Sourcethief (Book 3)

by J. S. Morin

  "Let's go find a room, somewhere," Soria said when she returned. "We have plans to make." She turned to leave, but Brannis caught her by the arm.

  "What was that everyone calls you?" Brannis asked. He tried to mimic the Kheshi words. Soria winced.

  "Assuming you hadn't just made the Six Dead Princes cry with your butchery of their language, it would mean ‘red lady.’ What you actually said was ‘far cook,’ which I'm pretty sure is gibberish," Soria said. She started off into the crowd, and Brannis and Rakashi fell in behind.

  "Her hair isn't that red, to make a name of it, is it?" Brannis asked.

  "It isn't the hair," Rakashi said, "it's the hands."

  * * * * * * * *

  "So, that fella in the market was Hojan, like he said. Trann owns that corner, but he hasn't been around, so Hojan is keeping it warm for him, and probably earning twice his normal tips playing there," Soria told them. They had rented an upper-floor room in the tallest inn they could find, with a window that faced the setting sun.

  "Does he know where Trann is?" Brannis asked. Soria smiled and nodded. "Great, let's go find out where Abbiley and Tomas have gone."

  "That's the beauty of it. We don't actually need to talk to Trann. Trann was the answer, not the informant. He's playing on retainer, up there." Soria pointed out the window to a hilltop manor set on the outskirts of the city. The inn's vantage allowed them a clear view of it.

  "Who lives there?" Brannis asked.

  "Lady Skaal is there presently. It is a winter home, for when the weather in the south grows too cold for comfort. It would normally only be occupied by caretakers this time of year, but it has guests."

  "Lady Skaal and her foreign guests?" Rakashi ventured.

  "And more guards than usual," said Soria.

  "So it's a trap," Brannis said. It was not a question.

  "Looks that way," Soria agreed. "We should hit them tonight, before they decide to move the trap further south on us. They know we will chase them."

  "Wait, what if the information you got was wrong? We could burst in on an armed noble estate, and be caught totally in the wrong. We should scout out the building, and see who is inside first," Brannis said. "It's late afternoon. In a few hours we can get in there and look around."

  "You mean I could," Soria stated. She crossed her arms and gave Brannis a skeptical look. "Rakashi's none too subtle, but you're a lost cause. Besides, I don't want you going about anywhere without that armor. You just aren't the swordsman to fight unprotected."

  "Fine, you go, but we need it to be soon."

  "No deal. We trust the piper's word and go tonight. Right or wrong, the consequences are the same for attacking a noble lady's house in the middle of the night. If we waste a night doing reconnaissance, we might as well pay their carriage fare south for them. All we have right now is surprise."

  "We should have horses ready for our escape—fresh ones," Rakashi said.

  Soria nodded. "Good thought. We should stable them just north of the manor. Get five, assuming they can both ride."

  "What if the piper tips them off that we know about them?" Brannis asked.

  "That would be a bold bet by the piper with little to gain if he's right. I pay him plenty for information, and if he gets me killed, that dries up for good. If he tries and fails, well, that just wouldn't be healthy for him ..."

  "She has a reputation, you see," Rakashi reminded him.

  "I get it, the pipers are more afraid of you than this Lady Skaal."

  "Well, that's what I'm betting on anyway."

  * * * * * * * *

  Dusk spread over Kjalljhal on a clear night with just a few lazy clouds to block the stars. Five horses whickered and fidgeted, not yet used to the smell of their new owners. The steeds had not been stabled at all, but instead were tethered to a row of trees planted around Lady Skaal's estate. The sapling maples looked just thick enough that a startled horse might not be able to uproot them.

  "Kethek indu ixoi hakidu," Soria muttered, clasping her hands in a bubble and expanding them outward. Everyone paused.

  The wind rustled in the leaves of the maples. Brannis and Rakashi shared a glance.

  "I can still—" Brannis began.

  "I know!" Soria snapped. "Shut up and I'll try again."

  "Kethek indu—"

  "I think it's imdu," Brannis interrupted.

  "—ixoi hakidu," Soria finished. She repeated the gesture, but nothing happened. She swiveled her head to face Brannis, fire in her eyes. "I don't do this often, alright? I'll get it."

