by J. S. Morin
The room around him melted away like rain-washed chalk. He was in a courtyard with the palace some distance off. Five Ghelkan sorcerers encircled him at a dozen or so paces distant. Correction: four sorcerers and a sorceress.
"I'm sorry, Princess. I could not hold the wall against that much power," one of the sorcerers said.
"Princess?" Rashan asked. "Oh my, this is a pleasant surprise. This trip might not be an entire waste after all."
"Zaitu, Tinnok, now!" Princess Shiann called out, ignoring Rashan's banter. Aether flowed away from him in all directions. It was an effective and efficient method for a group of lesser sorcerers to isolate a stronger one.
"Nexhi inkodu jokatchu stovoko fahni," one sorcerer chanted and spun in a circle.
"Igno denfaquo nahi teztuju," intoned another as he reached clawed fingers toward the sky.
A continuous coil of silvery metal wrapped around Rashan's limbs and torso, curling up about his neck. It pulled tight and held him. If he still had the habit of breathing, such would have been beyond him.
In the sky, a haze of clouds gathered, enough to call down lightning from above. A bolt struck Rashan, crackling along the metal strand that restrained him and causing his muscles to twitch, though not enough to break his grip on Heavens Cry.
"Jarok, Lensu!" Princess Shiann cried.
"Kinzif holomae tiatu hulnas fenragu otomar tedo peadakna," a third sorcerer spoke. His hands seemed to fight against an unseen force between him and Rashan.
A blackish tar poured over the demon. It dripped and stank and stuck wherever it touched. The last of the sorcerers under Shiann's command snapped his fingers and the muck burst into flame.
"Zinfa gijami dafivi oronoto penedakti," Princess Shiann chanted and brought her hands together into a cup.
For a time at least, that was the last that Rashan saw of any of them as he was enveloped in a crystalline shell that was opaque in both the light and the aether.
The Ghelkans had always proved to be innovative opponents, even leaving Loramar out of the discussion. The use of teamwork was something Kadrin sorcerers could have used lessons on, and their repertoire of spells was impressive.
Sadly, there was one crucial aspect of magical battle in which his current opponents were unforgivably lacking: power.
Being wound up in coiled steel, shocked, and set aflame was all very interesting but not a bit of it hurt more than superficially. His body was scorched but already healing itself. If I cannot see them, they likely cannot see me, either. Do they expect me to shrivel and die, stuck in here? A moment's thought snuffed the fires. Using the same spell he had once taught Brannis to use to free himself of restraints, he turned incorporeal for a moment and let the metallic coils fall free of him and the muck slough off to pile on the ground.
Rashan leveled Heavens Cry at the wall of his crystal prison, preparing to use the blade to pierce the aether that held it together. Before he could act, the crystal caved in upon him, accompanied by a wash of fire. Rashan staggered out through the wreckage of the crystal shell, even as it began to disperse back into the aether. He raised an arm to shield his eyes against the brightness.
"Now!" Shiann ordered.
Rashan could not hear the chanted spells over the rush of flames, but he felt the aether bolts coming. The first slammed against his shielding spell, the second he dove to avoid. He used the momentum from his dive to roll and spring back to his feet. He found the nearest of the Ghelkan sorcerers and leaped for him, raising Heavens Cry for a fatal strike.
The Ghelkan had just finished casting an aether bolt, but had instinct enough to cast silently before Rashan reached him. One moment Rashan saw a hairless, shriveled old sorcerer with his hands raised in fear, the next, there was a wall of steel blocking his view. Rashan reversed his grip on Heavens Cry and took it in both hands. He hit the steel barrier feet first and drove the tip of the sword through. The demon's keen ears heard the blade bury itself in flesh on the far side, and the steel barrier fell to the ground.
Before he could pull the blade free, Rashan was struck and thrown aside by a boulder. The Ghelkan sorcerers were clever enough to whisper their incantations so that he could not anticipate their spells. Rashan growled. He sent a blast of air straight down and struck the earth with a shock that kicked dust into the air all around the battlefield.
