by J. S. Morin
"Could I? You knew him, was Tallax so much more powerful than me? I have often wondered if I could confront Rashan directly, my strength against his," Kyrus said. Unable to contain his thoughts within his idle body, he sprang to his feet. He paced behind the chair in which he had sat, turning to the demon once more as he paused to lean across its back. "If you were to gamble, whose side would you lay coin on?"
"Hah, that right there is a question your warlock might ask. I rarely gamble, but allow me a brief story about one time that I did. A mortal acquaintance once challenged me to a game of chess. I told him that he would never defeat me, I wagered half my kingdom against all that he owned. He was an opponent of unsurpassed reputation. I allowed him the white pieces, and he made the first move. I never touched a single piece of mine. The man died forty-seven winters later, and in all that time the board remained undisturbed in my library. His assets were passed to me instead of his heirs. That is how I gamble," Xizix said.
"A clever story, but I posed a hypothetical. Ignore the gambling premise if you must, but I would like an answer. If you would see Rashan dead, tell me whether my plan bears merit," Kyrus's eyes darted about the room, looking for signs of water kept on hand, or wine even.
"There is a weapon, that if it is brought to bear against you, will ensure Rashan's victory. The question is whether he has the willpower to wield it," Xizix said. Something in his manner seemed at odds. The corners of the demon's mouth seemed almost to smile between words, but when he stopped, the hint of it was gone.
"What weapon?"
"Patience," Xizix said, giving a long laugh. "The same weapon I used in my game of chess. It was that same weapon that we used to slay Tallax."
"You ... you just waited. You waited for Tallax to die of old age?" Kyrus asked. "That hardly counts as slaying. And what if Rashan were to leave me in peace for all my days? I would consider that well worth the peace that would come in the meantime."
"It is a matter of perspective. A subtle poisoner might wait seasons for his fatal ministrations to take effect. Dead is dead though, and if we immortals preferred our poison to be Tallax's own gaudy, leaking Source, then so be it. They wrote legends of that Source of his, but in the end it killed him, same as yours will one day kill you, mortal," Xizix slumped in his chair, almost as if retreating from Kyrus as he pointed an accusing finger.
"Then what help are you? You suggest that Rashan might wait for my own eventual death by extreme age—"
"NO!" Xizix shouted, leaping to his feet. Kyrus drew in aether by instinct. Xizix must have sensed it—the demon could hardly have helped but notice—because he shrank back immediately. "No," Xizix repeated in a more measured voice, still gravelly and inhuman, but quieter. "I expect that he will not be able to. It is the same sickness of mind that violated the condition of his return to the immortals' enclave. It is the same madness you must see each time he talks of slaughter, the glee in his eyes at the very thought of murder."
"What then? What advice do you have?" Kyrus asked.
"You must not allow him to kill you. If he has the patience in him to do it, you must not allow him to wait for you to die. A strong sorcerer might see a hundred summers, with that Source you boast of you might see two hundred or more. We immortals see time on a longer chain. Whether you die tomorrow of two hundred winters hence, if Rashan steps his boot upon your corpse, he has won. That is my advice: force the battle."
"You think I can win then?"
"I think that you cannot win if you do not fight him," Xizix replied.
"There is one other matter that sticks in my mind. When I arrived in this world and Rashan found me, he seemed perplexed at how I might have gotten from one world to the other. If he was the one who killed his twin in my world, then how did he make the journey?" Kyrus asked. It was a question that was jumping about in his mind as it awaited his turn to speak. He had worried that he might not work it into his conversation with the demon, so he chose instead to wedge it in artlessly. Winds forbid, if Xizix thinks poorly of me socially he might never invite me for tea again ...
"By some other means then. There were other ways. Once there were many, but thanks to Tallax, there are not so many avenues between worlds," Xizix said. His lips curled in a sneer and stayed that way.
"Tallax closed the ways?" Kyrus guessed. Maybe I could open them once more.
