Sourcethief (Book 3)

by J. S. Morin

  Kyrus stalked the crowd, picking his way over and around the bodies of those whose Sources had not withstood his call. He heard the sounds of the periphery of the crowd, shrieking in terror as they found themselves caught in a battle likely to grace the histories, if any should survive to record it.

  A blast of aether caught Kyrus from behind, distracting him from where he saw that Rashan must be hiding—the center of a circle of Sourceless corpses. Kyrus whirled, threw a wave of hellfire behind him, and resumed his search for the demon.

  "You've gone mad," Rashan called out, rising unsteadily from the piles of bodies. He looked whole, if not unharmed. Even as Kyrus watched, the demon's body sorted itself out. Rashan shook limbs back into shape as a man might work loose a stiffened joint.

  "YOU HAD ME KILLED!" Kyrus shouted, careless of who might hear him. "And now you either help me before it's too late, or your immortality ends today."

  "Look behind you!" Rashan called back. Kyrus thought it such a numb-minded taunt, the sort of trick that children learn to ignore. But he heard the crackling fires, smelled the smoke; the aether behind him was a blur.

  He did turn, and the wall of fury he had built up to steel him in his purpose nearly toppled. Nothing was left. The Inner Circle, the brides, their families, the blood scholars ... gone. Burnt skeletons littered the courtyard and the terrace; the palace itself was ablaze.

  The wedding party and the whole of the Inner Circle—save for Rashan—were gone. Juliana's father was dead, and likely her mother as well, seated in the fore of the guests. He could not help but think back to passages Juliana had read him from The Peace of Tallax, wherein the mighty sorcerer was plagued by nightmares of the horrors he had caused and the countless lives he had ended.

  It had been so easy. The path of Tallax lay before him, paved in corpses. He needed a focus for his spinning thoughts before he broke out sobbing. The demon.

  Kyrus turned back to face Rashan. "This is your fault, all of it," Kyrus shouted over the sound of the flames. The sounds of fleeing wedding guests faded, as the few survivors got to safer distances.

  "My fault?" Rashan said. "I was not the one who did that!" Rashan retorted. A bolt of aether shot forth from the demon's hand. It was a thin, focused ray that stabbed against Kyrus's shield, but did little.

  "This is what I've feared from you," Kyrus said. He began to walk toward Rashan, flinging Source-dead corpses from his path. "Not your magic, but the destruction you leave wherever you go. They all warned me you would turn on me: Dolvaen, Caladris, Axterion. They all assumed I was unfit to face you though—too much a firehurler, too little a warlock. The demons? They're more worried that I'll become Tallax's heir, but they want you dead. I think this may be a day that ends with no one satisfied."

  Rashan did not respond by words. He held his ground as Kyrus approached. Somehow, he had kept Heavens Cry in hand. He rushed at Kyrus. Despite his bluster, Kyrus was shocked at the demon's rage. Again his reflexes betrayed him, and he raised his arms to ward away the blows, rather than just trusting to his shielding magics.

  Kyrus took a deep breath as blow after blow rained down upon him. He relaxed himself and drew a gentler current of aether from farther away. The vicinity of the palace was as dry as Farren's Plain, but Kadris held the largest population in the human world. The city was a shallow ocean of aether. Kyrus rebuilt his shielding spell faster than Rashan could wear it down.

  The demon's continued ferocity was amazing to behold. His face was twisted in hatred, his sword arm inexhaustible. He seemed more animal that human.

  "You're frightened of me, aren't you?" Kyrus asked. He had no need to shout, with the demon a mere swordlength from him. "You hope to run me out of aether—you have no other option. Or do you?"

  Kyrus lifted Rashan and hurled him against the palace wall. This time, he was not hurled through, but splayed against the black marble and held there. Kyrus tore another chunk of the wall free, wards sparking in protest but failing to prevent the vandalism. He brought the free section around, and slammed it into Rashan. He sensed the working of some magic from Rashan, and smiled. He pulled the section of wall back, and Heavens Cry fell from the demon's hand, clattering off the side of the palace as it fell.

