by J. S. Morin
"Brannis!" she shouted, and ran to his side. Avalanche she let hang in the air near its latest victim. She looked down and saw the blood on Brannis's stomach. "How bad is it?"
"Bad. I don't know how bad."
Soria helped him off with his helm and enough of his armor to get the breastplate free. The sight beneath sent a chill through her. She was far from squeamish, but she knew the portent of dark blood pooling.
"So?" Brannis asked. He was nauseous with pain, but hoped for news that could offer comfort.
"I just killed the one who could answer best, but it's bad. I've got nothing for you to bite on, so just bear with me and hold still," Soria said. Brannis did not like the sound of that, but closed his eyes and braced himself. He squeezed his fists tight and held them well away from his wound.
A searing pain blazed across his stomach as Soria pinched the gash closed and sealed it with a bit of hurled fire. Brannis screamed, but it was over in just seconds. He moaned at the lingering agony of the burn. Soria tore a sleeve off her tunic and began dressing the wound.
"I don't know how much that buys us, but some at least," Soria said.
Brannis closed his eyes and lay back.
"Don't you leave me, Brannis," Soria said. Eyes closed, he could still hear the tears in her voice.
"Going to get help, s'alright." Brannis tried to smile.
"I hope you have a plan ..." Soria whispered.
"Tiiba ..." Brannis managed to say.
"Already working on that. I can be in two places at once, you know."
* * * * * * * *
Emerald eyes snapped open in the darkness. Aether-attuned, they sought a pair of daggers, and snatched them free of their harness on the floor by the bedside. Bare feet set down on the floor; they would have stomped had they not realized the pressing need for silence.
Even without enough aether to hold itself aloft, the Starlit Marauder was awash in runes to the point where it was as navigable in the aether as it was in the light. It also meant the walls were nearly as opaque. Kyrus would have been visible through the walls, but not Tiiba. Juliana held Freedom and Adventure ready in hand as she opened the door of her cabin.
As she emerged, she saw the door to Tiiba's quarters open as well. Juliana cast a quick light spell in the hope of catching him off guard. Instead, all she got was a clear look at a furious Safschan blade-priest.
"What have you done?" Tiiba shouted at her. "You killed me!"
"Only once," Juliana replied, holding her daggers at the ready. She swallowed back a lump in her throat. Tiiba was a more formidable fighter than Rakashi, in full command of the aether.
"This is your fault, all of it," Tiiba shouted at her, rune-blade bared in Juliana's direction. "You insisted on keeping Brannis ignorant. Well ... Rashan is not dead, and I am!"
"You murdering liar! You swore you—"
"He attacked me," Tiiba shouted over her.
"You tricked him, Tiiba," Juliana screamed at him. "No politician's tricks here, you started that fight and you know it!"
"I had never thought to harm you, but I ... I ... I cannot live with being slaughtered by the likes of you."
"The likes of me?" Juliana asked at the top of her lungs.
"Weak, slovenly, arrogant, undisciplined. You always got by being the twinborn with the Source too strong for her world."
"We'll see about that, won't we, blade-priest. I plan to bury these blades in that honorless stone of a heart you've got."
"A heart of stone? Me? The only reason I didn't kill Brannis in his sleep was honor. The only reason I waited was because you swore you would get him to kill Rashan, so that my people would be safe. I was not willing to chance their fate on a lie."
Juliana flipped Adventure over in her hand, taking an up-and-down pairing of the blades. Tiiba recognized it as a signal that she was prepared to fight.
Tiiba rushed at her, taking advantage of the rune-blade's reach in the cramped corridor and using it as a spear. Juliana gave no ground, using her blades to deflect the rune-blade's tip, time and again. She took a step forward, forcing Tiiba back to maintain his reach on her. The rune-blade was versatile, but was limited by the confined space. Juliana had no worry of slashes, blade reverses, kick sweeps, or many of the other tricks she had seen Rakashi use with a half-spear.
A wind blew, though they felt nothing of the gentle air across their faces. The ship did though, and shifted beneath their feet. Tiiba steadied himself against the wall, taking one hand from his blade. Juliana turned her shoulder and fell roughly against it. When the wind passed, Tiiba spared a glance over his shoulder—an oddity for him, since she knew he could see behind himself in the aether—and made his way for the stairs.