  "Just keep your voice down," Rakashi reminded her. "We are attempting to avoid noise, not create it."

  "Kethek imdu ixoi hakidu," Soria chanted. This time, when she parted her cupped hands, the wind stopped. Or rather, the sound of the wind in the trees stopped; the final gasps of springtime still washed over the skin with a pleasant tickle.

  "..." Brannis said, his mouth moving, but no sound issuing forth.

  "..." Soria replied, guessing what Brannis had tried to say, and pointing to the estate wall, her part done for the moment.

  Brannis drew Avalanche from its sheath and poked a hole in the stone wall. Mortar crumbled and cut stone blocks cracked like poorly fired pottery. He waved the blade about and cleared a section wide enough for all of them to pass without a struggle, aside from the need to scramble over the pile of wall rubble.

  Within the estate grounds, they found themselves in a garden. Tended fruit trees were planted all about with flowers whose petals appeared as little more than shades of grey in the moonlight. A path to the rear entrance of the manor house was easily visible.

  "... blah blah ... ah, there we go. Can everyone hear again?" Soria asked. Brannis and Rakashi nodded. "Fine then, Rakashi, you hold the rear entrance, I'll clear the ground floor and hold the front. We'll stop anyone escaping and take care of any of the guards who try to lend aid from outside. Brannis, you search the upper floors. Kill anyone who—"

  "I'll take it from there. I know a thing or two about command. I'll use my own judgment on who needs killing," Brannis said. Soria glared, but did not press him.

  The three of them dashed for the rear entrance, all pretense of stealth lost as Brannis clattered across the grounds in his armor. They had nothing but force of arms and the element of surprise left to them.

  Two guards met them as they approached the rear gate, and shouted the alarm. Soria rushed past them and shouldered her way through the door as Rakashi cut them down. The guards' swords seemed paltry defense against his runed half-spear.

  Brannis lumbered along behind, mindful of the slick blood on the manor's steps that spread as he approached. Once inside, he saw three more guards lying dead or dying in the parlor, as well as a manservant who had chosen a poor time to be in the way. Brannis swept his gaze about and decided that the front of the manor was his best wager to find the stairs going up.

  He heard a clatter from the kitchens, crockery vying with screams to drown each other out. Shouts in Kheshi echoed throughout the stone walls of the manor, lending to the chaos. Brannis arrived at the front doors before Soria had a chance to reach them—presumably she was off somewhere terrorizing the kitchen staff. A pair of honor guard in formal livery held halberds at the ready to meet him, leveled point forward like spears. Brannis strode straight toward them, Avalanche leading.

  A shout from above and behind him caught Brannis's attention. The two halberd-wielding guards had been edging forward to meet him, but stopped short. He spared a quick glance and saw four Kheshi men with muskets aimed down at him. No wonder the door guards held back. One of the gunners—now with Brannis's full attention—shouted again. I really have to learn this language. Glancing to either side, he saw a pair of stairways that led up to meet at the landing.

  "Hello," Brannis called up to the landing. "Do any of you speak Acardian?"

  Brannis watched carefully, and saw one of the gunners turn to another and ask something. Figuring that two distracted gunners were the best
chance he would get, Brannis whirled and closed the distance to the halberdiers. He batted away their axe-like blades, snapping one off at the head, and wrenching the other from its owner's grasp.

  Crackkk! Crackkk! Crackkk! Crackkk!

  The gunners loosed their shots at Brannis. He felt nothing, unsure whether his sudden action had spoiled their aim or if Liead's armor had cushioned the blows to the point where he felt nothing at all. Brannis spared little time finding out. One of the halberdiers had stumbled over himself in an effort to escape while the other stood his ground with nothing but his weapon's shaft. Brannis rushed the man and swatted him to the ground with the back of his gauntlet, then turned to run for the stairs.

  Muskets were slow cumbersome weapons, but were generally given credit for being able to put a lead shot through the best smithed armor coin could buy. Had any of the four gunners expected their target to survive the volley, it was still unlikely that they would have gotten their weapons reloaded in time for a second shot. As Brannis raced up one set of stairs, the gunners made their escape down the other. Brannis paid them little heed.