  Rashan twitched, struggling to move against Kyrus's hold. Kyrus slammed the loose section of wall into him again. He pressed it there as he tore the bit around Rashan loose as well, and floated the two chunks over to him, with Rashan between them like a paper press.

  "This is simple enough," Kyrus said. "You tell me what I need to save Brannis, and we both live. You're certainly sturdy, but I have yet to strain myself against you." Kyrus pulled the two sections apart, and slammed them together yet again. There was a grunt from between them, but it sounded involuntary, rather than a plea to bargain.

  "Time grows short. If I must, I'll just kill you and try on my own. I've been lucky before," Kyrus said, leaning down to peer between the pieces of marble wall.

  "Won't be ... this ..." Rashan managed.

  "Bargain, then?" Kyrus asked. He twisted and ground the sections together.

  "Yes," Rashan slurred, his face mashed between the slabs.

  Kyrus lifted the top slab and eased his hold on Rashan. The demon wobbled as he pushed himself up onto his hands and knees.

  "Make it quick. Time is in short supply," Kyrus snapped.

  "Well, first you must—"

  The two slabs exploded. Kyrus bought his hands up to cover his ears, though his shield prevented the shockwave from deafening him. He was showered with bits of rock, and a cloud of dust billowed over him. He felt Rashan slip free of his loosened hold.

  Kyrus lost sight of the demon in the light, and he was all but invisible in the aether. He coughed, and waved his hand about, fanning away the smoke. Kyrus shook his head, ruing his own stupidity, and cleared away the dust and smoke with a conjured wind.

  Rashan was not gone, as Kyrus had first feared. Instead, he had bolted for the palace wall. Kyrus saw him scoop up Heavens Cry, and prepared for the demon to renew his attempts to batter through Kyrus's shield. He smiled a lopsided, spiteful sneer, disdainful of Rashan's lack of creativity. However, Rashan did not approach, nor even try some new way to attack him.

  A sphere of aether formed around the demon.

  "No!" Kyrus screamed. Rashan was mocking his urgency by fleeing the battle.

  Or trying ...

  Kyrus was not yet ready to concede the demon's escape. Summoning forth a spell he had grown all too familiar with, he formed a sphere of his own, and fled into the aether a blink's time after Rashan.

  * * * * * * * *

  Kyrus found himself once more in the deepened abyss between worlds, not knowing what to expect. It was a place of naught but aether, and Rashan was notoriously difficult to discern by aether alone. It was so barren compared to his other ventures from the palace and its environs, sucked dry by him and Rashan in their duel.

  A streaking trace dispelled any fears of losing track of Rashan—he spooled a blue-white trail behind him. Though Kyrus could not make out the form of the demon, he followed after the trail, gaining ground with ease. Seeming to be aware of him, the trail veered and dodged, as a rabbit trying to evade a fox. Unlike the fox, Kyrus was no less agile than his quarry, and could not be shaken off the chase.

  The trail in the aether slowed. Kyrus caught up to it, but knew not what to do. He had never attempted to work magic in the deep aether—he was fairly certain he was not even there in the purest sense. He watched it, as unsure of what to do with his catch as the fisherman who hooks the pier.

  It vanished.

  Kyrus's musing ended abruptly as he considered the meaning. He looked back along the trail, mindful that Rashan might have been clever enough to double back along exactly the same course. No, it had to be the more obvious answer: Rashan had emerged on the other side.

  Kyrus examined his surroundings. There were Sources all about, human by their look, but he had devoted all his attention to keeping R
ashan in sight; he had spared no thought to where they were going.

  * * * * * * * *

  Kyrus snapped back into the world of light in a crowded marketplace. It looked as if they had not gone out of Kadris.

  A beam of searing light caught Kyrus, shield and all, and threw him down the street, bowling over a score of Kadrin peasants. He was dazed, but otherwise unharmed, though the peasants in his path could not have said the same. He scrambled to get his feet beneath him, glancing all about, looking for the demon.

  "Ready to kill more helpless Kadrins in your vain quest, Brannis?" Rashan shouted over the screaming peasants, fleeing to escape the newcomers. Kyrus was intrigued that the demon chose Acardian instead of Kadrin—for all of its public calamity, their fight was private.

