by J. S. Morin
"The girl?" he asked.
Soria glanced back at Brannis before answering. As she began what he could only assume was her description of Abbiley, Rakashi stopped translating. Brannis looked his way and the Takalish scholar put up his hands in surrender, but did not resume.
Brannis leaned around to better see Soria from the front. He watched as she held her hands cupped in front of her chest—well in front of her chest—giving the impression of a rather ... endowed woman. Brannis felt heat rise in his face. Rakashi grabbed him by the arm and turned him away.
"Just ... just let her deal with this her way," Rakashi said. He held eye contact as long as possible, which just made Brannis more determined to see what Soria was up to. He shrugged loose from Rakashi's grip and twisted back to see her.
Soria had her upper lip curled back, baring her teeth. She was holding her hands up to either side of her face, making a little waggling motion with her fingers. He made a move toward her, some offended bit of Kyrus within him growing heated at the perceived insult to Abbiley, but a tug at his arm held him back.
"Just be glad you do not speak Kheshi," Rakashi said in his ear.
Brannis was fuming when Soria finally finished bargaining with the shady shopkeeper. She is just jealous. She wants to see if I am past Abbiley, and it seems that maybe ... Kyrus ... is not. I am a better man than this, Brannis assured himself. He took deep breaths to will away his anger. By the time they left the shop, he realized that his hands were sore—his fingernails had been digging into his palms without him even realizing.
* * * * * * * *
A cloud of dust rose behind two horses as they stampeded down the western road out of Alo Haith. The horses were freshly stolen and well provisioned, the latter a lucky coincidence. Horse theft was the least of their worries if caught and the owners certainly were not going to be the ones chasing them down.
"This is all your fault," Stalyart shouted. He rode awkwardly but a fear-strengthened grip kept him in the saddle.
"My fault? You were staring at them," Tanner yelled back. "If you knew how to use the corners of your eyes they never would have come over, but you had to turn and stare at them like some five-eckle puppet show." Tanner had ridden the length of Khesh and back again more times than he cared to count. He was a fair rider, even if he did not particularly enjoy horses, and was comfortable enough in the saddle to turn and look behind them for pursuit.
Stalyart caught sight of him looking back. "Are they still following us?"
"Yeah, four or five of 'em. Can't tell from this far away whether they have long guns or not. I hate those things," Tanner shouted.
"You like your pistol well enough," Stalyart pointed out. "I see no difference."
"My pistol is mine, that's the difference. Those blasted things might be able to reach us here if they get lucky. Just keep riding. Either we'll lose them or we'll deal with them after nightfall."
"You assume we can ride to nighttime without our own horses failing."
"You're just a cheery fella, aren't ya, pirate?"
They rode on, trusting to luck, fate, and the questionable horse-buying habits of hired thugs to get them through to night.
* * * * * * * *
Soria watched as Brannis stabbed his fork into the mush on his plate for the tenth time or so without taking a bite of it.
"Kheshi food not to your liking?" she asked.
"Nothing wrong with the food," Brannis said, not looking up from his plate. "Well, maybe could do with a bit less corn meal in it."
"We got a good solid lead. You get two of these magpies to tell the same story without the time to talk to each other about it, and you have yourself something to go on," Soria said.
Rakashi cleared his throat, gave them each a nod and got up from his empty plate. Soria watched him head upstairs before turning her attention back to Brannis.
"You're mad," she said.
Brannis looked up from his plate but kept his head down. He stuffed a forkful of the corn mush into his mouth.
"I can tell." Soria smiled without much feeling.
"Why are you even helping with this?" Brannis asked. "You can't stand her."
Soria wrinkled her nose and frowned. Why am I? She had not given the matter much thought. "It's just what I do, I guess. I get a job and do it. Normally it's for money, but this time all I cared about was going with you."
"So that's all there is to this for you?" Brannis asked. "Just a mission, a job that you're doing gratis as a favor to me?"
She shrugged. "I guess. I take things as they come. If you had been happy leaving her to her fate and going to find Zell in Takalia, I'd have been right there with you for that, too. Frankly, if you find a way to get away from Rashan in Kadrin, I'd leave all them to their fates, too."
