
"What about ending the war?" Kyrus asked. "Devoting our efforts to recovering the Staff of Gehlen?"
Rashan looked to the floor and shook his head. "You are the least warlike knight I have ever met, Brannis. Why did you even wish to join the knighthood? There are more than two paths in life, sorcerer or knight. You might have made a fine tutor, or a scribe, perhaps even a wet-nurse." Rashan grinned at him with no mirth in his eyes. Kyrus felt warm. His breathing quickened and he clenched his jaw.
"Just because I mislike killing does not mean I am a coward or a craven," Kyrus said through gritted teeth. He matched the warlock's glare a moment, realizing the path he was heading down. He turned away. "You goad me. Why?"
"We are all creatures of aggression. I pay attention you know; you have your points of pride, the soft spots where a sharp word draws blood. Words bear little on me; I have heard too many to fear them. What I cannot abide is violence against either myself or Kadrin. You? You cannot bear being looked down upon or having your worth questioned. You try so hard to take on everything that the thought of inadequacy galls you. I understand you, and accept that flaw in your character. I would expect that you will allow for a difference of opinion over how much blood ought to quench the thirst of my indignity. We were attacked. They do not get to choose when they have paid a heavy enough price."
"You decide then. When will it be enough?" Kyrus asked, taking a deep breath.
Rashan was closer to Danil's height than to his. Kyrus towered over him. The primal part of his brain told him to settle the argument with force.
"Boredom is a poor excuse, I suppose," Rashan said. He turned his back to Kyrus and began to pace. "I feel a duty to continue even as I hack apart armies like some maddened farmer among his own chickens. You think I fail to see that?" Rashan whipped around to face Kyrus, who stumbled back a step. "I need some more plausible motive to end it, or I lose credibility."
"My counsel?" Kyrus suggested, drawing a skeptical smirk from Rashan. "The advice of the Inner Circle, once there is one again, that is. An order from the emperor?"
"The latter is laughable. I would lose all credibility if I take orders from that slobbering hedonist ..." Rashan shook his head. "Your other thought though, that might have some promise. Return some semblance of power to the Circle ... that could be useful."
"Who are you going to pick?" Kyrus asked. "You must have some inkling already."
"No," Rashan replied. "Well, perhaps a little. I took myself nearly out of the selection process this time. I have no natural allies left. I hope to gain a competent Inner Circle, if not one that is personally loyal to me. Fenris will select three, subject to my approval; those will not be seated before I next return. The ambitious ones will select themselves. Thank you for not showing them the simplest way. I saw in your eye that you puzzled it out immediately. I have no idea when three more will step forward to claim a place among the Inner Circle. The two who win the draw later today will have their seats though."
"Two? I think you need three."
"Brannis, one of those is yours to claim. I hesitate to let any of them challenge you, let alone encourage it. I know not the lethal range of your draw, nor how strong a mortal Source need be to withstand it in full force. By the winds, you might even slay your opponent—that would be unprecedented," Rashan said, shaking his head. "No, your gluttonous ego needs no sugared sweets after the feasts it has gorged on of late."
"But ..." Kyrus paused a moment to consider. "I had no intention of joining the Inner Circle."
"No intention?" Rashan asked. The warlock gave Kyrus a disbelieving look and slumped down into the emperor's throne.
"Technically, I have no affiliation with the Circle at all. I work for the emperor directly. I would gain no authority, little prestige, and I would be burdened by sitting in on those long, pointless meetings that seem to occupy much of their time. You have no idea how many times I went to look for my uncle Caladris, and found him embroiled in what amounted to a draw with words over some trifling matter, the whole of the Inner Circle attending only to look on as two of their number wasted everyone's day. I have too much to get done to take on that weighted chain," Kyrus said. "Oh, and get off that throne. Enough folk thought that you wanted to sit there that half the Circle conspired to oust you as warlock."
Rashan smiled, raising his eyebrows and giving Kyrus a nod to concede the point. He looked all about the room and Kyrus followed his gaze. There was no one about. Rashan began to chuckle. He did not stop, but allowed the mirth to overtake him, the sound echoing throughout the audience chamber as it grew to an uproarious volume. The demon managed to hold up a hand in mock surrender to Kyrus as he pushed himself to his feet, vacating the chair. Kyrus found himself drawn in, laughing at, if nothing else, the spectacle before him.
"You win, Brannis," Rashan managed between fits. He regained some control of himself before continuing. "You win. I spend so much time of late surrounded by fools and cowards that I forget why I placed you so highly. You are right, of course. I will go back to war, but I promise I will seek some pretext to cut it short, something that will satisfy everyone."
