Aethersmith (Book 2)

by J. S. Morin

  “Really?” Soria asked sardonically. “You are both turning squirrel on me now that we are getting close to our quarry. Some warriors you two are. How about you, Rakashi?”

  “I think it is time you told us who we are following. You know something, I think, that we do not,” the clever Rakashi answered.

  Soria eyed him steadily, watching for a sign that he would relent, but he met her glare stoically. “Fine,” she replied. “But not out here in the open.”

  * * * * * * * *

  “So, if Rakashi’s right, you have some reason to think this Kyrus fellow will join us,” Zellisan postulated, taking a swallow of a thick dark ale.

  They had picked out an upper-class tavern for their discussion, The Ale Exchange. It served mainly ship owners, financiers, traveling noblemen, and the assorted retainers such men brought with them. It also attracted coinblades of various ilk, so their weapons were not entirely out of place.

  “Speak Kadrin while we are here, just in case,” Soria instructed in Kadrin. “If anyone looks like they are paying attention to what we say, we will have to kill or capture them.”

  “He’s that important, this person we are looking for?” Rakashi asked, speaking Kadrin with a Takalish accent. It was not his native tongue, but he spoke it well.

  “Yes. And use no names. A garbled conversation with a proper name mixed in stands out, if the name is the only familiar word,” Soria said.

  “Now you’re just being paranoid. Anyone who knows the name must be able to understand the rest, wouldn’t you think?” Tanner objected. He was waiting on the steward to bring up a bottle of Takalish apple liqueur that Rakashi had suggested. Watching Zellisan and Soria already enjoying their ales was making him impatient and irritated.

  “Fine, then,” Soria relented. “I do know who this Kyrus Hinterdale is, or at least quite strongly suspect. I got the clue I needed at Raynesdark, when—”

  “Skip it. Tell the story later, just give us a name,” Tanner cut in, looking around distractedly for the steward.

  “You have no sense of drama,” Soria complained. “When I was at Raynesdark,” she picked up, ignoring Tanner’s complaint, “I saw the Megrenn sorcerer who stole the Staff of Gehlen. He did not recognize me, but he knew Brannis by sight. Brannis knew him as well, addressing him as Captain Zayne.”

  “Wait, so that pirate is a twinborn Megrenn sorcerer?” Zellisan asked. “Small wonder he has been so successful.”

  “Yes, those were cannons he used at Raynesdark. He taught the goblins to make ones like those a ship would carry. I saw a few of them before the warlock had them melted down,” Soria said.

  “I see …” Rakashi stated, having surely already skipped ahead to her conclusion.

  “Yes, well, this sorcerer knew Brannis as well, and he called him Kyrus.” Soria finished her little tale, and Tanner and Zell gaped at her.

  “No wonder you’re so hot to find him,” Zellisan joked. “I had wondered if you would follow through on the whole wedding arrangement, and now I see why you did. You are just going to find yourself a new Brannis.”

  “Ha-ha,” Tanner said. “I’ve been wanting a chance to cross swords with this new grand marshal of ours. Can’t exactly march up to him in Kadris and ask for a sparring match, though.”

  “Mind you, he is still the same man we have been tracking. He is a scribe in Tellurak, not a knight, and I do not think he has known that he is twinborn for very long at all. Four months ago, it seems, he was playing with light and telekinesis spells. Three months ago, he needed help to free himself from a non-aether-proof prison cell, but managed to burn a ship down in the harbor. A week after that, he destroyed a chunk of Marker’s Point. On the road to Raynesdark, Brannis had brought along books of magic. Oh, he said they were to figure out how best to use the sorcerers he was assigned, but Brannis is too clever by half. He was teaching this Kyrus some proper spells so he would not have another incident like Marker’s Point.”

  “How can you be so sure of all that?” Zell seemed more curious than skeptical, knowing Soria to be rash and reckless, yes, but she was far from stupid.

