Sourcethief (Book 3)

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Sourcethief (Book 3) Page 20

by J. S. Morin


  The process of rising above Kadris reversed itself. Kyrus's perspective narrowed as he descended, rendering the map-like view from five days' ride straight up to a more local panorama. Blurs came into focus, revealing streets and public buildings, homes, businesses ... a seat of power.

  There was no doubt that some manner of wealth and influence was responsible for an island of Sources in the middle of the city, surrounded by a barren area that promised others were not permitted within. Maybe I should stop outside and seek an audience, rather than emerge inside. Expected or not, there was probably some protocol against transferring into someone's palace refuge.

  * * * * * * * *

  The world of light snapped back around Kyrus like a cage. No longer was he free to move about at whim. He floated the short way down to the ground, having once again used Rashan's trick to avoid dragging chunks of the landscape wherever he went. The relative ease he felt in his Source was reassuring. He had not used all the aether he had drawn for the trip, nor had he needed to draw more en route. Aether roiled within him, stored in case his welcome was not cordial.

  As Kyrus's thoughts turned to his immediate situation, he realized that he had emerged into the twilight hours of Azzat. Though low in the sky, he had caught up to the sun in his journey. As he looked to the curious sight of what was about to become the second sunset he had seen that day, he heard cries from the natives. The words they spoke had a vague familiarity to them, but not enough that he could put a meaning to them. It was not Kadrin, even with a heavy accent, nor was it anything he knew from Tellurak, though the cadence of the words reminded him more of home.

  Booted feet clomped toward him in a run, drawing Kyrus's attention to a squad of city guardsmen, unarmored but carrying short, thick blades. They shouted to him but it was more of the same incomprehensible language. Drat, I should have thought of some contingency plan for speaking with them.

  "Do any of you speak Kadrin?" Kyrus shouted. A bit of gentle telekinesis stopped the rushing guardsmen mid-stride. He lifted them off the ground just far enough for their feet to dangle ineffectually, unable to gain traction on the cobblestones. He awaited an answer he could understand, but it seemed that he would not find his translator among the guardsmen.

  "Indreithio anamakne ubtaio wanuzar pronedook,” Kyrus chanted. The guards watched in misguided horror as he wove his fingers to form an unfamiliar variant of the shielding spell he so often used silently. It formed a dome around him, cutting him off entirely from the guards. Once safely encased with some space to hold them at bay, Kyrus slowly lowered the men to the ground and released his hold on them.

  The six guards approached but knew well enough to be wary of strange magic. One among them, no doubt of an amateur scientific persuasion, poked at the shielding spell with his sword. The shield hissed and sizzled, shortening the blade as quickly as it was presented. The guard drew back his sword, dropping it and jumping back when he realized it was dripping molten steel. The guards began a frenzied consultation that ended in two of them running off while the rest remained to watch over their guest. Kyrus had no idea what they thought of him, since he was watching a badly-acted pantomime without a translator.

  When the two guards returned, they were accompanied by a blue-robed gentleman with a stern bearing. The newcomer barked several commands to which Kyrus could only shrug in reply. Kyrus forced himself to remain calm when the newcomer began to chant some sort of magic; he could tell by the flow of aether before the words even began that it was no threat to his shield, but the reflex to defend himself still goaded the back of his mind.

  A paltry bolt of aether splattered against Kyrus's shield. Kyrus crossed his arms, pursed his lips and shook his head slowly. Not in a thousand winters, my friend. Try all you like.

  "Find me someone who speaks Kadrin," Kyrus said once more. If a single word of his held meaning to the Azzatians, they betrayed no sign. "I am here to see Xizix." That got a response: the six guards and the Azzatian sorcerer broke into a heated discussion, from which Kyrus picked out the name 'Xizix' no fewer than four times. When they broke off their deliberations, the sorcerer took the lead in delivering their response. He used a great many wasted words, but ended his reply with 'Xizix'.

  "You can take me to Xizix?" Kyrus asked.

  The sorcerer at least seemed to have gained some understanding of Kyrus's intent. He nodded slowly, keeping his eyes cautiously focused on Kyrus. He waved a hand back and forth in a sweeping motion. He wants me to drop my shielding spell? Kyrus snorted a laugh. Of course he does.