"Except Safschan," Brannis added.
"Fine. Except Safschan. But they should be grateful for any quarter they are given. In the meantime, if you are intent on keeping the leash between yourself and the emperor—regardless who holds the end and who wears the collar—then you ought to see that h
e comports himself more respectably."
"Thus far, allowing him his debauchery has been the only thing keeping him from causing trouble at court," Kyrus said with a shrug.
"Pitting the noble daughters against one another for sport is worse than I had expected from him. He is liable to start a small war among them before long, and I have no wish to require a sorceress to follow the objects of his amusements about to prevent bastards," Rashan said. Kyrus frowned, unsure of what he meant by the last and not sure that he wanted to know. "Get him fixed on one girl if you possibly can and we can get him establishing a proper dynasty."
"He rather unsubtly hinted that he wanted my sister for his empress," Kyrus said, noting that the residual joviality in Rashan's demeanor sizzled away like water droplets on a hot stove.
"Get that notion out of his head. If I wanted sorcerers ruling the empire I could have just let the conniving traitors have their way," Rashan said. He fixed Kyrus with a gaze that reminded him of the Sanctum and the dozen servants who were up there with brushes, buckets and lye removing the remnants of the slaughtered sorcerers.
"Of course," Kyrus agreed. "I will find some way."
Rashan nodded silently. The warlock's gaze drifted away from Kyrus, settling nowhere in particular. "So much to do. I see the empire turning though—a great behemoth foundering in the water as we patch the holes and throw the dead weight into the sea. New sails, a fresh wind and an able mate at the helm—that is where we go from here."
"Despite our captain?" Kyrus suggested.
"Very much so," Rashan agreed. "I shall see you at the draw this afternoon, whether or not you change your mind in the interim. Perhaps a friendly wager over the results."
* * * * * * * *
Kyrus leafed through mountains of documents, piling them in a rough stack as he gauged their importance. Here and there he would set one aside for leisurely perusal, but he had no time to delve into any while he ransacked his uncle's office.
"Are you sure you ought to be in here?" Celia asked. She had wandered in as Kyrus was sorting through missives which had been hidden under a stone he had pried loose.
"My Aunt Faeranna is in Reaver's Crossing. She is in poor health and hates to travel. I gathered from my grandfather that Danilaesis has gone to stay with her until the autumn classes start at the Academy. Who else ought to see to these as next of kin, if not me?" Kyrus asked. He kept half his attention to the papers while he spoke. Many were written in Caladris's tilted, scratchy hand, but most were from others. There were correspondences and formal reports, several which appeared to be in a sort of code. It would take days for Kyrus to wrap his head around it all. Caladris was the one to whom he had delegated his own dark dealings. Sorting them completely out might not be possible before other actors picked apart his network of ears and eyes.
"What is it you hope to find?" Celia asked. She stood over him like a disapproving nursemaid watching her charge soil his clothing in the mud. She was past the point of stopping him but hesitated to get close enough to dirty her own hands.
"Everything. Anything. Caladris had plots within plots, and if there were plots wrapped around those, I should know of them as well. I cannot know what might happen because of his death, what contingencies he might have made. There might be plans in need of a guiding hand that we must decide to continue or to quash. I would rather do so with full knowledge than let his fiefdom of lies and intrigues run amok."
Kyrus dug back into the papers when a thought struck him.
"Thank you for directing Rashan's wrath elsewhere," he told her.
"Of course. I explained my reasons though."
"Well, I should like to do you a good turn. Go tell Rashan you want to be part of the Inner Circle," Kyrus told her. He did not look up to gauge her reaction, but in his aether-vision, he could see her straighten. He took it as a sign of surprise.
"I'm only Fifth Circle," Celia protested. "I have no place—"
"Up there?" Kyrus asked. He did turn then and gestured upward, to the short set of stairs that led to the Inner Circle's ring of seats around the perimeter of the Sanctum. "You mean that nice, sectioned chamber awash in blood by your direction? You cleared enough space for certain. I am sure you can have a spot there."
"It would be impudent. I am just an agent, I work in hallways and back rooms, not in front of the whole empire," Celia protested.
"Fine, but know that you leave vast wealth and personal power sitting there to be taken by someone else ..." Kyrus stopped himself. Oh, would that not just be a needle in Rashan's arse. A little smile fixed itself on Kyrus face, unbidden.
"What is that? You sounded as if you were about to say something else. What just occurred to you?"