  “I know him too well. Most of us had some help in figuring out how being twinborn worked, and all of us were much younger than two-and-twenty when we first learned our dreams weren't dreams. Brannis seems to have puzzled out much of it on his own, or gleaned it from Captain Zayne. But availability of the libraries in the Tower of Contemplation is too valuable to pass up. As Sixth Circle, even I was not allowed in most of those, but because Brannis seems to have found favor with the warlock, he has free run of the place,” Soria said. “If you discovered magic in Tellurak, and knew of no one in Veydrus whom you could trust with the twinborn secret, how much better could you have it than being able to access every book in Kadris at your leisure?”

  “Yeah, but if that was him with Zayne and Zayne is Megrenn on the other side, how do we know we can trust either of them?” Tanner asked. “Maybe he plays both sides. You say he’s so clever, maybe he has you fooled, too.”

  Soria frowned, crossed her arms, and leaned back in her chair. “I bet my life that he will not side against me.”

  Rakashi appeared to be about to say something, then paused, distracted. He sat with his back to the door, but with his patched eye he saw in the aether. Direction mattered little. “You said that pirate’s name too many times, I think. Someone just left furtively. I think our pirate quarry has ears with coins in them.”

  Zellisan swore under his breath. Soria threw a backhanded slap that jarred Tanner’s shoulder. “Paranoid, huh?”

  “I lost track of him in the crowds outside. There are too many people here and he was not so distinctive,” Rakashi said.

  “What now?” Tanner asked.

  “Nothing,” Soria replied. “At least, nothing we were not about to do anyway. We know the pirate sailed months ago and his ship has not returned. Safe to say, we will not meet him in person. Whatever lackeys he paid to inform on troublemakers dropping his name in public will pose little threat.”

  “Yeah, but who will they be telling about us?” Zellisan asked. “The pirate might have the kind of coin that could buy a few of the Tide’s Watchmen. That might get us stranded here.”

  “Deal with the problems we know about,” Soria said. “We aren't the sort to get pushed around, after all. If our little parrot talks to someone, and gets the pirate’s hired knives to come looking for us, at least it will be a lead. In the meantime, we ought to split up and spend a lot of coin with the sort of folk a pirate might deal with. They may not take open bribes for information on someone as dangerous as the pirate, but we might loosen tongues if we buy their wares first.”

  “Anything in mind?” Zellisan asked. “I don’t go to market with pirates much. What would they buy that a common man wouldn’t?”

  “How should I know? Be creative,” Soria responded.

  Zell just rolled his eyes. “Nice to know we’re in good hands, eh?” Zellisan leaned over to Tanner and spoke loudly enough to ensure Soria still heard.

  “Well, you two will go together,” she told the mock conspirators, “and Rakashi will come with me.”

  “Why do I get saddled with the big oaf?” Tanner complained. “If we have to run, I’ll have to hold up and wait for him, and that means a lot more sword work.”

  “Well, with how well that helm shows the aether, Zell ought to be able to walk around with it on and not trip all over stuff you and I cannot see without light. Rakashi can see both at once, so both pairs can keep an eye to the aether,” Soria reasoned.

  “What good’ll that do us?” Tanner asked. “We aren’t looking for a bit of magic; we’re looking for a person, if he’s even in the Point anymore. How would you expect to pick him out when every market has a thousand folk in it?”

  “Tanner, your Source split to the Tellurak side. Mine split fairly evenly with Juliana’s, maybe a bit in her favor. Zell’s a dim candle in both worlds, and Rakashi is much stronger in Veydrus. Brannis’s sour
ce is like the glow of a firefly. If this Kyrus is running around laying waste to whole city districts, you can bet that his Source will stand out like an ogre walking among the common folk around here.”

  “Makes sense,” Zellisan said, though he was a bit sensitive about the subject of his weak Source and preferred not to discuss it. “And unless he looks a lot less like Brannis than you would expect, I ought to recognize him if I take the helm off. He ought to know my face too, just seeing it … recently …” Zell trailed off, not wanting to remind Soria about Juliana’s wedding, and the little “incident” afterward.

  Soria shot him a glare, but made no comment on the slip. “We will meet back at the ship an hour before sunset. If there is any night work to be done, I would rather plan it anew. We might be best hanging together after dark.”

  “Well I’ll be flogged. She does have a sense of self-preservation,” Tanner joked. “Only had to take comin’ to the Point and having a pirate’s hired ears catch a sniff of her.”