"No, he used them too liberally, and the gods felt the need to act. They worried for the havoc he caused in his time as an exmundiate—a wayfarer between worlds. I think they might have been personally afraid of him, though I suspect they were still above him. I used to speak with the gods of old and think of them as friends. We immortals were creatures they understood a bit better than the crazed, frantic mortals. It vexed them to think of the ruin a sorcerer of Tallax's power could cause in worlds of lesser magic. They are the ones who cleaved the worlds loose. I know not how many are even left, but Tallax was marooned here with us. For all his wanderings, he never discovered the secret to immortality; power alone was not enough to achieve it."
Xizix turned his back on Kyrus. "You have brought sour memories to me this evening, mortal. So many old friends that rotten bastard Tallax cost me. I shall need to find some diversion to put my mind to some other place. You may go now. I would trouble you not to return. Consider it a compliment that I find your mere presence a danger to my children."
"If I might, one final word before I go," Kyrus begged. Xizix turned, regarding him over a shoulder. "You never gave your insight into that passage from Rashan's journal of prophecy. I have not forgotten."
Xizix smiled very slowly. "Of course you have not. But I can wield that weapon that Rashan has such difficulty with. Good evening, Sorcerer Kyrus."
"Good evening, then."
A moment later, Kyrus chased a startled Xizix from the room with the force of his draw, and departed back into the aether.
* * * * * * * *
Kyrus emerged from the aether in his palace chambers, warded tight against intrusion. It was empty and quiet, but he felt it all the more knowing that there would be no Juliana, no Celia, not even anyone about with a strong enough Source to rap upon his chamber door save Fenris—and Rashan, should the demon return. He ought to have been tired but his mind had pushed past exhaustion and into mania.
I could just leave this all to Brannis to chew on. Kyrus shook his head. He went to the bedside water pitcher and drank from it directly. I wonder if Xizix kept no water on hand to keep my visit short. He sighed and drank another long swallow.
He knew Tallax, he knew Rashan, he knew ... everything? Certainly more than he let on. What secret is so valuable that he would keep it at the expense of Rashan's continued life? Either he thinks I can manage without it, or he fears me knowing it more than he fears Rashan. Kyrus rubbed at his eyes and collapsed onto his bed. The lucidity brought on by aether coursing through him had faded.
The last parting barb. Did he reveal something by it? Is not knowing the answer to that prophecy going to lead me to my doom, killed by ... patience? There were many more questions that Kyrus needed to work through. He stared up at the ornate ceiling of his chambers. The softness of the blankets and pillows felt so welcome beneath him.
It was Brannis's problem, at least for a while.
Chapter 14 - Meeting My Family
The morning was cold, and the powdery, windblown snow was left over from the night before. Soria and Brannis had decided not to push themselves too hard the previous night, preferring a tent in the plains over an uncertain welcome at Hinterdale Farm. They rode slowly and in no great hurry. Brannis had more pressing matters weighing upon his thoughts than meeting Kyrus's kin.
"When will you be able to bring that book to me?" Brannis asked. They were riding a horse's width apart, but the wind and noise of the hooves had them nearly shouting to one another.
"I ran into some difficulty just a short while ago. I may be a few days delayed in returning to Kadris," she replied. "Have, umm, have things been going well ba
ck home?"
"Rashan started doling out positions among the Inner Circle."
"So you're one of them now, I suppose."
"No, I declined," Brannis said. "I have a position outside the Circle. I have no need of their intrigues nipping at my ankles wherever I go."
"But won't Rashan take offense? You're nearly goading him to hate you, don't you see it? By remaining outside the Circle you outrank him as the emperor's proxy."
"I had not considered that. The last thing I want is to put myself at odds with him."
"No, the last thing you want is him knowing. We're going to some trouble to put you at odds with him. By the by, did you even try looking for another copy of The Peace of Tallax?"
"A bit, but I had more pressing plans. I convinced Rashan to find a way to end the war with Safschan and save face. I still do not see how they will think less of us or see it as weakness if Rashan grows bored of slaughtering them. I waited for him to depart Kadris, and went to meet with the demon king of Azzat," Brannis said.