  "Their blood is on your hands, not mine," Kyrus replied in kind.

  "I saw you plow through the lot of them," Rashan countered. "You are the one who hit them."

  "Enough nonsense. Are you willing to endanger all these lives to keep your secret from me?" Kyrus asked. There had to be some way of reasoning with the demon. It was not as if he could bash the warlock's skull in and pour the answers out onto the cobblestones.

  "These few lives? Gladly, to prevent the catastrophe that would ensue. You mentioned Tallax ... the only reason he is not alive today, and ruler of this world, is that he never found the way to live beyond his years. I will be a hero and all will be forgiven among the immortals if I put an end to you here."

  Another beam of light lanced forth at Kyrus, but this time he reacted, pulling in more aether to reinforce his shielding spell before it hit. For a block in all directions, the folk of Kadris felt the draw, and most did not withstand it.

  "You see?" Rashan taunted. "You are a menace!"

  Kyrus snarled. He knew Rashan was twisting words, that it was Rashan who was the menace, not him. He pictured the scene from just moments ago: utter devastation, burnt bodies, the strongest shields of the Inner Circle withered before his casual flick of aether.

  A wave of hellfire poured down the street in Rashan's direction. Kyrus squeezed the aether out of his Source to feed it. Rashan ducked to the cobblestones, and Kyrus watched as the demon's shielding spell shone, glowing against the fury of the devouring flames.

  Kyrus had not expected it to kill Rashan—he still needed information. He was already drawing once more as the demon picked himself up, melted rock all around him. The street was in flame and ruin. Smoke billowed from buildings to either side.

  "I ask you again. How do I save Brannis?" Kyrus asked. His voice broke as the realization hit him that Brannis lay bleeding into his own guts, ready to die in seconds or hours, with no way to tell for certain which.

  "You do not."

  Rashan disappeared once more into a sphere of aether.

  * * * * * * * *

  Kyrus saved his swearing and dove into the aether behind Rashan. The blasted marketplace disappeared and he was in deep aether once more. There was no time for doubt; all that had transpired was Rashan's fault, and that would have to suffice for assuaging his conscience while he hunted the demon.

  The trail was easy to spot, whizzing off into the distance. It was not dodging and darting about, but heading somewhere with purpose. Kyrus knew not where Rashan might flee in a panic. Did he have a pact with another demon, one of mutual defense in times of dire need? Did he have a hideaway somewhere, where he might try to elude pursuit?

  Kyrus followed the trail, gaining ground up until the point where it once more disappeared from view. Kyrus examined his surroundings, finding them rather barren of aether. Rashan's plan became clear: remove aether from the battle, win with the sword.

  * * * * * * * *

  Kyrus emerged into not the light, but the darkness. The pocket of air he arrived in lasted but an instant before he was crushed by an unfathomable weight of water. His shielding spell glowed against the pressure that sapped its strength by the moment. It was not meant to handle underwater conditions; it held up as best it could, protecting him against being flattened, but it provided no air.

  Kyrus clapped his hands over his mouth. He had been unprepared for holding his breath. A gasp of surprise had nearly drowned him. Thinking quickly, he lit the sea depths like noontime, spraying a dozen light spells all about, lest Rashan unravel them and plunge him back into darkness.

  The demon was not far, and drawing nearer. Rashan cut through the water like a shark intent on prey, leading with Heavens Cry. He needed no breath, seemed unbothered by the pressure, focused wholly on killing. Rashan stabbed at Kyrus, hitting his shield, weakening it yet again. His movements were slowed by the water, but it was scant comfort.

  Kyrus was running low on aether, but he had no choice. He would not last long beneath the sea without specialized magics that he had never learned. He dug into the reserves of his own Source, feeling the hollowness within as he surrounded both himself and Rashan, and threw them back into the aether.

  * * * * * * * *

  Strange worries scratched at the insides of Kyrus's skull. Was he still holding his breath? Was Rashan going to continue attacking him as he floated helplessly in the water? Could Rashan influence their course?

