by J. S. Morin
"Enough of this!" Barum shouted, after the third time back and forth across the same tree. He went over, she went under; he went under, she went over. "Eket jimagu denpek wanapi," she heard Barum chant.
Merciful Tansha, he's a sorcerer! Soria dove to the side as the fire bolts flew. One caught her in the side, another in the small of her back. She felt them gnaw at her shield spells, sapping her defenses. The others missed, to splash among the brush.
"Where will you hide now?" Barum asked.
The forest began to burn.
* * * * * * * *
The Ghelkan lunged, and Brannis swept Avalanche out to meet him. The lunge had been a feint though, and the Tezuan twinborn was already out of reach before the blade was even close. The Ghelkan shook his head slowly, waggling a finger.
"Trees move not. I do," the Ghelkan said. The man was smaller than Rakashi, but Brannis knew that it was more of an advantage than a hindrance. He could have stood in against an ogre, but a foe he could not catch was a foe he could not harm. Brannis stepped forward and took a quick swipe at the Ghelkan; he hopped back. Brannis quick-stepped in behind the first strike to catch the Ghelkan off guard, but the man turned his hips and sprinted out of reach, stopping just after Brannis's burst of pursuit ended.
The Ghelkan looked around, and found a long axe lying near one of his dead comrades. He took it up and brandished it at Brannis. Brannis slashed at the axe, trying to cut the head free of the shaft, but the Ghelkan ducked the weapon out of the way.
"You'll never kill me at this rate," Brannis taunted in Kadrin. The Ghelkan just smiled, and continued holding the axe blade just beyond his reach.
It was a crude weapon, too heavy for a man of his size to wield properly. The axe was double-headed, with a short spike on the end of the shaft. It was the latter that seemed most of interest to the Ghelkan twinborn; he wielded the axe like an overbalanced spear.
Brannis took a new approach—he tried to steer the man's flight. He swiped to one side or the other, trying to back the man against a tree. It would only take a moment's error to cost the man his life, Brannis knew.
The flaw in the man's retreat seemed apparent when Brannis lined him up with an oak twice as wide as his shoulders. Even if the man veered left or right as he backed away, the tree would block him. Brannis made what should have been the final lunge.
The man hopped back, right into the tree, but with his feet up. The Ghelkan kicked against the trunk, becoming a spear, axe blade leading. The point of the spike deflected off Brannis's gorget, and the curved back side of one axe blade wedged itself about his neck, grasping at him like a noose. Brannis was lifted from his feet by his own momentum, and deposited on his back.
The Ghelkan continued on past Brannis, vaulting over him by the axe shaft, placing the whole of his weight on Brannis's neck. A flick of Avalanche snapped the blade, and sent the man sprawling.
Brannis arose, trying to feel at his neck through his armor, and found that the quicksilver and gold suit had prevented a certain death.
The Ghelkan was looking on wide-eyed, holding half an axe shaft as a makeshift sword. Brannis took a step forward, and the Ghelkan hopped back an equal distance.
"You don't want to fight?" Brannis asked. An idea sprang to mind, a wicked idea. "I am a demon. I will burn the whole forest down around us."
"Halatu ... dunaxi ... tukaso ... xatagotagi ..." Brannis chanted, spreading his arms wide and looking to the sky. He hoped that the Ghelkan knew enough magic from the other side to recognize a hellfire spell. He was reciting it slower than even an Academy lecturer—not that the particular spell was part of any curriculum—in the hope the man would prefer his chances in close combat over being burned alive.
The Ghelkan hesitated. Brannis suspected he was being examined in the aether. There was a good chance, he suspected, that his armor might obscure his sickly Source behind a wall of more potent aether. If not given close examination, the claim of demonhood might seem plausible.
"No! Stop!" the Ghelkan cried. He came at Brannis in a headlong rush. To the man's credit, had Brannis truly been in the midst of such a spell as he claimed, he would not have finished it. The man's fist turned Brannis’s helmet aside before he could even bring Avalanche around.
The Ghelkan likely died a hero's death, to his mind, saving his companions from a mad demon's fires.