"Just like that?" Brannis asked. He cocked his head as he awaited a reply.
"Just like that. You're getting caught up in the same trap as Tallax. I've read you almost the whole thing, you must have seen the pattern by now."
"Yes, when there's no one else, it is your duty to step in and set things right," said Brannis. "The warring kingdoms, the dominance of the dragons, the murderous immortals, the mediation with the gods—and if anything I think that's where the story crosses into pure myth-making—all of it fell to Tallax because he was the only one who could handle it."
"Tallax chose his path," Soria countered. "If nothing else, see that difference. Poor Kyrus is dealing with all the troubles heaped on him by a rotting empire and a demonic regent. You are the one who welcomed all that, not him. Now you're chasing after a girl that Kyrus held hands with once or twice and made moon eyes at. I'm sorry if I may have over-salted my descriptions of her, but three informants were able to know her by it."
"That thing you did with the wiggling fingers?"
"Face it, she has peasant teeth. You can't have helped noticing," Soria said and let out a sigh.
"She is a peasant. That's not her fault. She had no magic to pretty them up like you have," Brannis said. "How would yours look if you did nothing to them?"
"Nothing like that, I promise you," Soria replied, crossing her arms and leaning back.
"And the other thing? I can't help but notice that Juliana is a bit ... fuller in that regard," Brannis said. A smile slipped out the edges of his mouth as the familiar glimmer returned to his eyes.
"I'm a coinblade, not a dairy farmer. I was just trying to give a description those weasels would understand."
"Your cheeks flush the prettiest pink when you get angry," Brannis said.
* * * * * * * *
The next morning Soria, Brannis, and Rakashi took fresh horses and rode for the city of Skasgrenn. It was five days until summer.
Chapter 21 - The Twelfth Name
"So what? This is a list of eleven names," Kyrus said. He slid the sheet of paper back across the desk. "And your penmanship is slovenly."
"You know what these are, of course," said Fenris. He gave Kyrus a shrewd look that hinted he did not, in fact, believe Kryus understood at all and wanted to hear him say it.
"No, I went daft and you shall need to find a replacement for me as well," Kyrus said and crossed his arms. He glared back at Fenris from under his lowered brow. "It is the new Inner Circle. I thought the three names at the top made that plain enough."
"Yes, eleven names, not yet twelve."
"Names I knew yesterday. You have nearly finished the task Warlock Rashan set for you," Kyrus said. "Is this yet another attempt to put my name down there and bring me into your stable of sorcerers?"
They were meeting in Fenris's old office in the Tower of Contemplation. Despite the promotion to second senior member of the Inner Circle, behind only Rashan, he had not moved closer to the Warlock's central location in the Sanctum.
"I figured as much," Fenris admitted. "Might be that there is another sort of use we might find for such an opening." Fenris smiled, his wrinkled lips stretching taut as they forced his jowls aside.
"If yo
u intend on playing this game of baiting me and daring me to guess, I swear I will appoint someone to attend these impromptu meetings in my place. I have neither the time nor the patience for it," Kyrus said.
"Oh? I thought you loved games. Warlock Rashan even let you play chess using the army for pieces. Of course, you make a bit of a—"
"Out with it!" Kyrus snapped. "Or this meeting is over."
"Bring your girl Juliana back. Rashan said you had some means to send messages to her. Avail yourself of them, and I can install her as the twelfth." Fenris folded his hands over his paunch and slouched back in his chair, watching Kyrus’s reaction.
"Is this is jape of some sort?" Kyrus asked. "If so, I fail to see the humor. Not only would Juliana hate the thought of being tied in the Tower of Contemplation, she hates Celia Mistfield with a furor, and I think she and my sister have a grudge going back to the Academy. You would never get anything done."
"You underestimate her. Besides, a little fire in the Sanctum debates might be a welcome thing."
"The fire might not be figurative," Kyrus warned. "Half the reason I got her out of the city was because I feared those assassinations would get laid at her feet, and she would prove them right by confronting her accuser."
