Sourcethief (Book 3)

by J. S. Morin

  I once looked up to Varnus.

  Kyrus took a second scone and set off to reach the Academy before the draws began.

  * * * * * * * *

  The shores of Dragon Lake were clothed in black as the assembled Imperial Circle gathered to either witness or partake in a Great Draw to determine the succession of the Inner Circle. The dark garb did no one any favors. The sun caused sorcerers who had grown soft and flabby from indoor occupations to sweat and stink. For all that they were the finest and most prestigious assemblage in the Kadrin Empire, the odor that arose was reminiscent of the commoners' seats at a joust.

  From the buildings of the Academy campus, there was a stretch of green grass that ran down to the waterfront before it gave way to rocks and mud. With all of the crowds, there was little of it left to be seen. Nobles and peasants alike had heard word of the great event and pressed in against the sorcerers knotted at the middle.

  "I find myself surprised to stand next to you, Brannis," Fenris called above the murmur of the crowd. "I had assumed you would be gathered with the aspiring throng, ready to lay ruin to any who drew against you. I was looking forward to the show, I must say." A chill emanated from the elder sorcerer, a spell protecting him from the swelter.

  "Rashan would have none of it. He feared I might injure someone," Kyrus said. Fenris scoffed, but nodded in agreement with the sentiment. "He told me he would have allowed me to lay claim to the top position without contest. I think he just worried that I would challenge him at the end."

  "Now that contest I would pay quite a lot to witness," Fenris said.

  "You know, you've grown quite the pair of gourds since you figured out your Source, little brother," Aloisha said from his other side. "You used to be quite the slick talker before you could bully to get your way."

  "Is that why you never learned to make friends? Because you could always get your way by force?" Kyrus asked before he thought better of it. He was surprised by the vitriol his sister—Brannis's sister—could conjure in him.

  "Brannis! Have a care how you talk to a member of the Inner Circle," Celia chided from the far side of Aloisha. Kyrus knew she was doing so to earn her way into Aloisha's graces. Rumor of Celia's own appointment to the Inner Circle had spread in advance of the draw and Kyrus had heard on his way down to the lake.

  "You might have a care, Brannis," Aloisha warned. "I have Rashan's full support. Say what you will, but he'll never see me as a rival."

  "He would if you became empress, like Sommick seems to want," Kyrus muttered close to her ear. Some perverse instinct in him just wanted to dangle that bit before her.

  "What?" Aloisha exclaimed before lowering her voice to more private levels. "I would never stoop to spending three seasons abstaining from my own draw to carry some drool-witted imperial larva in my womb. If I was ever to get with child by that buffoon I'd suck its Source dry the first glimmer I saw, and be out with it at my next moonflow."

  "Good to know we are of an accord on that point at least. Rashan has charged me with dissuading him from pursuing the matter, but it comforts me to hear he would get nowhere with it," Kyrus whispered to her. It had been more information than he had wished to hear from his own sister, but he knew he had deserved it. As much as Aloisha and Celia were opposites in demeanor, Aloisha and Juliana shared that trait: both knew how to shame a man by the careful use of indiscreet language on female subjects.

  Kyrus waited restlessly for the draws to begin. He had places he wished to be, tasks that needed his attention. There was no avoiding the spectacle of the draw. He was too prominent and was expected to attend. Rashan will leave tonight. I shall as well, once he has gone. Kyrus had made up his mind. There were pieces of the puzzle of Rashan that were lost to him and he needed to find them. Dolvaen had predicted that Kyrus and Rashan would not be able to coexist indefinitely. I could outdraw him, perhaps even handily.

  At first it appeared as if the contest would continue for days. Scores of sorcerers lined up to sign their names to the list of entrants. By their Sources, Kyrus knew that many of them were doing it as a lark; draws were infrequent because of the sanctioning required, and no doubt some simply sought to settle old grudges. Rashan must have suspected the same, for he issued a proclamation to reduce the number.

  "I view the frivolous use of my time as an affront. Any sorcerer who does not claim at least one of the top ten positions in this afternoon's event, I will slay. Any who have written their names upon this list who wish to reconsider their entry, may do so now."