  "Abbiley ... Tomas ... we are here to rescue you!" Brannis called out. "We were sent by Lord Harwick to bring you home!"

  Brannis made a search of the second floor, repeating his shout when corridors met. He opened every door, finding no one save for a few cowering household servants, none of whom showed any sign of understanding Acardian.

  The stairs up to the third floor yielded even less encouraging results. The "lord's floor" was a shamble of unmade beds and empty wardrobes, with clothing left strewn about. Brannis looked more thoroughly in a guest room that seemed to have had a female occupant. Kyrus had known Abbiley before she had owned any finery, but when he held up a discarded silk dress, he could imagine it about her. The size and proportion looked right enough to him, even if he knew little about women's clothing.

  "The stables are empty!" Rakashi's voice shouted up from below.

  "They knew," Brannis whispered to himself.

  * * * * * * * *

  "Well, I was right, and I was wrong," Soria both bragged and admitted at once. "The piper didn't sell us out, but someone sent word ahead of us. Lady Skaal left probably sometime while we were in the marketplace, best I can figure, maybe a little later."

  "The gate guards?" Brannis suggested.

  "No way to be sure. None of this lot knew. I'm guessing not, though, since they'd be too easy to corner if we wanted to take some of their parrot-coins back from them," Soria replied. They stood in the wine cellar of the Skaal estate, speaking freely in Acardian in front of dozens of servants and a few guards who had surrendered. Their prisoners were tied back-to-back in pairs, where they would remain until someone came to investigate the manor and found them.

  "Maybe they were counting on us being too busy to deal with them? I have no plans to go back to the northern gate for vengeance," Brannis said.

  "Back when we used to work around here, I would have—"

  "Yes," Rakashi cut off Soria's memories of vengeance past, "but tonight we sleep on the road. We must retrieve our horses and be gone. We have gotten all we need from these, and spent too long in doing so." Rakashi swept a hand to indicate their prisoners, and then hurried up the stairs, Soria just behind him. Halfway up, Soria paused and looked back.

  "Stop that," Brannis chided her. "I can see a look in your eyes that says you'd like to spill a few barrels of wine, and light the whole cellar in our wake. No."

  Soria scrunched her nose and glared back at Brannis, but did not deny his claim.

  * * * * * * * *

  Only three horses, not five, rode out the southern gate of Kjalljhal that night. The guards stood, eyes to the southern road, and ignored them as they galloped by.

  Chapter 24 - Footprints in the Clouds

  "What a marvelous little curiosity," Rashan remarked. The demon was bent over a large table in the newly named Map Room of the palace. His eyes passed over the lakes, forests, and little mountains poking up from the table's wooden surface. The whole of Koriah lay before him, plotted in minute detail. It was an improved version of the one Kyrus had fashioned in the army headquarters before it was destroyed. It was thrice the size of the original.

  "I thought you might like it. In light of recent reports, I figured it would be useful in plotting out our course of action," Kyrus replied. He walked around the table to the region of Ghelk as he spoke.

  "Indeed. I had heard of the one you kept in your old office, but I must say this is better and more useful than I had anticipated. I had not given sufficient thought to the possibilities of updating it rapidly, in time with the war efforts. I would make a minor change or two though ..."

  Kyrus jumped back as the table legs snapped off, along with the cross supports that ran underneath; he felt the ripping and tugging clearly in the aether. Rashan hurled them telekinetically into the corridor. The table hung in the air a moment, then drifted down to the floor ... and kept going. The table vanished, merged with the floor of the Map Room. The furnishings all about the room drifted out the door soon thereafter.

  "What are you doing?" Kyrus asked. Rashan grinned and held up a finger. Kyrus waited.

  The map began to grow, maintaining its proportions as it advanced and encroached on where Kyrus stood. He watched it approach his feet, and scrambled backward before its advance. An impact at his back told him that the wall had seen enough of his retreat and insisted he go no farther. The illusion of Koriah washed harmlessly over his boots until it, too, had reached the wall.

  "Much better," said Rashan.

  Kyrus shrugged. If you made it full sized, you could see everything. It is a map, not a copy.