"WHAT?" Soria screamed. "I assume that since you did not wake me this morning screaming in pain and terror that you lived through the night, but that was just plain stupid of you. You walked right into a trap or would have if it had been one."
"But it wasn't! I just might need to stop worrying so much about my own safety and think of everyone else. Have you any idea the number of people Rashan has killed? I am doing all I can to rein him in, and I might need some reining myself. I found out by report that there were eighteen men still in the army's headquarters when I leveled it. Only two survived their injuries. I am pushing myself so hard to be ready for a conflict with Rashan that I'm beginning to be as bad as he is."
"Intent matters. You can't knot yourself up over a mistake, or you'll stop taking risks. You're as good a man as I know, Brannis, and I'll take your mistakes over most men's intentions," Soria told him. Brannis looked over to her. Her face was flushed from the wind and cold, and her hair was blowing loose behind her. He could not help but think how different she looked, bundled in furs against the wintry autumn weather, from all the preening women of the emperor's court and even her peers among the Circle. Juliana's peers. This is Soria after all. Brannis found himself forgetting that more and more often.
"I hope I live up to your confidence. I wish I shared it. I worry that if I manage to stop Rashan ..." Brannis shook his head. There was no point in avoiding putting a name to his purpose. " ... to kill Rashan, that I will end up turning out just like him. He always maintains that he is acting for the good of the empire. Do I believe so differently?"
Soria pulled hard on her reins, drawing her horse up short. Brannis followed suit, stopping a few lengths ahead of her. She walked her horse up next to his.
"Stop that. Right now. That's the last I want to hear of you being anything like Rashan Solaran. The similarities are superficial. He started his career by killing his own grandfather, if you remember. He starts wars because it lets him run loose among the sheep. It lets him have his fun and gets everyone to respect and fear him. You're putting yourself between his jaws to stop him, risking everything to save the lives of half the world. If you can't see the difference between trying to save lives and playing at ending them, you're not half as smart as I thought you were."
"I know, but—"
Their horses were within arm's reach of one another. Soria leaned over and shoved Brannis hard. Brannis was caught off guard. His feet pulled loose of the near stirrup and he fell face-first into the snow.
"What was that for?" Brannis shouted. He brushed snow from his hair and eyes, the cold of it burning against his bare skin.
"I told you I wasn't having any more of that nonsense. If you were Rashan you'd have killed me for that. Right there ought to be enough of a difference between you. You want answers, he wants excuses to kill."
Brannis stood, working a sore shoulder and elbow. For the most part, the snow had cushioned his fall.
Brannis led his horse a pace or two away from Soria's before he mounted once again. Snow had gotten into his boots and up under his tunic, wetting him to the skin. It was going to be a long ride before they found the warmth of Hinterdale Farm.
"Remind me again why I love you," Brannis joked.
"Because I'm the one who's willing to knock sense into you when you need it. The rest of them would rather lie to you, and leave you miserable," she replied. A mischievous smile spread slowly on her face and Brannis realized she was not looking him in the eye. He quickly ran a hand through his hair to smooth it down, and brushed away more of the snow that clung to him.
He brought his horse alongside Soria's. When he leaned across she never showed a sign of flinching, trusting that he was not seeking petty vengeance for his time in the snow. They shared a brief kiss before setting off once more. Brannis smiled.
"I hope I never understand you."
* * * * * * * *
Hinterdale Farm was a quaint patch of countryside nestled west of Scar Harbor. It was situated far enough inland that the smells of sea and city never reached it. The nearest neighbors were the Gullroy family, whose lands lay on the other side of a low stone wall that ran between a pair of pastures, but neither farmhouse was in view of the other, nor either barn. It gave the area a feeling of isolation that was by stretches either idyllic or desolate. In the snowy months it more often seemed the latter.
"Don't your folks keep animals or anything?" Soria asked as they approached. "It looks deserted."