"Where do you think you're going?" Juliana shouted after him, letting him have a pace on her before following, in case he turned on her.
"To cut us loose," came the reply from above.
"You're insane, you'll drop the ship and us with it," Juliana said. She was confident she could survive the fall, less confident that Tiiba would, and not the least bit certain that the ship would be anything more than splinters.
"I am a dead man, do you not understand?" Tiiba said, sounding more rational than any part of their shouted argument had been. "At any moment, Kyrus will arrive to save you. I will die a pig's death, roasted on a spit. Brannis's anger was a floundering, helpless thing; Kyrus will—"
"He's not coming," Juliana interrupted. "I told him I would handle this."
Tiiba turned his attention from the safety lines that secured the Starlit Marauder to its oaken berth, and back fully to Juliana. The deck was set at a slight angle, but there was room for that mighty rune-blade of his to work through all its tricks. Tiiba stalked across the deck, straight for her.
Juliana was not the fighter that Soria was, but she was by far the sorceress.
A bolt of pure aether shot forth from Juliana, catching Tiiba by surprise. He tried to bring his blade to deflect the blast, but reacted too late. It slammed against Tiiba's shielding spell, driving him back, stumbling. Tiiba fell hard against the ship's rail, but kept hold of his rune-blade.
"How did you kill Iridan if you can't even handle my magic?" Juliana taunted. She was already drawing, waiting until she had more aether contained before she unleashed her next attack.
"You helped me kill him. You told me he panics and loses control. I made him panic."
"Got a plan for how to kill me?" Juliana asked. Tiiba pulled himself off the railing and approached, keeping his blade ready in a defensive posture.
Tiiba was ready with his blade when Juliana's next spell came for him. Black lightning sparked forth, caught on Tiiba's rune-blade, and clawed along its length, striking him despite a perfectly aligned defense. Smoke arose from his tunic sleeves, and Tiiba grunted in pain.
"No," he admitted. Tiiba took two steps and leapt over the railing.
Juliana gasped. For all his recent timidity, she had never known him to be fearful of heights. His fear of dying before killing Brannis, that had to have been it. He must have realized she would follow. She would have hated to disappoint him.
Juliana bounded over the railing after him.
She had been down only the previous day, and her memory of the larger branches on the way down played to her advantage. She saw Tiiba in the aether, plummeting ahead of her, but he slowed himself each time he had to kick off against one of the street-sized offshoots littering the path to the ground.
Juliana continued to draw on the way down. The heart of Podawei Wood was a wellspring of aether, each tree with its own draconic Source. She watched as she overtook Tiiba, large branches delaying his fall. She landed on the ground with the force of a lighting sparrow, the cushioning spell for her landing costing just a tiny fraction of the aether she had stored.
She saw Tiiba fall and timed his landing.
The blade-priest had barely touched the mossy ground when he was lifted from his feet by yet another arc of Juliana's black lightning. He fl
opped against an oversized root and puddled to the forest floor, moaning. It was the only sign besides the flicker of a still-burning Source that told he was still alive.
Shielding spell intact, Juliana risked approaching him. The mighty warrior lay face down, struggling to rise. She kicked the rune-blade out of his enfeebled grasp.
"Any last words? They're truly the last this time, unless you are tripletborn or something."
"I love you, Soria," Tiiba whispered.
"Then why did you cut my heart out?" Juliana asked.
She closed her eyes, not looking in either the aether or the light, as she hit him with a final aether bolt, one he was helpless to avoid. She heard a crunch as the blast struck Tiiba's body, and winced. She breathed deeply, calming herself. She had thought that the woody smell of Podawei might comfort her, but the smoky scent of Tiiba's death overpowered it. Peeking down, she saw that the body was slowly sinking into the soft earth. She scurried back, watching rapt as the forest itself consumed him. In but a moment, the ground sealed itself above the spot where Tiiba once lay.
Juliana swallowed. The immediacy of the threat Tiiba offered was gone, leaving her with nothing but worry for Brannis. There was little she could think to do, so that little was what she meant to try. She broke into a run in the direction of the immortals' enclave.