  “No,” Soria shot back, “I don’t trust you after dark because there are more brothels here than inns. If I ever have to identify your dead body, I would rather it be clothed.”

  Tanner could think of no clever response, so they parted ways in silence, one smug, two amused, and one consternated.

  * * * * * * * *

  “I don’t want no trouble,” were the first words out of the shipper’s mouth as Soria and Rakashi approached. He was Janza, by his look: scraggly grey hair framing a puffy, round face pocked by scars of a pimpled youth long decades ago. He carried a slate in one gnarled hand and held a chalk in the other. While all about men bustled with barrows filled with sacks of wheat flour or carried kegs of cheap ale, the shipping master merely watched and recorded.

  “Excellent. Troubles make business go less smoothly,” Rakashi replied, smiling broadly at the shipper. “I am Rakashi dar Fandar and it is business I am seeking today.”

  “And who’s the lass?” the shipper asked suspiciously. Soria still wore her Kheshi persona, complete with tattooed kill markings. It was not the sort of sight most folk found comforting.

  “My bodyguard,” Rakashi answered, smiling serenely. Carrying his half-spear in a sheath on his back and built like a warrior, Rakashi did not look like the sort of man to need a bodyguard.

  The shipping master eyed Soria warily, but turned his attention back to Rakashi. “What sort of business? I am a busy man. Nothing moves through this warehouse without me knowing about it.”

  “I am looking for a shipment of cinnamon cherry liqueur,” Rakashi said. “My employer’s ship was attacked by pirates and the spirits were plundered.”

  “I don’t deal in pirated goods,” the shipper replied testily. “If that’s all you are concerned with, then I have no business with you.”

  “You misunderstand me. My employer has a very valuable customer whom he would much like to keep happy. I do not care where I find a replacement, but I must see that his customer receives the goods he has purchased. Even if we lose money this time, we wish to keep the customer’s business for many years to come. So if you know of any such liqueur, whether it has come through your warehouse or not, I would be willing to pay generously for such information,” Rakashi said. He reached into his coin purse, pulled out a thousand-darshi coin and handed it to the shipping master. The darshi was a small unit of currency, but a thousand of them acting in concert could secure the services of the best whores in Marker’s Point, or purchase a bottle or two of the aforementioned liqueur.

  “What’s this for?” the man asked, narrowing his eyes and pocketing the coin before any talk of returning it came up.

  “A pittance for your time,” Rakashi answered. “Should you know anything about where such cargoes might find themselves, I would be more than generous.” He patted his coin purse, making sure that the heavy leather pouch jingled loudly enough to convey just how much coin he was carrying.

  “Well, there’s a dock—that I never have cause to frequent, mind you—where I hear Zayne’s people have set up their operation. If it was Captain Zayne’s ship that took your employer’s shipment, that might be a place to find it. If not, it might be a good bet to find a replacement.

  As they walked away ten thousand darshis poorer, Soria muttered to Rakashi, “It’s a good thing we have plenty of coin.”

  “We will not for long if we spend like this. But then again, it is only coin and we may have more whenever we wish. If Kyrus Hinterdale truly is your old lover from Kadrin, any impediment to our wealth ought to be gone once we have his aid.”

  Well, Soria thought, I still have to figure out how to convince Brannis that bridgandry and mercenary work are respectable occupations. One problem at a time, though.

  * * * * * * * *

  “What are you thinking, Tanner?” Zellisan sounded exasperated as Tanner held the pistol up close to his eye, examining it as if he possessed either a craftsman’s eye for workmanship or an artist’s appreciation of fine detail.

  “I always wanted one,” Tanner said. “I mean, I’m as good as any fella you want to put against me when it comes to swords, but what good’s a sword when some drunk whoreson with a pistol can put a lead ball through your gut at twenty paces?”

  “Thirty, I would say, with the one in your hand,” the bespectacled pistolsmith corrected him. “Accurately, that is. The shot will go much farther, but accuracy is the byword when it comes to pistols. You do not want to miss your mark and have to clean and load it while some unruly gentleman is rushing to stab you before you can do so.”