* * * * * * * *
Rakashi watched the remaining battles from the crook of a once-mighty oak's branches. He stood with his half-spear in one hand, holding his balance with the other, concealed among the leaves. Five of the horsemen were dead by his blade, but he counted himself fortunate. He had not run into any of the Tezuan twinborn that Brannis and Soria had found. They were fascinating to watch, but deadly. He had seen most of Brannis's last battle, and now watched Soria.
The temptation was strong to rush to her aid, but it was a futile gesture. It would likely get him killed, and anger Soria even if it did not. Any help ought to come from a more welcome hand.
"Brannis," Rakashi called out. "Soria has found a sorcerer among our foes!"
* * * * * * * *
A sorcerer? Brannis's eyes went wide. He was numb to the aether and preoccupied with his own battles. Had he really been so oblivious to the presence of magic at work in the fight?
He raced toward the crunching sounds of feet trampling leaves, pausing only to hack his way through his own field of arboreal debris. He heard the crackle of fire as he approached.
"Eket jimagu denpek wanapi," Brannis heard the chant. What fool actually uses fire in the woodlands? That had been the barb in his own ruse. Brannis chopped twice through a fallen tree and kicked the resulting log out of his way. Once through the gap, he had his answer.
The Tezuan sorcerer was flinging fire bolts in Soria's direction, and it was all she could do to evade them. Little bonfires were already ablaze in the brush, all around.
"Brannis, look out!" Soria warned. The sorcerer turned his way and stepped back. Brannis broke into a run.
“Kolo ketenxu mafira,” the sorcerer spoke. Brannis put his arm up to shield his face, not recognizing the spell until it was too late. His charge faltered as the ground gave way beneath him, watery as a thick soup. It hardened again with Brannis chest deep in the ground.
The sorcerer made some remark in Kheshi that was lost on him, then turned to face Soria.
"Eket jimagu denpek—"
A spray of dirt, rocks and small plants showered the Tezuan sorcerer as Avalanche swept up great furrows of earth at him. The fire bolts never materialized, and the sorcerer stumbled back, clutching his head.
Curses can be conveyed through tone and timbre alone, breaking even the sturdiest of language barriers. The Kheshi language was no exception.
"Haxu tenmal ssarxu wegam," Soria chanted, twisting her fingers in the direction of the sorcerer. A lick of indigo lightning sputtered from her hand, ending in mid-air, several paces short of the sorcerer, who was gathering himself after his misspent spell. Soria swore using the same Kheshi curses, but in a prettier voice.
Soria charged in, and the Tezuan sorcerer set himself in a warrior's stance to defend himself with his fists. Brannis began working furiously with Avalanche to loosen the earth all around him enough to escape.
The sorcerer took the initiative, not waiting for Soria's attack. He kicked out.
Soria's second attempt at the spell was silent. The lightning was black as it leapt from her hand to slam into the Tezuan sorcerer. He was thrown back and lay twitching and smoking on the forest floor before lying still.
"Stupid hands," Soria groused. "They just don't get enough practice at all that wiggling you Veydrans use." She gave Brannis a wink and knelt to help him out of his hole.
They set about taking stock of their losses. Rakashi came down from his perch and began rounding up however many horses could still be found alive. Brannis cleared paths among the fallen trees to make the searching easier. They had little time, for the fires had already spread beyon
d what Soria's limited magic could be expected to extinguish.
"That was marvelous," Tomas called out as he rode over with Abbiley still tucked safely in front of him. "You folk are amazing protectors. I must see that father finds you work in some capacity."
"You bloody that sword yourself?" Brannis asked. Tomas was riding with one hand to the reins and a bared sword in the other, red halfway to the hilt.
"I haven't fenced since I was a lad, but that poor rascal didn't know that, hey?" Tomas said. His face was aglow—he was perched on a horse with his lady in his lap, having just slain a brigand to defend her.
Brannis saw Abbiley twist in Tomas's loose grasp and kiss him. He was a good man. Perhaps he was not a terribly useful one, but he could manage in dire need, and that counted for something. Abbiley was in good hands.
Brannis turned and left them to their affections.