Chapter 34 - Consultation with a Demon
Kyrus awoke shivering, with a taste of bile in his mouth. His first thought was to find the chamber pot, into which he emptied his stomach. He felt the burning, searing agony that Brannis had suffered, and tried to will it away. He pulled up his night clothes, and inspected his own stomach, just to reassure himself that he was, indeed, whole.
A corner shelf held several decanters of wine. He tore the stopper from one and filled his mouth, swishing it about to try to burn clear the awful taste that threatened to overwhelm him again. He spat the wine onto the floor. The temptation was great to drink his fill and calm his nerves, but there was too much at stake to go at it with less than a clear head. His hands still shook as he dressed himself.
On a whim, he rummaged in one of his desk drawers, taking up something from beneath piled papers. It was his Expert's Medallion, his only keepsake from Tellurak. He slipped the chain over his neck, and tucked the quill-and-"S" symbol under his tunic.
Kyrus drew.
The wards around his bedroom flickered and gave way. He thrust open his door and stalked down the empty halls. It was early morning. A nagging question about eastern distance and differences in the rotational angles of Tellurak and Veydrus played about in his head, but he brushed them aside—distractions.
It was the first day of summer, and Kyrus's age-day. Emperor Sommick was to be wed, but Kyrus had little intention of being there to witness the ceremony. Nevertheless, that was the direction his steps carried him.
Servants fled before him. Even without a sense of the aether, they still could sense the enormous force of Kyrus's continued draw clawing at them, trying to drag their living Source toward him. Kyrus found his path clear.
He eased his draw as he approached the palace courtyard where a throng was already gathered. Even though he was still within the palace walls, and those walls bore wards of all sorts, he could still see thousands of Sources. Kyrus had paid little attention to the details of Celia's arrangements for the day, but it seemed that starting early was a wise plan for what must have been scheduled as an all-day affair. He shut his eyes, focusing solely on the aether. There were powerful Sources aplenty, mixed in among the more mundane Sources of the nobility—the Imperial Circle, and likely the whole of the Inner Circle as well. Scanning further, he was able to make out Heavens Cry, and the empty void in the aether that marked Rashan.
"Brannis, there you are!" Celia shouted after him as he made his way for the doors.
He turned to look at her, and her eyes widened. There must have been something in his manner, his look, that told more than Kyrus meant to let on. Celia said nothing further, but turned and fled. It was a problem for another time; he had more important matters to worry about.
Kyrus made an effort to keep his expression neutral. He exited into the courtyard, wading in among the guests who had not yet settled into their seats. There were rows upon rows of benches arranged for all those gathered. It had apparently been deemed an event too long to force nobles to stand through. It was all Kyrus could manage to force himself to skirt the periphery of the gallery, rather than flinging the benches and their occupants from his path.
Folk called greetings to him, tried to introduce themselves, to engage him in idle conversation. Kyrus caught sight of Rashan, and all else faded from his vision and hearing. He offended his way through the crowd, ignoring everyone.
"Brannis, fair morning," Rashan greeted him. The demon was too perceptive to have overlooked the glare that Kyrus stabbed him with.
Kyrus stood directly beside the demon, elbowing his way past a pair of over-preened noble girls who would soon both call themselves "empress," and one of the misbegotten blood scholars who was about to perform the deed. "We need to speak—in private," Kyrus muttered through gritted teeth, trying to keep his lips still.
"Something bothering—" Rashan began to ask, but Kyrus took him by the arm and led him away from the terrace where the ceremony preparations were being finalized.
Few folk were of a mind to intercede on the demon's behalf, and if those few were present, the thought of chastising Sir Brannis Solaran was enough to stay their tongues. There were a few gasps of surprise, or indignant shock, but not one spoke a word to stop him, and certainly no one tried to bar his path.
One of the great glass doors boomed shut behind them, offering a modicum of privacy.
"Oh, this is going to be interesting, I can already tell," Rashan said. He was wide eyed, but the look did not convey any fear or surprise, just a manic curiosity.
"I need your help," Kyrus began. "Brannis is dying, mortally wounded."