  Kyrus knew that he would get nowhere standing in the road under his spell until nightfall, which was fast approaching. With a shrug, he let his shield expire, sucking up much of the loosed aether as the construct fell apart. There was a ring in the ground of melted stone that marked where it had been.

  Though he supposed that he should not have been surprised, the sorcerer shouted a command and the guards rushed him. The shield had only kept them paces away, which someone apparently thought was close enough to launch a surprise attack. Kyrus felt a tug in the aether as the sorcerer drew for a spell to support the guards' assault.

  A moment later, the sorcerer lay on the ground, drawing with all his might to keep his own Source from being pulled clear out of him. The six guards hung upside down as Kyrus plucked the swords from their hands one by one. He gathered the swords together in mid-air and melted them into a ball, incinerating the wood and leather from the handles in the process. The molten steel he reformed roughly, making a staff more than head height. Kyrus took hold of it before it even cooled, letting his personal shield spell—which he had never allowed to expire—protect him from the ferocious heat.

  Ignoring the cries of the frightened guardsmen, Kyrus released his draw against the sorcerer's Source and lifted him to eye level, grasping him by the collar with his free hand.

  "Xizix?" Kyrus asked, not bothering with any of the superfluous words that prevented their communication. As the sorcerer pointed off in the direction of the city's island-in-the-aether, Kyrus looked into his eyes. For a moment, he imagined that he could see Rashan's face reflected there, summoned by the sorcerer's fear. What do they see when they look at me? The same madman that I see when I look at Rashan? I have done no real harm. Is fear harm enough though? Kyrus broke his gaze and shook his head.

  The guardsmen flipped over as they hung suspended, boots bottommost once more. Kyrus set them down and released them. The men wobbled on their feet as they fled. Must have spun them over too quickly, Kyrus realized. That was the risk he took. His spells were so strong that he did not need to intend harm to cause it. He could as easily have snapped all their necks had he whipped them about carelessly. He let go the sorcerer's collar.

  Kyrus held his staff out in the direction the sorcerer had indicated. He pointed first to the sorcerer, then down the line of the staff. "Xizix," Kyrus ordered. The sorcerer nodded.

  * * * * * * * *

  "I hope my children have not vexed you too sorely," a voice boomed from across the chamber. Kyrus had finally managed to prevail upon one of the caste of Azzatians whose lot in life seemed to be keeping Xizix free of visitors. There was a formal audience chamber that the ruling council of Azzat used, but they had eschewed it—that was for the puppet government's use, not the demon's. Side passages and underground tunnels led to a more secluded venue where the helpful bureaucrat had left Kyrus in some haste.

  "It seems you prefer not to be seen," Kyrus called out in reply. "Many still question your very existence." He looked about, but saw no one in the room with him. Columns and pedestals cluttered the place, showing off opulence of every variety and providing countless options for concealment. Aether-vision was useless as well, since it was a demon he was searching for.

  "I assure you, I do," the voice came from above him. Kyrus turned to see a monster emerge from nothingness. It was at least as tall as any ogre Brannis had fought, with skin like leather and a head that was a nest of horns. Kyrus scrambled b
ack and drew aether.

  "Are you Xizix?" Kyrus asked.

  Xizix straightened, pulling back away from Kyrus. "I may not be much longer, should your temper fail you. Forgive my theatrics, I have so few acquaintances that I fear I over-think my greetings." Xizix spread his hands wide in a gesture of apology. Kyrus saw that the demon's fingers were little more than articulated claws.

  "You were the one who extended an invitation, I believe," Kyrus said, ceasing his draw but doing nothing to dissipate the aether he had taken.

  "Indeed. I was led to believe by our mutual acquaintance that you two hold some common cause against an old adversary of mine. Curious, is it not, how he finds enemies so readily among his own people? The Megrenn sorcerer's vitriol is easily understood, yours less so, but I would not say that I am surprised," Xizix said. The demon's smile showed fangs like carving knives.

  "What quarrel do you have with Rashan?" Kyrus asked. "If I am to trust you, I would know your motive."