  “Maybe I could buy myself two of them, then,” Tanner reasoned. “Have the other ready if’n I happen not to hit the fella I was aimin’ at.”

  “Many do, sir. I assure you, many do. Many dangerous men carry a pistol tucked in their belt. Carrying two or more is a sure sign of someone who intends to use one, though. Only a fool would trifle with such a man.”

  The pistolsmith no doubt smelled a sale that would let him close up shop for a week, if only he could draw Tanner a picture of himself as a man who commanded fear and respect.

  “What if you can’t hit a ship at ten paces, let alone a man?” Zellisan butted in, needling Tanner, who to the best of his knowledge had never fired a pistol in his life.

  “I realize you jest, sir, but if you mean to ask what does one do if two shots is not enough?” The pistolsmith seemed to know his trade, and the crafting of weapons was only the half of it. The rest was the art of selling them once made. “At some point, only a very large man can keep putting more pistols in his belt.” He paused to allow Tanner a brief chuckle in Zell’s direction. “For a more refined marksman, I do have a special piece.”

  The pistolsmith went to the back of his shop, and brought back a small, polished mahogany case. Tanner and Zellisan both crowded around to get a good look as the wiry little man opened the case. Inside was a queer-looking pistol, which had a sort of thick wheel stuffed in just above the trigger. It was smaller than the other pistols that the pistolsmith had shown them already, with a thinner barrel and shorter handle—though the latter was of sleek, polished ivory.

  “Fancy handle but a bit of an ugly runt of a thing, ain’t it?” Tanner commented to Zellisan.

  “Yeah, what’s that bit there do?” Zell asked, pointing a finger at the thick metal wheel at the trigger end of the barrel.

  “This is an authentic piece from Cadmus Errol’s workshop, made by the master’s own hand. He has made a dozen or so, though now I understand his assistants have begun making more of them. You load this pistol with six shots, and each time it fires, it brings a new shot into line with the barrel.” The pistolsmith pulled a pin and the wheel twisted out away from the rest of the weapon. With the flick of a thumb, the wheel spun effortlessly with a reassuring whirring sound. With a snap of the wrist, the pistolsmith locked the wheel back into place. He pushed and pulled to show that the wheel was once more securely held, then pulled the pin again and showed inside it.

  “It
takes special shot that has a powder charge already attached to it,” the little man said, then took a small, pointed metal shot out of a different case stowed under the counter. It had a brass band around the non-pointed end, and a flat back. “I know, it looks strange, but it will hit what you aim at from fifty paces and you have six shots before needing to reload.”

  “Impressive,” Zellisan said, but he was more impressed by seeing yet another of Cadmus Errol’s creations. Soria had told him of the alarm system the Mad Tinker had set up in the museum in Golis, and any folk who had traveled widely had seen one or more of his clock towers. It seemed that the mechanical mastermind was delving into weapons as well.

  “Ahh, I see your angle. You make coin sellin’ shot I gotta buy from you,” Tanner hedged, trying to set himself up to negotiate a good price. He wanted that pistol, and if he had to buy his ammunition from Marker’s Point, so be it.

  “Sadly, no. The master has his workshop churning them out like horseshoes. I have crates of the things, ready to sell, and I am far from the sole distributor of them.” The smith shook his head. “I suspect in five years I will no longer be selling my own pistols anymore, just reselling the ones that Errol’s workshop produces. Whatever it is you do for work, sir, pray that Cadmus Errol does not take a fancy to trying it.”

  An hour later, Tanner was walking at Zellisan’s side, a Cadmus Errol pistol tucked in the front of his pants and a baldric laden with pre-powdered shots slung crosswise across his body. Despite the magical shield he cast each morning and the runed blade that bounced at his hip, sharp enough to bite into stone, it was the pistol that had cost him two hundred thousand eckles worth of trade bars—ten times what one of the ones made by the master’s assistants would have lightened his purse by—that made him feel dangerous.

  * * * * * * * *

  “We are being followed,” Rakashi said, leaning close to Soria as they walked, keeping his voice low so that they might not be overheard.

  “How many?” she asked. She knew better than to request any more detail than that. Rakashi was watching behind them in the aether and his vision was nowhere near keen enough to determine age or garb, or what they carried.