In the concealment of the dust, Rashan was invisible. The Ghelkan sorcerers shone in the aether, but he was a ghost. He heard the coughing, the struggles for air, the attempts to shout to one another.
With a crack, he broke the neck of a sorcerer who had not so much as flinched at his approach. He flung the body away.
One of the Ghelkans gathered wits enough to summon a wind to clear the cloud of dust before Rashan could use its concealment to kill again. His opponents' discipline was admirable; they still had him at the center of a rough triangle formed by the three remaining sorcerers.
"You've been planning for me," Rashan called out.
There was no answer from the Ghelkans save for a renewal of their magical assault. A storm of blades flew at Rashan. He flattened himself to the dirt by reflex, but as he did so, the ground beneath him liquified. Rashan's eyes widened as the earth swallowed him.
As with the crystal, there was a standoff. The earth hardened all around him, and Rashan was cut off from the battlefield above. This time though, he could see his opponents in the aether, and saw that they were drawing and storing aether.
Without the need to breathe, the earthy confines offered Rashan a respite in which to plan. The Ghelkans were certainly planning to unleash something intended to do him real harm once they had gathered all the aether they could handle. He suspected that he could weather it, but preferred an alternative to feeling the brunt of whatever they had planned for him. He tried to smile, but the earth packed around him held him fast.
Rashan's draw was the equal of the three remaining Ghelkan sorcerers. He fought them for the same aether they attempted to call. When he had enough for his own spell, he surrounded himself in a sphere of aether.
A moment later, a sphere of soil appeared on the battlefield, where once a Ghelkan sorcerer had stood. That sorcerer had taken Rashan's place belowground, and the pocket of air that went with him collpased immediately. The sphere of soil above ground crumbled, and Rashan struggled free, filthy as a child who had been at play in the mud.
"Jarok!" the last of the male sorcerers exclaimed.
Rashan looked to the depression in the earth. "I don't think he'll be joining us," he commented, guessing that Jarok was the entombed sorcerer. "But I can send you to meet him." Rashan leaped barehanded at the Ghelkan.
Jarok's friend was not so unprepared as Jarok had been, nor so trusting to his defenses as the one who had raised the steel wall. He fled Rashan's charge, going in six directions at once. Rashan landed in the middle of the scattering duplicates that the Ghelkan had conjured, trying to discern which was the original. He was accustomed to viewing battles in the aether, and was surprised that the living specimen did not stand apart.
He caught one of the duplicates and it came apart in his fingers like a scarecrow. It retained the look of a human just a moment before the aether it was fashioned from unraveled. He chased after another and the result was the same. The problem vexed him as three more duplicates appeared. They ran in a mad tangle, defying Rashan's efforts to keep track of them individually.
The real sorcerer should be visible by the aether he drew. Why isn't one of these dimming with each casting of the spell?
When the answer came to Rashan, he felt the fool for not having realized sooner. "You're the one who made that maze of a palace for me, aren't you? None of these is you."
Rashan ignored the illusionary sorcerers and walked over to retrieve Heavens Cry; its fumes would not care where the invisible sorcerer stood, but would clear the whole of the area of foes.
He had forgotten about Princess Shiann.
A bolt of aether tore through Rashan's body, sen
t with the force of all the aether she had drawn and much from her own Source as well. Rashan looked down and saw a hole the size of a dinner plate in his torso. There was no blood, no gore, just bits of sinew and meaty endings dangling loose from the wound. The effort that Shiann had given appeared to have taken a deeper toll on her than the spell had taken on the demon.
Rashan gaped a moment, unable to speak. As the wound closed itself and he could once more fill his lungs with air, he filled them and let out a long breath. A quick inspection showed that the hole had been repaired fully in just seconds.
"My compliments," Rashan called across the battlefield. "I didn't think you had it in you. I believe my tunic is a total loss."
Rashan retrieved Heavens Cry and strode over to where Shiann had collapsed in exhaustion. A shielding spell appeared in the air in front of her.