  After a polite, orderly stampede to remove "mistaken" entries, the field was left at just eight contestants. Guardsmen from the Tower of Contemplation herded the crowd back to a safe distance so that the draws might begin. Rashan stood in sole judgment of the contests. Despite his earlier suggestion of a wager with Kyrus, he made no attempt to arrange any. It would have been poor form, anyway, Kyrus conceded to himself.

  The first of the draws was between two sorcerers Kyrus did not know well. Anthee Gardarus was a Third Circle who looked as if he was bent at the shoulder like a fish hook. His opponent, Dommel Wenstatch, was also Third Circle. He was Megrenn-born but had remained loyal and fought for Kadrin in the Megrenn Rebellion.

  All eyes that could were turned to the aether at the command of "Draw!" Kyrus watched the first real draw he had ever attended as a spectator with childish anticipation. At first he thought the two competitors were feeling one another out, just drawing a trickle of aether. He grew suspicious when they tried no harder, thinking they might both be trying to advance by some prearrangement, putting up a show of effort while one of them took an easy victory and a fresh Source into future contests. Eventually the truth dawned: this is their best. It was a sinking realization. I am thrice the distance from them and could steal all the aether they tug at.

  "Is this all?" Kyrus whispered to Fenris, hopeful of some reassurance from an elder perspective.

  "You are a different creature than these," Fenris's wheezy whisper answered back.

  Kyrus watched with waning interest as the hold was called and the two weakling sorcerers stood holding a teacup's fill of aether at bay with the mightiest of efforts. There was little promise of much better. Kyrus had seen the Sources of those sorcerers whose names still graced the lists. Some were stronger, some weaker, but only by degree. There was none who would give a show, unless by chance some sorcerer had a draw out of all proportion to their Source. Since he was stuck watching regardless, Kyrus hoped that was the case.

  A burst of steaming water broke the surface of Dragon Lake signaling the victory of Dommel Wenstatch. There were far more bouts to be had, but the Kadrin Empire was treading the first steps along the path to a foreign-blooded Inner Circle sorcerer. Unless we count Iridan, being demon-blooded.

  "I could suck the aether dry from his Source, and hold it all season," Kyrus muttered to no one in particular. In fact, he had not intended to put voice to it at all. Nonetheless, it was heard.

  "Yes, you're a freakish monster who's probably blocking the view of everyone behind you with that Source of yours. Now shut up about it," Aloisha chided him in a harsh whisper.

  Kyrus did remain quiet. As he watched, his feet grew sore and his back began to ache. He resisted the temptation to use magic since everyone around him was abstaining. He wondered how many would have followed if he had given in but never tested it.

  In the end, there were three new Inner Circle sorcerers chosen. Dommel Wenstatch had taken the third spot, the one that only existed because of Kyrus's refusal to take the spot he was offered. Second place went to Arielle Sarmon, who was a younger cousin of Faolen. The top ranking had gone to Pollack Grahl, a sorcerer who the Circle had stationed in Haffen until the need of an airship crew had dragged him away. It was only by fortune that his ship was docked in Kadris when the call came for the great tournament of draws.

  Kyrus made his perfunctory introductions as the winners were marched around to meet the surviving Inner Circle members who were now their
colleagues. Kyrus was included alongside the Circle's elite, even though he had not joined them. He was someone who important folk needed to know.

  I am also possibly the last one truly working against Rashan.

  * * * * * * * *

  Once Rashan had departed, back for whatever misfortune-rife region of Safschan had gained his attention, Kyrus hastened back to his familial home. It was not a long walk from the Academy as both lay on the shores of Dragon Lake in the city’s northern outskirts, but evening was falling by the time he arrived.

  Solaran Estate was in disarray from Caladris's death but it was quieter than the palace and Kyrus no longer had his offices at the army headquarters for a refuge. He delved down into the cellars and found a nice, barren space in one of the less used larders.

  He sat down on a pile of emptied grain sacks and quieted his mind. Thoughts of the day swirled within, yammering for attention with details small and large, things that needed his mind to grind and worry over.