"We can be reasonable here, Brannis. The war is winding down. Tensions are easing. Take the time to salve raw feelings and soothe weary minds. You yourself look like you could use having her back," said Fenris. Kyrus frowned. Fenris is trying awfully hard to get me to summon her home. "She is a widow you know, of course, and I think the Circle might appreciate seeing that little matter settled. I have it on good authority that Rashan would approve the match."
Kyrus eyes widened but stared into space. "No," he said. He turned to fix Fenris with a look that made the old sorcerer squirm in his chair. "Rashan wants her as collateral. He has said as much that he fears my reckless power and now he wants Juliana here to keep me in check. He had thought Celia would do but he knows that Juliana would work much better for that purpose. He ordered you to get me to bring her back, didn't he?"
"Warlock Rashan rarely 'orders' anything, at least where I am concerned," Fenris replied with a condescending smile.
"I know Caladris kept his machinations well hidden but how is it that you escaped retribution when the rest of the Inner Circle was slain?" Kyrus asked. He cared not whether he offended him—he found himself hoping he would. He could envision angering Fenris to the point that he drew in anger, then responding in kind and blasting him through the wall. "Do you have some deeper plot, more patience, or are you just a coward?"
"Have a care, Brannis," Fenris cautioned. "I am patient but not in the way you imply. I do not act rashly, and I certainly do not act against Warlock Rashan or Emperor Sommick. It is part of my secret to longevity. Frankly Brannis, he is worried about you. You would do well to settle yourself into a nice quiet life. War's almost over. Let Rashan pick over the bones of the outside world. You ought to worry about helping us keep things orderly here. You have potential. You can do great things one day. Do not set yourself in Rashan's path. That is the best advice I can give you."
"And you think I should call Juliana home?" Kryus asked.
Fenris nodded.
"Fine," Kyrus agreed. As soon as I have Rashan's head.
He turned to leave. "I have other matters that require me."
* * * * * * * *
Leaf-bare trees made the edges of the clearing harder to make out, especially as the wind swayed them. Juliana eased the Starlight Marauder down, hearing snaps and scratching as the ship's hull made its own path through the branches. They were great old trees that an enterprising druid could easily have built a cottage beneath. Juliana landed the ship with a rustle of dry leaves and a thud. With a practiced hand, she shed the safety harness, stretching this way and that to relieve the stiffness of hours spent flying. She crept along the uneven deck to the railing and looked out into the autumn forest. Winter in the North, summer in the South. She wondered if Tiiba could win a two-season reprieve on the technicality that, though summer in Kadrin, it was nearly winter in Acardia. It was unlikely, but the warlock's moods had led him to stranger fancies.
She checked her daggers to make sure they were loose in their sheathes and reinforced the shielding spells she had grown accustomed to always keeping active. I am getting more like Soria all the time.
Her vigil had lasted too long for her comfort. She had not realized the knots her stomach had tied itself into, until she saw Tiiba emerge from the trees and they came untangled.
"Took your time, didn't you?" she called down to him.
"I am a man who has troubles disappearing," Tiiba shouted back. "It is more work than you might expect. Get us airborne as soon as I am aboard. I have no wish to be seen leaving." With me, she added silently for him.
Neither side in the conflict would have welcomed knowledge of the two of them sharing accommodations on a Kadrin airship. It was something only a twinborn would understand. Neither of them viewed the situation as traitorous, but they knew that they would likely be alone in that opinion if caught.
"Get in then," she replied. "I dunno, maybe running might help." Tiiba gave a lopsided smile and broke into a jog as Juliana made her way back to the helm and buckled herself in.
Well Merciful Tansha be praised. Something went right for once.
Realizing they were not yet off the ground, she panicked momentarily, but the escape went without incident. She aimed them toward the clouds and the obscurity they offered.
* * * * * * * *
Kyrus ran into Varnus as he made his way between the Tower of Contemplation and the main body of the palace. He had seen the twinborn guard captain's hulking Source approaching from a side corridor and for a moment he had thought to evade him. To his chagrin, his conscience overruled him and he resigned himself to taking on whatever burden Varnus was about to lay across his shoulders.