Rashan rolled his eyes. "Please ..." With a single swipe of Heavens Cry he cut through the shield and the invisible sorcerer who had interposed himself between the demon and his princess.
Rashan held the tip of his sword beneath Princess Shiann's chin and she lay propped on her elbows, unable to rise. She was panting just from the effort of holding herself up, and her Source was just a flicker. "Any last words?"
"I'll have my revenge," she replied.
"Good as any, but not very original." Rashan skewered her.
He looked back to the palace, which he had been led well away from by the Ghelkans' clever illusions. There was a king somewhere that he ought to deal with before he left.
* * * * * * * *
"I hope you know what you're doing, son," Frenna said.
General Kaynnyn and the Fehr family huddled in the cellars of the palace along with the infant princess. They had been ordered to flee, but Anzik had shown a strange assertiveness in insisting they hide instead. They had argued, General Kaynnyn in particular being of a mind to follow Princess Shiann's order to evacuate, but somehow, Anzik had prevailed. Whether it was because all the adults knew of his extended experience in hiding from sorcerous eyes or some trick of his own magic, he had convinced them.
Now the young boy's eyes turned to the ceiling, enraptured as if someone was making shadow puppets to entertain him. The rest of them, even the others among the Fehr children with aether-sight, saw nothing.
"Anzik, what is he doing up there?" Nakah asked. She watched the ceiling as well, but had no vision that could see through the stone.
"He killed them all. He looked everywhere but here. He found everyone but us." Anzik's expression was vacant, his thoughts outside the room with them. "He will be here soon."
"We have to get out of here then!" General Kaynnyn said.
"Quiet!" Anzik snapped. All eyes turned to him. Anzik rarely spoke until recently. None of them had ever heard him issue a command to anyone. "Everyone stay completely quiet. Leave this to me."
They huddled the rest of the children in a corner, had them cover their ears and look away. The rest crouched behind crates and shelves and covered their mouths. Anzik alone stood in the middle of the room, either oblivious or all too aware of what was about to come.
The door opened and a slim, slight figure entered, dressed in black and carrying a bared blade in hand. Rashan Solaran, Warlock of the Kadrin Empire, it could be none other. He strode into the room sweeping it with his eyes. Briefly, he locked his gaze with Anzik from a pace away. Anzik never flinched and Rashan was never aware of him, it seemed.
Content that the room was unoccupied, the demon left them.
Chapter 20 - Familiar Old Khesh
Brannis walked off the pier and onto solid ground once more. The trip had been smooth the last several days but he still vowed to stay off the Katamic for a good long while. His stomach and legs had made it an ultimatum, and the rest of him had readily agreed.
"So this is Zorren?" he asked Soria. The buildings were packed in close quarters. There were whitewashed brick buildings reminiscent of Acardia, sturdy fitted-stone edifices that would have looked at home in Takalia, the ornately carved tent-shaped structures that were common in Southern Khesh, and bits and pieces of a dozen smaller lands mixed in as well.
"Well, in Veydrus it would be," Soria said. "But no, this is Bouo. Once you get beyond the shoreline, I doubt you'll see any similarity. I only flew over Zorren a bit in the Daggerstrike but it was enough to know that it was very different from this place."
"You know Bouo well?" Brannis asked.
Rakashi laughed.
"You could say that," Soria replied. "We spent years based here. I don't know if our quarry knew that or not but they picked the wrong city to try to hide from us in. If they so much as passed through, we'll pick up a trail."
"If that's true, then we have to assume they know that. They want us to find them or at least to know where they are. Whatever they are hoping to gain, they are looking to gain it in Veydrus. Without our knowing, they have no leverage," Brannis reasoned.
Rakashi led as they made their way into the city, leaving Captain Kaisson and the Poet's Hammer behind. Brannis noticed that there were an unusual number of armed people wandering the streets and no one seemed to give it two thoughts. When he thought to look for them, he could find no uniformed guards anywhere. Maybe why everyone seems to take personal protection upon themselves, he thought.
"We're going to see some old acquaintances, to see whether they can tell us where we need to head," said Soria.