"I am sorry to hear that," Rashan said. Kyrus could have believed it had he not trusted the murderous Rakashi's word over the master liar that stood before him. "But I know nothing of healing magics. Too akin to necromancy, and though I eschew convention when—"
"Shut up!" Kyrus snapped. "You have a solution, and I want it. I have worked out nearly every detail. I need you to supply the rest."
"The rest of what?" Rashan dangled the question like a turkey leg held above a starving dog.
"Immortality. I can save Brannis the same way you saved a dying Agga," Kyrus said, leaping at the bait.
Rashan paused a moment, put a hand to his chin.
With the other hand, Rashan drew Heavens Cry, and was upon him instantly.
Kyrus was shocked. A blast of aether struck him, just where that wicked blade was about to strike. It was all Kyrus's shield could do to withstand both blows in such close concert—but it did. Rashan hung in mid-air, straining, struggling to push the blade a hairsbreadth further, to drive the blade through his shield and into his heart.
Rashan continued his struggles as he floated back, caught in a clenched fist of Kyrus's magic. The demon's feet tucked up, knees jammed into his chest, head bowed. Kyrus did not even try to take Heavens Cry from Rashan's grasp, but forced the blade against him as he pressed.
"Why?" Kyrus asked, dumbfounded.
"You would have struck first had I said 'no,'" Rashan replied, straining to speak as he was being crushed.
"This is simple. Tell me how you did it. If what you tell me fits what I already know for certain, I spare you. If not ..." Kyrus said. He tightened his telekinesis spell around the demon. There was a popping and a crack. The demon's Source was a slippery thing; he was harder to hold than Dolvaen had been, but always before Kyrus had been mindful of harming his captives. The temptation to simply squeeze until the demon stopped moving was undeniable, but there was still a bargain to be had.
"You think ... this will be ... so ...easy?" Rashan asked. Kyrus felt the demon straining against his ho
ld, slamming aether about inside himself like a man trying to capsize a rowboat. Kyrus struggled to compensate, and realized he could not hold Rashan much longer.
Instead of fighting to maintain a hold, Kyrus opened a gap in it. The demon shot forth like a cannonball, striking the wall above the glass doors to the terrace, and passing through the warded stone in a shower of black marble. The wall shuddered, but stood; the glass in the doors shattered. A discordant choir sang out in screams, as the imperial warlock was jettisoned amid the guests.
Kyrus found himself seething, breathing through his teeth. The edges of his vision grew hazy, as he saw only a path to his murderer. Kyrus swept his hands out to the sides, and the debris—and a goodly chunk of the remaining wall—parted before him. He drew in earnest, preparing to put to the test all that he had read in Lord Harwick's notes, through Brannis's eyes. He strolled out onto the terrace to see where Rashan had landed.
The scene outside was one of confusion. Some ingrained propriety in the gathered crowd kept a mass panic from spreading. No one was quite sure what was going on, and the chance that they might be fleeing before some pre-arranged spectacle kept most in their seats. Those nearest Rashan seemed most concerned, but least inclined to run.
"Stop him, he's gone mad." Rashan's high voice carried over the shouts and mutterings of the guests.
The Imperial Circle were all guests of honor at the imperial wedding, seated near the front of the crowd, just behind the noble families of the sixteen brides. Not every one of them leapt to heed the demon's call, but there was enough loyalty among them that fire and lightning lanced in Kyrus's direction the moment the demon called them to action. Kyrus winced, and threw his hands up to shield himself, but those instinctive reactions did nothing compared to the shielding spell that wrapped him like a mountain fortress.
"Brannis, what are you doing?" Aloisha called out from among them.
"Get out of here!" Kyrus shouted back. "This is between me and that demon!"
Somewhere amid the crowd, the demon was gathering his strength. Kyrus had never felt Rashan draw in anger, and was impressed ... and unimpressed. Rashan was the strongest sorcerer whose draw he had ever felt, but he knew then that he overmatched the warlock. He also knew that Rashan knew far better than he what to do with his draw and all the aether that he could gather. Kyrus took no chance on losing his main advantage. With renewed fervor, he grasped at the aether, not so much inviting it into him as taking a tornado's breath of it, demanding it disappear into the endless depths of his own Source, and not Rashan's.