Chapter 31 - Death Against Death
The Dhakoun sailed the skies above the Kadrin plains, her sails tattered and blackened, the rigging repaired by inexpert hands. They had sailed around Garsley, leaving it to the advance of the ground forces that Jinzan's apprentices were massing back in Weiselton. Jinzan had grander plans for a richer target.
The countryside that ran below them was fields as far as the horizon in both directions, crisscrossed by roads and dotted with farmhouses. The landscape switched from green, to golden, to brown and back again as the crops shifted, all pale and washed bleak in the starlight.
The Kadrin ship had plenty of maps aboard. The landward maps were not as precise as the nautical charts Jinzan was accustomed to. He knew how to plot a heading, be it in air or sea, but there were no maps of air currents, and no matter how careful the plan, that unknown loomed over him. Jinzan's raids had come mainly in daylight hours, purely by mischance. If his course flew true, Whitefield would feel his wrath in darkness.
Jinzan paced the decks, his sleepless habits giving no rest to his weary mind. Twice since they had begun their raids he had tried to sleep despite Aolyn's objections. She found the thought unbecoming of a grand necromancer. I was an easy judgment for her to make—she was not the one who had been left wondering about the fate of a Telluraki twin, unseen for countless days. Jinzan's awareness of Denrik had gone dim. His thoughts did not sit quiet enough in his skull to allow him to relax and view Tellurak with waking eyes. His memory of Denrik's recent exploits was muddied as well. He could not separate out anything as being distinctly recent—activities on the ship, the Katamic Sea, all things he had done most of his life.
His restless mind had kneaded ideas, punched them, twisted them into shapes. He had a sheaf of notes for how he would prepare his trap. It was likely that the demon would rush to the aid of a city that could call for aid by speaking stone. He had to be prepared for the eventuality.
The sky was lightening off the port side of the ship. Jinzan swore. What sort of necromancer bides his days in daylight hours alone?
"Morning impends, master," Aolyn informed him, rubbing the wound raw. Jinzan glared at her, stopping any further remark on the subject.
An odd line stood out from the fields ahead of them. Jinzan watched and waited as the Dhakoun drew him closer to it. An aqueduct! It was the sign he had been waiting for. All the aqueducts of the central plains ran from the Wellspire in Whitefield. They served only a small portion of the endless expanse of arable land, and ran for less than a day's ride. We might make it with darkness to spare, at last.
They rose higher in the sky on Jinzan's command. He had a destination in mind, but no clear map of the city to find it by. The aerial view of Whitefield would have to be his map, bereft of annotation.
The city wall appeared in the distance, a lone, flat ring on the plains amid a sea of farmland. They flew above, not stopping at the nearest defensive post as they usually did. Instead, Jinzan searched the predawn streets for a building he knew would be there. Every Academy student had to memorize the cities that had speaking stones, and the Kadrin Empire was not wont to place them in hovels or public squares.
Whitefield separated itself into a grid of sorts, or perhaps more like a spider's web. The city walls ran in concentric circles, growth rings—a sign of the city's humble origins, and its rise. At the very center stood the Wellspire, rising higher than the city walls and feeding the aqueducts that radiated out in all directions, spreading water to the city and beyond.
Jinzan looked through one section, then the next. No building in the city separated itself readily from the rest. They looped around, thankful to the deserted streets that no general alarm had yet been raised. For a city its size, Whitefield was spread thin. Trees and fields, and even small farms dwelt snugly in its confines. There were houses and shops, taverns and plazas, workshops and stables. There was nothing that screamed out its importance beyond a few overfed manor houses and the Wellspire itself.
The Wellspire! Of course. Jinzan shook his head at his own sluggish thinking, and ordered the Dhakoun to the heart of the city. They followed one of the aqueducts, racing against the peeking sun that threatened to wake the populace at any moment. Drawing closer, he saw the terraces, the balconies, the windows; it was the center of the city in more than just geography.
"Bring us alongside. Ready the grapples. Prepare to board," Jinzan rasped. He caught a smirk on Aolyn's face, and purged it with a glare. Jinzan had picked a balcony at random, figuring that any assault of the upper floors would be quicker than entering through the main gates.