  In the windowless depths below ground level, Kyrus lost track of how long it was before he gave in. He told his mind to shut up. There was difficult magic to manage ahead, the sort that could kill him or at least get him lost once more should he enact it in error. He took deep breaths ... deep, thought-clearing breaths.

  "What are you doing down here, boy?" Axterion's crotchety voice startled him alert. His grandfather came across the larder with a steaming bowl of soup in his hands, the contents washing back and forth dangerously as the old man shuffled across the uneven floor. The smell of tomatoes and spices wafted in with him.

  "I was preparing for a trip," Kyrus answered. He saw no reason to lie to the old man.

  "Ah, I've got you," Axterion said with a wink. He handed Kyrus the bowl, the thick crockery keeping the piping hot contents from burning his hands. "Well, if you mean to see that demon, best of luck to you."

  "I do, and thank you."

  "Oh, and if you do not return by morning, I'll make up the most fiendishly embarrassing lies about where you've gone. You shall find no stauncher guardian of your secret, nor a more lax defender of your honor, my boy." The two shared a laugh before Axterion departed.

  Kyrus ate the soup, the only real meal he had eaten all day. He set the empty bowl aside in a corner, well away from where his spell would work. He took his time drawing in the aether he would need for his trip, lest he cause alarm. When he had enough, he lifted gently off the ground and disappeared in a ball of opaque aether.

  Chapter 12 - Lights in the Night Sky

  The twilight sky was free of clouds as the sunset faded over the Starlit Marauder's left railing. Stars brightened into view against the deepening contrast of the lightless heavens behind them. As the sprawling countryside of Safschan sped by beneath them, the Aliana Sea was to their backs. Trees threw shadows that ran the length of city streets before the shadow of the horizon reached up to swallow all others.

  Juliana looked at the viewscreen, adjusting it several times. The Starlit Marauder slowed to a gentle stop high above a pond. The water was a placid mirror. It was the only thing clearly visible below.

  "Something wrong?" Tiiba called out from the top of the steps. "We stopped."

  "I know we stopped; I stopped us. There's nothing to navigate by down there, we'll have to stop for the night," Juliana explained, unbuckling herself from the captain's harness.

  "I had very much hoped to sleep on land tonight," Tiiba said. He took a step onto the deck, keeping one foot on the top step and a firm hold on the railing.

  "I'd feel better about sleeping in the air than landing who-knows-where in the middle of Safschan," Juliana responded.

  "We are hardly near the middle—this is barely on shore. I think I know where we are," Tiiba said, "but there is a poor view from below. If you promise no tricks with the ship's level, I would like a look over the edge."

  Juliana held her arms out and away from both her body and the ship's wheel. She walked over toward the steps as Tiiba edged past her in a crouch. Thoughts of throwing him over the edge were just silly fancies—there was only so long she could remain angry with him.

  "I think I know where we are," Tiiba announced after a moment. He had his arm wrapped about the railing and was craning his head over the side to look straight down.

  "Where?"

  "Do you know where Visasi Lake is?" Tiiba asked.

  "No."

  "Well that is it, just below us. I have fished in it before," Tiiba said. "If you bring us low, I can guide us the rest of the way and we can have proper beds tonight."

  "Not a bad heading you picked for us. I had thought we might spend days wandering to find our way there," Juliana said. "You think you can find your way at night?"

  "I have before from the ground. I think I can from on high. If you can just tilt that screen so that I might view it from the stair, I will tell you where to go," Tiiba told her. He slunk back from the railing to the safety of the top step.

  "How far is it?" Juliana asked. She had made no move to strap herself back into the harness. It had been a long day's flying and her legs were cramped and stiff.

  "By horse, a half day through woodlands and shallow creeks. By airship, some fraction of that, I would assume," Tiiba replied.

  "There had better he a hot meal and a soft bed waiting when we get there. Are you sure you're worth that much trouble, waking some poor woman in the middle of the night?" Juliana stepped back before the ship's wheel. She kept her gaze on Tiiba as she reached down slowly to retrieve the captain's harness. She raised an eyebrow, waiting for Tiiba’s reply before she buckled the first strap.