  Of the first two, Kyrus could not be certain—would not be certain—until they emerged somewhere. Kyrus thanked Fate, Tansha, and whoever else might be willing to listen, that he was the only one guiding their journey.

  He took them up, seeking out the vast plane of Sources that roughly defined ground level, and passed above. He allowed Kadris to appear to him, and Pevett, using the two nearest large cities as guide points. He headed northeast, to Podawei. From Juliana's description of it, the place was brimming with aether.

  * * * * * * * *

  A sphere of water splashed all around them as Kyrus dumped them beneath the sentinel trees of the ancient forest home of the immortals. He coughed and gasped, fighting to replace the air in his lungs so that he might fight again. The saltwater drained into the greedy soil.

  "You would have made a fine warlock, Brannis," Rashan said. He stood dripping, looking like an angry young boy caught out in the rain, holding his father's sword. Except for his eyes. Those pale, heartless eyes betrayed the demon's age. "Who taught you all these tricks? I have kept a careful enough watch that you haven't learned them from the tower libraries."

  "You killed Caladris, not his twin," Kyrus said between breaths. "He aided me, as did Xizix, as did Illiardra. A great many foes, old and new, were willing to teach, and tinker, and hint, but none were willing to act, save through me."

  "What wonderful friends I've had," Rashan said, his voice flat. Kyrus thought he sounded ... wistful?

  Rashan started to back away.

  Kyrus felt a pang in his stomach as he followed.

  "Not long now, is it?" Rashan asked, noticing his discomfort. "I had hoped for a quick death with clean hands. I would have made no move against you. We could have rebuilt Kadrin as the power of the world. And then you could have died of age, like you were fated to."

  "So long as I can find you, I can keep hope alive. I will beat the answers loose from your lying skull," Kyrus promised.

  "More certain of that, than you are of trying on your own?" Rashan asked.

  "I'd bet your life on it," Kyrus replied.

  Rashan smiled, thumped a fist to his chest in salute, and ventured once more into the aether.

  "Slippery bastard." Kyrus swore to no one but the trees, who were too polite to comment.

  * * * * * * * *

  Another chase through the aether, and Kyrus emerged on a wind-raked mountaintop. The damp, mossy ground that came with him from Podawei rimed over in an instant. A shiver ran up the whole of his body before he thought to warm himself with aether.

  "I grow tired of this!" Kyrus shouted. He turned about, taking in the expansive view in all directions. The ground beneath his feet was uneven, but level enough that there was no fall close at hand. There were juts and jags, and staccato breaks in the surface—plenty
of places to hide.

  In the aether, Kyrus saw Heavens Cry, giving away Rashan's position. It was tucked behind a rock outcropping, just a little finger of grey poking up from the mountain. Kyrus attempted to draw, ready to lay waste to Rashan's ambush spot, but found that there was scant aether to be drawn. They were well above the tree line and any animal habitats. The only aether of note was Kyrus's own, spilling forth from his Source.

  Cool, smooth hands closed about Kyrus's neck. Fingertips knifed in, clawing at his throat from behind. Kyrus screamed. Rashan had not been hiding anywhere near Heavens Cry, but had crept behind him. His voice carried out over the mountaintops, echoing back to him; his shield sparked and crackled as it fought off Rashan's grasp. It would not be long before it gave way, and then Kyrus would not be able to scream at all. The hands were immovable as stone, Kyrus's own grip was a shabby thing by comparison, unable to budge them, let alone break his grasp.

  Grappling with the demon by telekinesis once more, Kyrus pried Rashan loose, lifted him aloft, and slammed him into the mountaintop. Kyrus quit pouring his aether into an attempt to keep the demon still, and instead began a spell chant.

  "Eket jimagu denpek—" Kyrus chanted, pointing his fingers toward Rashan. He saw in the aether as Rashan's shielding spell sprang into being.

  Kyrus switched spells on Rashan. Instead of completing the fire bolt spell he was chanting, he used the black lightning spell that Lord Harwick had said worked so well for him—he cast it silently.

  Rashan's shield was tailored to defend him from fire. The lightning tore through it like paper, spending its wrath against the demon's flesh, unhindered by his magical defenses.