The dead crew threw grapples, struggling even to hit the balcony railing on a stationary building. After a few tries apiece, enough of the grapples caught for the Dhakoun to be hauled up next to the Wellspire. Jinzan winced, watching as the yardarms were caught against the outer walls of the spire as the ship was pulled in. There was a scraping and scratching of wood on stone, and a cracking at last, as the sails were forced askew.
Jinzan's crew leapt the railings with more enthusiasm than grace. They spread into the halls of the Wellspire, searching for the speaking stone. Jinzan followed gingerly. His apprentices seemed sufficient to subdue whatever resistance they might find, and the dead were all linked to his mind, capable of reporting the speaking stone's discovery. There was no need for Jinzan to rush just yet, and he took great care with the notes he brought along with him.
* * * * * * * *
"Varnus, I thought you would be seeing to the arrangements for the security of the wedding, or at least be getting harried by the nobles over every little detail of your plan," Kyrus said. He was having tea with a few of those nobles himself, and they were the sort who would bristle and brood, never mentioning Kyrus's casual attire, but bearing it as a mark against him for generations.
"I don't ask often. I know you're a busy man, but ... if you wouldn't mind, I could use a moment with you," Varnus requested. He looked as sheepish as Kyrus could ever recall seeing him, staring at the floor, shoulders slumped.
"Of course," Kyrus replied. "If you will excuse us." Kyrus stood from the table, glad to be free of the tedium that Celia had foisted upon him by introducing him to a gaggle of wedding guests. Kyrus had retaliated by studiously not listening to their names. There were objections of course—strong ones. A dowager sniffed and turned her head from him; some backwater lord gave him a sound harrumphing.
The palace was overflowing with people. In the halls it was mostly servants, in the rooms, mainly guests for the wedding. There was scant room for a quiet conversation anywhere. Kyrus chose the option that proved the least likely to intersect with celebratory preparations, and led them down to the dungeons.
Though in some disrepair, the dungeons were kept tidy under Rashan's watch. He was ill inclined to keep many prisoners around, preferring either amnesty or execution to confining men for ages on end in darkness and squalor. Kyrus shooed a jailor out of the watch room and took it over for himself and Varnus.
"What is it that cannot wait?" Kyrus asked. He leaned against the jailor's little table, set with bread and ale for a mid-day
meal.
"I'm dead," Varnus said, shaking his head.
"What?" Kyrus exclaimed. "What happened?"
"It was ... a couple nights ago, I lose track so easy now. Kidnappers came in the night—all a blur. I got my sword out, but I'd been asleep and the fella knew his bladework," Varnus said. The guard captain slumped against the wall.
"Who killed you? Why did you not tell me sooner?" Kyrus asked. "What of Faolen's twin, and the boy?"
"Faolen told me not to tell you, said you had enough worries for now. But ... he's been askin' more and more weird questions lately ... I caught him workin' magic on the boy. Been thinkin' ... not a lot else to do lyin' in bed these nights. I'm wonderin' if ... maybe Faolen got rid of me. He'd wanted me gone ... made no secret of it. But I stayed to keep 'em safe," Varnus said. He glanced down at the jailor's desk, and grabbed the mug of ale. Varnus downed it in a long gulp. "Think he might still be workin' for Rashan."
"After the disaster with the Staff of Gehlen?" Kyrus said, putting a hand to his chin. "I would be surprised, to say the least. Rashan might not kill him for failure, but trust him again so soon? That seems unlikely."
"But the questions," Varnus said. He put a hand on Kyrus's shoulder, leaned his face in close. "He got me thinkin' maybe you were up to some plot to kill Rashan. He never out and said it, but I can see where a dog's nose is pointin'."
Kyrus felt a chill, though the air in the dungeon was cloyingly warm.
"Where can I find Faolen? I think I should have a word with him," Kyrus said.
"I don't find him. I just let it drop that I'm looking, and he finds me," Varnus replied with a shrug.
"Ah, very well, in that case—" Kyrus finished his thought with a spell. The room and a bit of the corridor around it were shielded in. "Show yourself, Faolen. Yes ... you can see I have you trapped in with us. I give you a chance to explain your way out of this before I set fire to everything within my shield."