  "We will be welcomed. You have my promise of that," Tiiba said. He stifled a yawn.

  "What have you got to be tired for? I'm the one who's been up here all day flying us about."

  "I am a creature of action. Small spaces and long waits weary me more than you can know. Now turn that glass so I can guide us."

  Juliana finished securing herself to the helm and did as Tiiba requested.

  * * * * * * * *

  The nightscape of Safschan was a wasteland of shadowed forests and undulating hills. Here and there darkened buildings lay in clusters. Dogs howled in the airship’s wake, disturbed by the lowness of its passing. Tiiba had insisted that he would steer them best from low—the lower the better, just missing the treetops by his preference. The land was known to him. It was an hour and no more before the blade-priest signaled that they should land.

  "Light it in the pasture there." Tiiba pointed, gesturing at the viewing screen. "Slowly, so you do not wake the cows."

  Juliana blinked back the sleep from her eyes and rubbed at them with a free hand while using the other to guide them down. "No cows. Got it," she muttered to herself, fatigue slurring her words.

  With a thump and a creak of settling metalwork, the Starlit Marauder pressed its keel into the soft soil of the pasture. It rocked slightly as Juliana released the magic that steadied it and allowed it to balance on its own. She lowered the side hatches and once more extracted herself from the captain's harness—for the last time that night, she dearly hoped.

  "You go on ahead,” Juliana said through a yawn, “and clear the way." Tiiba nodded and went below, emerging a moment later on the ramp. She watched as he hopped a post-and-rail fence that kept the herd animals away from the little farmhouse. Dogs barked as he reached the door, but it was too far away for Juliana to tell if he had knocked first. A light appeared inside, spilling out through the shutters of the windows and through the door as it opened, silhouetting Tiiba and whoever had opened the door. Juliana could only presume it was his woman when he took her in his arms.

  Juliana leaned her weight on the stair rail as she went below, distrusting her balance after an interminable day on deck. Her legs had grown so accustomed to the fixed position she kept them in for most of her time at the wheel that they protested any other. I shouldn't feel this old.

  Tiiba's three companions were waiting below when Juliana got there, h
anging back at the top of the ramp. It seemed they were wary of offending their prospective hosts as well. The four of them watched as a pair of large dogs jumped and bounded about, frantic for Tiiba's attention. The blade-priest with his rune-blade still strapped to his back, crouched low and put an arm around each, plying them with rough affection as he craned his neck to carry on talking with the figure in the door.

  Tiiba stood and hollered back toward the ship. Juliana understood nothing of Safschani but followed along when the three Safschan soldiers headed for the house, gear in hand. Once inside the gates, the dogs turned their attentions to the new visitors, growling and sniffing, poking their noses indelicately at the unfamiliar humans. Juliana had no fear of dogs. They were simple creatures that had no hope against her shielding spell. A lingering impression from Soria made her wary of them though, noisy things that they were. A good guard dog was hard to fool, and both more vigilant and quicker to raise an alarm than a human guardsman. No dog feared to look the fool if the alarm was a false one.

  Tiiba made introductions in Safschani. Juliana understood her own name and little else. The woman was introduced as Ushiqa. If Tiiba had been lying about his disinterest in Juliana's womanly virtues, Ushiqa gave no evidence. She was thin nowhere, but was certainly narrower about the waist than about either her hips or bust; she weighed easily twice what Juliana did.

  The five of them followed Ushiqa into the house. Juliana was the last to enter, noticing the curious eyes looking down from the lit window on the second floor. I wonder if those children up there are Tiiba's. The house opened up directly into a common kitchen and a dining room dominated by a long trestle table and an open hearth with a kettle on. Juliana did not recognize the smell but some sort of stew was kept warm within.

  There was much chattering in Safschani while Ushiqa ladled bowls for the three soldiers. Their dinners in hand, they exited through a back door. Ushiqa poured three more bowls, handing one each to Juliana and Tiiba, and keeping one for herself. She sat at the table and invited them to join her.