Brannis leaned close as they walked. "Are these the sort of acquaintances that will be happy to see us?" he asked softly.
Soria chuckled and glanced sidelong at him, a gleam in her eye. "Yes and no."
* * * * * * * *
"Why have we stopped here?" Stalyart asked. He and Tanner stood in the common room of a cheap tavern in Alo Haith, a small mining town along a tradeway that was used more for supplies and goods than for travelers.
"Listen," Tanner replied, "you saved my skull in Lon Mai, so I'll play it even with you: the kid told me where they were going before I lost him to your friend. We're just heading them off, trying to figure out where they'll pass through on their way to the coast."
"So all this time you’ve had this simple plan and you chose not to share it with me? Perhaps to the detriment of finding the boy at all, should misfortune have found you?" Stalyart asked. Tanner gave a silent nod, the corner of his mouth curling into a grin. "Well done! You are perhaps not hopeless."
"Well, I fell for your escape scheme, didn't I?" Tanner returned. "That was really Warlock Rashan coming, not some ruse to make me think he might have been. Listen ... I may be pretty aether-dense on the other side, but there was some fighting going on back at the palace after we cut out of there."
There was a momentary break in their conversation as a bleak-eyed serving girl—who looked at least forty years old—delivered their ales. All booze was cheap in Takalia since they produced so much domestically. Alo Haith was the sort of place that got the "mistakes"—liquors that tasted off or that came from weak batches. They were practically drinking for free, though either would gladly have paid for better, had anything been available.
Stalyart's eyes followed the server as she left them. "We are safely away from Lon Mai and tomorrow we will be on my ship. I can take you back to Kadris but I think it may be time that both of us found somewhere away from the rest of this war. There are parties who may not appreciate the roles we have taken."
"Yeah," Tanner agreed, "that's the main reason I'm not sore about you sneaking me out in the middle of what might have been a rescue. Not so sure gettin' rescued by that demon would have been best for my long-term prospects. If Kyrus or your pirate friend manage to kill off that demon, then we can figure out what to do next."
"I am most glad you agree. This will make arrangements much simpler."
Tanner's eyes wandered about the room as he nursed his ale. They settled on Stalyart's sword.
"You still interested in having a duel?"
"No," Stalyart replied the moment Tanner fini
shed the question. Tanner laughed and took a swig of his ale. His expression soured momentarily before he swallowed. He worked his mouth to get the taste out, then laughed anew. "Any man who picks a fight with five armed men has no place crossing blades with me."
"Aw, and I never even got to see you fi—”
Tanner stopped mid-sentence as the door to the common room opened and another group entered. Stalyart followed his look. They were all foreigners, pale-skinned and fair haired—not quite light enough to be Kheshi but possibly Acardian or Hurlan.
"Trouble," whispered Tanner.
"What makes you certain?"
"Foreigners. This place isn't much for foreigners. And look at the gear they've got: rope, clubs ... I think that's a blow gun the one on the left has," Tanner said.
"We are foreigners here as well, you know," Stalyart said, shrugging.
"Yeah, and that don't make me feel any better, considering what we're up to. I think these boys are in the same line of work."
"Piracy?" Stalyart suggested with a smile.
"No," Tanner replied. "Kidnappings."
* * * * * * * *
"They came on a ship named Falcon's Tree," Soria said. She said it in Kheshi so Brannis did not understand it. Rakashi stood in the back of the little curio shop, and translated for him.
"I heard of it," the rascal behind the counter replied, his face fixed in a permanent sneer. He seemed the sort that did more business on the side than in his actual profession. He exuded a greasy lack of grace that seeped into his clothes and the shop he kept. "How bad you wanna know about 'em?"
"You know me, Zinn," Soria said. Brannis picked up a note of warning in her voice without needing it translated.
"Fine. Just remember I done you good before. What they look like?" Zinn asked. He picked at something in his teeth as he spoke.
"Both Acardian, and you can tell it easy enough by the look of them. The male is about thirty, long curly hair, brown eyes, cleft chin... got all his teeth," Soria said. Zinn stopped picking at his own teeth.