  "Now now, who said anything about trusting one another?" Xizix asked. The demon gestured to a pair of chairs set off in a corner of the room, stalking off toward them and leaving Kyrus to follow or not as he chose. Kyrus followed. "But I have no need to conceal my reasons for despising him. Rashan Solaran is a brute. He is a murderous machine of war and death. He has tried to reform himself and failed. By all reports I receive, his failure deepens by the day."

  "Is there no specific grievance you have?" Kyrus asked. "It sounds like you are dancing around your real reason." Kyrus studied the demon's face, his manner. It was all too alien to pick up any human mannerisms that would betray deception.

  "Bvatrain," Xizix said.

  "What does that mean?"

  "Bvatrain is the immortal that Rashan killed. I could not properly call Bvatrain a friend, but he was no enemy of mine, and I had known him thousands of summers. When you have lived as long as I have, such ties to the ancient world are invaluable. The others felt the same way. I never lived among the immortals; I chose my children over their company, but I was welcomed among them. So was Rashan, once."

  "Did Rashan live long among them?" Kyrus asked. Here is someone who knows where those missing years were spent!

  "By your measure, I suppose. He crawled to them from his battle with Loramar, feverish with tainted aether he knew not how to rid himself of. How he found them, I know not, though I suspect he may have already known of their enclave."

  "Why was Rashan banished from them?" Kyrus asked. He felt as if he were conducting an interrogation, but Xizix had yet to take offense.

  "Many of the immortals come and go, spending long periods away from the company of others. What hobbies and fancies call them away... it is their own business if they choose to keep it to themselves. Bvatrain was well known for his restless spirit, often visiting Azzat when he went abroad. On one such visit, he told me that he was on his way back to the others, intending that he would stay for some time. He confided that he was worried about his quarrels with Rashan. Immortals often carry grudges over hundreds of winters, but you see, they carry those grudges. Settling them is ... distasteful. It smacks of mortality. Bvatrain warned me that he would leave word should he ever again wander far away."

  "Let me guess, he wandered away without leaving word?" Kyrus asked. A rueful smile curled his lips. Such a trap for Rashan to fall in. Someone saw his lie ahead of time.

  "Clearly you know Rashan's nature, or you would not have come this far to seek counsel in opposing him. Yes, Bvatrain disappeared. None could ever prove what had become of him, but I swore to Bvatrain's promise to me, that should he go missing, it would mean that Rashan had settled their dispute in the fashion most pleasing to his wanton nature," Xizix said.

  "And so ... that was why they banished Rashan?" Kyrus asked. "It seems flimsy evidence. Did he protest his innocence?" Kyrus found his mouth growing dry. There was no refreshment at hand. He licked his lips and tried to ignore the distraction.

  "Of course. The murderous wretch feared we would overwhelm him in numbers and destroy him," Xizix explained. "He cast enough doubt that banishment was his punishment instead. At Illiardra's insistence, they set a condition for his return. If he could live ten winters and kill nothing, they would allow him back."

  "I was there when he failed. I had no idea at the time just what that meant. I was having enough trouble accepting the fact that it was really the Rashan Solaran who had returned,"

  "Yes, and a wondrous return is has been, has it not?" Xizix threw back his head for a single, scoffing laugh.

  "And now you want me to kill him," Kyrus said. "Assuming I am willing, what aid can you offer?"

  "I must decide first if you are worth aiding. If you fail and Rashan deduces my involvement, it would break a truce we have had in place to keep him out of Azzat and away from my children."

  "Am I not strong enough?" Kyrus asked. "Am I not skilled enough, is that it? Do you question my will to see it through?"

  "Strength only matters if you know how to use it. Push your hammer against a rock as hard as you like; you must swing the hammer to break it. Do you know how to wield a hammer? In battle with him, would you choose to flee instead? You arrived by transference spell, you might flee Rashan by the same means." Xizix leaned closer, allowing Kyrus to make out irises in the red upon red eyes. "What drives you to his destruction?"