"Cows dislike the cold as well, you know. They get out for exercise, but it takes little prodding to get them back into the barn in this weather. Same goes for the chickens. The old plow mule, Buckles, is too dumb to come in on his own but they keep a watch out for him. Look though, there is smoke from the chimney. They must be home," Brannis said, as if Kyrus's family was ever anywhere else aside from on market days.
"Do they have a stable for our horses?" Soria asked. They were in sight of the age-greyed barn and the farmhouse, but those were the only two structures to be seen, aside from a covered well.
"No, we can put them up in the barn. Horses cost good money, and we never had it to spare. Buckles did all the work we would have used a horse for, except riding."
The two of them rode down to the barn. As they drew closer, they could hear the periodic chock, chock, chock, of someone on the far side splitting firewood.
"Hello!" Brannis called out.
The chopping stopped and a moment later a man emerged from behind the barn. He was underdressed for the cold, with neither jacket nor cloak and just a pair of tall boots indicating any concession to the snow. Steam rose from his sweat-stained shirt and puffed with each breath. He carried an axe slung over his shoulder.
"What hey? Who's that there?" the man shouted back.
"Kedan, it's me," Brannis called to him. "I haven't been gone so long you don't recognize your own brother, have I?" He caught Soria's bemused expression with a quick glance. They had not discussed whether they would play at their ruse of names but Brannis wanted to see Kyrus's family, not visit them as a stranger.
"Kyrus, that you? Haw!" Kedan Hinterdale sunk his axe into a stump and ambled over to meet them. He was a square-built man, stocky, broad-shouldered and thick limbed. Brannis dismounted to wrap his older brother in a hug. Kedan came only to Brannis's jaw. "Hey, hey, you've got some meat on ya now. Maybe we can put you to some proper work around here for once."
Soria climbed down from her horse as well. "Soria Hinterdale. Nice to meet you, Kedan." She pulled a glove off and offered him a hand. Kedan stood looking puzzled at her.
"This yers?" Kedan asked, jerking a thumb in Soria's direction. Brannis nodded with a smile. "Well, bowl me over, another sister!" Kedan ignored the proffered hand and crushed Soria in a hug. The big man laughed. "Aw, just lemme get your horses in the barn and bring you to see Ma and Pa."
"I can get some of that wood for you in the meantime, if you want," Brannis offered.
"Sure, thanks Ky," Kedan
said. He pulled the axe from the stump, and offered it to Brannis handle-first. Kedan then took the reins of both horses and led them to the barn.
"You know anything about chopping wood?" Soria asked in a whisper as she followed him around back.
"Kyrus was always awful at it. They stopped letting him try years ago. I always wanted to be good at it, but they were too worried I would get hurt," Brannis whispered back.
The pile of wood was half split, the rest stacked under a tarp against the wet of snow. Brannis picked a solid log from amid the woodpile and set it down on the much-abused stump that served at the Hinterdales' chopping block.
Thock.
The axe bit deep but did not split the log. It also did not want to pull out again. With a heave, Brannis lifted the log using the axe as a handle for it. He hoisted it high and slammed both back down once more, shearing the log in two. His face broke out in a childish grin.
"Oh yes, mighty woodsman ye," Soria joked, watching him with her arms crossed and a look that seemed at once both resigned and amused.
"Been wanting to do that for years," Brannis said. "I never managed it before."
"Bran ... Kyrus, of all the things you've done of late, that is the one that you're proud of?" Soria asked, shaking her head. Brannis shrugged.
"Let me see one of those."
Soria moved to the wood pile and picked out one of the larger logs. She could do little more than walk it over to the stump, rocking it back and forth because she could not lift it.
"Want a hand with—" Brannis began, but caught a glare, and put up his hand in surrender. Soria worked the log up onto the stump. Brannis proffered the axe, but she waved it off.
Soria tucked her gloves into her belt. She laced her fingers, pressing the tips against the waiting log. With a sudden burst, she drove her fingers into the wood and ripped the log in two. The two halves fell away to the side as a low whistle came from the corner of the barn.