"Nothing." Kyrus shook his head clear of thoughts to summon Juliana back to Kadris so she could claim a position in the Inner Circle. Not only would Rashan be irritated by that, but Juliana would hate it as well. She is more inclined to Rashan's methods of diplomacy, though both would hate to hear that. She is better with a blade than with a quill. She honeys her words with vinegar, and takes insults as well as a tavern brawler. "You should just consider taking a spot before you lose your chance. I would go now, before some other sorcerer—or sorceress—" Kyrus teased, "thinks of it first."
"You would like to have me in the Inner Circle with you that much?" Celia asked, batting her eyes and smiling. Kyrus fixed her with a steady look, neither mirth nor guile muddying his intent.
"No. I have no plan to take on more burdens at no gain to myself. I already run whatever parts of the empire I deem fit, excepting the Circle and the army, and I could have some say over either if I chose," Kyrus said. He stood and set a handful of papers on his dead uncle's desk.
"Then why—"
"From this point on, I suggest you look to your own ends. You have all that you claim to want dangling right before you. If you want control over your fate, take a place for yourself in the Inner Circle you slaughtered by your accusations. If you want Rashan for yourself, have out and tell him. If you have learned nothing from him over the season and more that you served him, you ought to have learned that he prizes boldness."
"Does that mean you ... you won't," Celia tried to ask, but seemed unable.
"No, I will not touch you again. If you mean to make yourself Rashan's, I should not set jealousy between us. And so long as he keeps similar thoughts from Juliana, he has no reason to fear me," Kyrus lied. Let the words that murderous bastard hears in his own bed serve my ends. What need do I have to provoke him?
"Thank you, Kyrus," Celia leaned close and whispered. She knew how cross it made him to let drop his secret carelessly. I hope that one name never crosses her lips in his presence.
"Just go, before three ... vipers in human form beat you to him," Kyrus said. He had just stopped himself from saying 'other.'
* * * * * * * *
"There you are, Brannis!" The voice bellowed after Kyrus as he walked down the palace hall. He had not even needed to hear the voice to know the Source of Varnus as the hulking guard captain bore down on him. He stopped and turned to face the man before half the palace was disturbed.
"Do we have time for this right now?" Kyrus asked. His arms were filled with papers that demanded his more immediate attention."The draw is in less than an hour, and I do not relish the thought of a transference spell with so many onlookers."
"I would ride with you, but the emperor is not attending, and I dare not leave the palace without him. I'll be quick," Varnus said. He drew Kyrus aside into a nearby sitting room. Kyrus closed the door behind them. Neither sat.
"How are you and Wendell faring?" Kyrus asked. He set Caladris's papers down in a chair, and spotting a tray of pastries, levitated it to him. Morning feast had been brief and inadequate.
"You know the boy is gone. It's eating at Wendell," Varnus said. He slumped onto another chair, elbows resting on his knees. Kyrus noticed that despite his habit of keeping clean-shaven since taking over as guard captain of the palace, Varnus
wore a day's stubble on his face.
"And you too, perhaps?" Kyrus asked between bites of a scone.
"I don't care a whit for Anzik. I only saw him once or thrice. It's being around Wendell that's getting to me. The boy's fine, but that old street-sorcerer is going to get us killed. We just escaped with our lives from coinblades sent by Denrik Zayne," Varnus said. He was leaning forward, spanning half the distance between his chair and Kyrus's.
"Part ways then. The boy was only supposed to have been a means to finding the Staff of Gehlen. What reason do you have to stay?" Kyrus studied Varnus. The man was too much a soldier, too much a guard captain. He suspected he knew why but needed to hear Varnus say it.
"And just leave them?" Varnus replied. "The boy seems much improved since Wendell started teaching him a bit of that street magic of his. He even helped save himself from the last group of coinblades that came after us—set the bastard on fire."
"So you have a ten-summer firehurler on your hands and you are being chased by every hired blade that pirate gold can buy. Faolen has done no favors here. Rashan sent him to get the Staff of Gehlen, and instead Faolen turns to kidnapping and extortion. That boy you guard has no relation to Wendell. Perhaps you ought to consider whose interests this serves."
"And just give him over to those blood-crazed coinblades?" Varnus asked, straightening himself to his full, seated height.
"No, the coinblades already took him, or have you sworn off Soria's gang? Find some way to get him back to Denrik Zayne, or go your own way. Soria, Rakashi and I are in Acardia. You can meet us there," Kyrus said. He leaned back against the table to finish his scone. It was stale from the early morning and too heavily buttered, but still was preferable to the sorry story that Varnus offered. The old former Archon guard captain looked like he wanted to say something, but never did. Varnus stood and nodded to Kyrus as he stalked past, wrenched the door open, and continued off into the palace halls beyond.