  "I suppose we both know hints of each other's private little schemes," Kyrus began. "I took a risk that has recently cost us an airship, it would seem. The Black Gull was due back days ago. Since its mission involved dealing with Jinzan Fehr, I could only assume that he had either destroyed or commandeered the vessel."

  "Some new fact has come to light and you no longer need assume?" Rashan asked.

  "Now we have word that Reaver's Crossing ... has fallen," Kyrus said. He hung his head. At his feet, the little dotted line that indicated the borders of the Megrenn Alliance moved, engulfing Reaver's Crossing. Tiny wisps of smoke rose from the mountain city.

  Rashan's eyes narrowed a moment. "Brannis, your aunt lived in Reaver's Crossing, did she not?"

  "She did," Kyrus replied. "Not only that, but Danilaesis had gone to stay with her. He was to have been back at the Academy in the autumn."

  "He had? This is the first I have heard of it. I had assumed Axterion was still watching the boy," Rashan replied. He strode carelessly across the plains of central Kadrin to stand nearer Kyrus.

  "Axterion is the one who told me. I had thought little of it until now."

  Rashan shook his head. "The hope for the next generation. The boy was already nearly as strong as Iridan, and only seven autumns old. He wanted to be a warlock ..."

  "We have to stop him."

  "Of course."

  "We know he was in Ghelk not long ago. Loramar's hidden tomb was in Lon Mai," Kyrus said. A red glow surrounded the Ghelkan capital on the map, and Kyrus stepped away, skirting the eastern shoreline.

  "How did you know that?" Rashan asked. The demon cocked his head to the side.

  "You are not the only one who talks to Axterion as if he still has wits in that wrinkled old head of his. He told me of your talk the other day, and the trap he laid for the next Ghelkan who tries to follow Loramar's example. I would not like to have crossed him, back in his day," Kyrus said. He pointed down to the map, and a line appeared, tracing from Lon Mai down to Reaver's Crossing. "An airship need follow no roads, so let us assume he took a straight path."

  "Fine, we might guess at his speed by gross measure, but it is little help beyond that. We need his motive, not his course," Rashan argued. A ring appeared, centered on Reaver's Crossing, then another, and another; each was la
rger than the last. "Guessing at his speed, each ring is one day's flight. Look how many cities lie within: Garsley, Weiselton, Sharefield, Dolok, and Whitefield to the west; Glan's Reach and Mistport to the east. I suppose Donnel's Fort is possible as well, but they would have to backtrack north to retake it from us."

  "Whitefield seems the logical choice to head him off," Kyrus reasoned. He extended his red line from Lon Mai to Reaver's Crossing, and brought it down to Whitefield. The line was not straight, but lay along a straighter path than any other city that Rashan had mentioned. "Strategically valuable as well, if he means to wage a long war. The fields and herds around Whitefield feed half the empire, and a necromancer's army should care little for food."

  "That much is true, at least," Rashan agreed. "But think of why he is attacking at all. You seem to presume that he wants to confront us directly; your little line heads inexorably toward Kadris. He is not ready to face us. He has fled from me once already."

  "Well, what is your idea then?"

  "He needs an army. If he knows his history or if enough of Loramar's records remained intact, he will build his army. He will seed the continent with his apprentices and raise up the dead behind each conquest," Rashan explained.

  "Then we should go behind him and destroy the apprentices," Kyrus replied. "Certainly we know where they are, follow the cities that fall to Jinzan's budding horde."

  "Perhaps. If this drags on long enough we might even have to resort to that. I would much rather stop the necromancer than follow behind him like the sweeper at a cavalry parade," Rashan said.

  "What then, we both go our separate ways and guess a city each?" Kyrus asked. He looked down at the map floor and spread his hands.

  "No, we wait. We cannot afford to flit off to every point of the empire on guesses."

  * * * * * * * *

  "So, Faeranna, eh?" Axterion asked. It was not really a question, but more a questioning of whether he had heard right. The old man's head hung, not even looking up as he asked.

  The study was musty and silent, the only light coming in through drawn curtains. Kyrus stood across from his grandfather's desk.