"Brannis," Varnus called after him as he rounded the corner and quickened his pace to catch up. "Brannis, a word if I might." Palace staff had been struggling with what to call him since his tenure as grand marshal had ended and his new position had no official moniker. Many had gone back to calling him "Sir Brannis" but Varnus had taken to dropping honorifics entirely. Kyrus supposed it was simpler, even if it sounded overly familiar.
Kyrus stopped and turned to look back over his shoulder. "What is it? I am on my way to see Emperor Sommick."
"This'll just be a moment. Besides, I'm on my way there myself."
Kyrus pointed to the door of a guard station and Varnus shooed the occupants out. He followed the guard captain inside and threw a shielding spell across the door as he closed it.
"How goes your traveling magic show?" Kyrus asked. He leaned against one of the plain wooden desks that the guards used for writing their log books and filing written reports—those that were literate, at least.
"We're making good time heading west along the foothills," Varnus replied. "I've been doing well to keep Wendell's shows to a minimum, though he's got some twist in his brain about them and won't quit entirely."
"So why the urgency?" Kyrus asked.
"Something happened last night," Varnus answered, lowering his voice. "We stopped in some sleepy little mining town and the place looked like it had been attacked. Bodies were lined up in the road—a bunch of outlanders. Didn't get a good look, but sure as sunrise they weren't Takalish. Constables took us out of the wagon we rode in on, dragged us off and questioned us."
"Are you alright?" Kyrus asked. "Did they take the boy?"
"It's Takalia, not Hurlan. We're fine, Jadon and all. We had nothing to do with that and it didn't take 'em too long to figure that out. Still, from the bit of a look I had at the bodies, I think they were probably coinblades."
"Well, thank you for keeping me apprised but—"
"Was it your doing?" Varnus interrupted.
"Mine?" Kyrus asked. "I have been down in Khesh and Brannis is not so mobile as to get between—
"
"No, I meant did—"
"Stop interrupting me!" Kyrus snapped. "You want to know whether I set protectors along your path to ward off Denrik Zayne's hired blades? The answer is 'no.' I advised you to part ways with Wendell for your own safety. It sounds like a good time to repeat that advice. That boy is a jousting prize at this point, and you are liable to get run down by someone looking to win him."
"You don't suppose it might be Tanner coming to the rescue, do you?" Varnus asked. "The descriptions they gave of the two killers was a little vague, but they were outlanders, not Takalish, and the bodies looked cut up pretty good."
"Well, unless Denrik Zayne and Tanner took to land to look for the boy themselves, I think not. Tanner is my liaison to Megrenn—for all that is worth these days—and has not left Zayne's ship."
Varnus's shoulders slumped. "Well, I'll be careful I guess. I was hoping you might have some idea about what was going on," Varnus said. He reached for the door handle but paused a moment, sniffing the air, and reached instead for the mug on the guards' desk. Lifting it to his nose, Varnus frowned at the contents. He took a great snort that near turned Kyrus's stomach, then spat into the mug and returned it to its place.
"Teach 'em to drink on duty," Varnus muttered.
Kyrus quietly released the spell holding the door shut and leaned away to let Varnus pass. When the guard captain was out of sight, Kyrus gave the mug a poke and spilled it across the table. Deserved or not, his stomach felt better knowing no one was going to drink it.
* * * * * * * *
Emperor Sommick was holding an informal court in his spacious chambers. Since he had realized he could get away with it, he did nearly everything informally. A pillowed lounging couch served as his throne and he half sat, half lay sprawled across it as Kyrus entered.
"Sir Brannis, come in, come in. What kept you?" Emperor Sommick smiled as he spoke, but Kyrus heard the reproach clearly enough: "Where were you? I sent for you an hour ago."
"I was detained seeing to a few of the trifling, but utterly essential tasks that I look after so that you do not have to divert your attention from all this," Kyrus replied, waving his hand around to indicate everything in the room: the pillows on which his courtiers reclined, the musicians, the wine pourers, the harlots who had been added to the serving staff at his command.