  "He led my best friend to his death. He has murdered my father, my uncle. He ... he kills everything he touches. He concocts excuses, but they are just paint over rotted wood. Sooner or later, I will find some way into his ill graces, and it will be me on the end of his sword if I do not find some way to be rid of him first," Kyrus said. He stared back into those demonic eyes, the sort that storybooks mean when they call some creature "demon." He did not see a monster, but rather human feeling in those eyes, less cold than Rashan's were. There was a desperate worry there. For all the hideous skin and fangs and claws, the eyes were human aside from their ominous coloration. "If you cannot help me, then tell me where to find the other immortals. Where is this enclave you mentioned? Illiardra has seen fit to lend indirect aid—I will confront her more directly about putting an end to her former love."

  "Oh, so you do know her then. What sort of aid has she given you?" Xizix sat back in his chair, slouching as he awaited Kyrus's reply. The moment of human contact Kyrus had felt evaporated as the demon settled back into aloofness.

  "She left two books. One was a book of prophecies that Rashan had written long ago, before his final battle with Loramar. I have discovered that it was a journal of sorts, disguised as prophetic ranting. The other was The Peace of Tallax," Kyrus said. He noticed a twinge in Xizix's expression when he spoke the name. "But it was not given directly and I have not yet seen it. I made a search of Kadris for another copy, but the one from the Tower of Contemplation is the copy that is missing. I should have the copy I was meant to possess in a few days."

  "Was there anything of use in Rashan's journal?" Xizix asked. "I might be of some aid in interpreting it."

  "Perhaps. What does this mean: One vase, filling fast, spilling faster / To see another, no mirror may reflect it / Where to find its shadow, an absence not a copy / Seek a way among the spirits? That is an entry that I think may be the key to figuring out—"

  "How he managed to become immortal," Xizix finished the thought.

  "Yes," Kyrus admitted.

  "How much have you puzzled out on your own?" the demon asked. Kyrus saw the fingers of one clawed hand clenching and unclenching.

  "I ... I am not sure how to begin explaining this. I suppose I may as well just ask outright, since I can only imagine the crazed tales you must have heard in your—"

  "I know about the other worlds. Get on with it," Xizix snapped. "It is no great secret among us, Acardian."

  "How did you—"

  "Word has spread. Let us leave it at that. I might give you a dozen more reasons, but suffice it that you are also no great secret, Kyrus Hinterdale. Magics more subtle than min
e pry loose secrets wherever they may lie."

  Kyrus shuddered. He swallowed to clear the lump that was growing in his throat.

  "Well ... there was a third book, written by an underling of a twin Rashan Solaran once had. He was a spy of sorts, but working for coin rather than a king. He moved information between worlds and made a fortune at it. Well, this underling wrote of the death of Rashan's twin. He received a visitor that day that sounded very much like Rashan Solaran. It was enough to make me think it was a son or grandson, but later I came to consider that it might have been the Rashan Solaran, the one from this world," Kyrus explained. He felt more at ease talking than thinking just then. The words spilled from him to the point where he had made himself short of breath.

  "You have already shown that there are means of traverse between this world and your own. While it may be mildly interesting to know how Rashan cleaned up his business in Tellurak prior to facing his possible demise against Loramar, the only useful pinch of knowledge was known to you," Xizix said, waving a hand about as if brushing aside Kyrus's insight.

  "Well, what then? You must know something of use. You reacted when I mentioned the book about Tallax. What do you know of it?" Kyrus asked. The thing seemed to be a walking historical archive.

  "Ah, perhaps not as much as you might hope. I have never read the work, though I am sure I have a copy of it. I make a habit of reading all that I can, but I make certain exceptions. Tallax and I were ... contemporaries, let us say." Xizix shrugged and grinned sheepishly, an almost comical gesture by a creature with such a malevolent appearance.

  "You knew him then?" Kyrus asked.

  "I would have liked to have thought we were rivals, but he never considered me one. If he was nothing else, Tallax was the most powerful mortal thing I have ever seen or hope to see. He kept the world at peace as a wolf keeps the peace of his pack. He was the strongest, and struck down any who quarreled with more than words. If Illiardra left that book for you, I would surmise that she envisions you returning Veydrus to peace in much the same way."

 

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