Aethersmith (Book 2)

by J. S. Morin

  The pirates were not retreating yet, as such, but they were fleeing his path. Wherever he turned, pirates suddenly tried to be elsewhere. Their stumbling escapes might have been comical in other circumstances. Brannis continued to find where pirates were pressing the Fontinue’s remaining living crewmen, and to lend them deadly aid. He took any pirate who came within reach of his blade and saw to them along his route.

  “Brannis!” the cry carried over the sound of the battle.

  No, it could not have been. But it was. He knew the voice too well; it played itself over and again in his mind as he recalled his happiest memories.

  Brannis scanned the pirates’ ship, and saw a female figure, clad in armor, standing near the ship’s wheel. He also saw a familiar pirate, one of Zayne’s men: Robbono Stalyart. The two were arguing, or at least carrying on some heated discussion.

  From near his feet, and just shy of being cleaved in twain before he had heard his real name called, one of the invaders spoke to him: “Grand Marshal,” the man spoke in Kadrin, “we were looking for you. Juliana was.”

  “Fall back! Everyone return to the Merciful!” he heard Stalyart’s voice ordering. Battles broke off as Stalyart’s men obediently began an orderly withdrawal from the ship.

  “I am Varnus Coldlake, captain of the Archon house guard. Around here, they call me Zellisan, or Zell,” Zellisan continued in Kadrin, smiling as he regained his feet. “She goes by Soria here, but I rather think she would not mind you calling her Juliana.”

  Despite the press of bodies as the Merciful’s crew swarmed the railings back to their own ship, one person managed to fight through the tide of bloodied men, and make the trip the other way. Brannis has just enough presence of mind to return Avalanche to its sheath before a leaping Juliana—or Soria—crashed into his arms. He caught hold of her by the waist, noticing as he did, the toned, muscular physique and the slightly more drab auburn hair, as well as the fact she seemed a bit heavier than the Juliana he had last held in his arms. But it was the eyes that removed every bit of doubt from him; they were eyes that he could see any time he wished, just by closing his own.

  They spoke not a word, but their lips met. A hunger, left too long unsated, found a feast spread before it. There was no force in all of Tellurak that cared to keep them apart. Brannis lost himself in memories of kisses they had shared in another world, in a small, sheltered corner of it that had allowed them, for a time, to see a future together. That future had been snatched from their hands, their destinies rewritten by whatever force had seen fit to allot the dragon’s share of the twins’ Sources to Kyrus instead of Brannis.

  If men watching from the deck of either ship had felt inclined to hoot or call out, or comment upon their bared affections, they kept it well to themselves. They had seen the blood of too many of their fellows gushing forth in the wake of those two. And though their eyes might only have seen one another, all others could not help but notice the wash of gore and flesh they stood amid.

  “You have no idea how much trouble I went to find you here,” Soria said, beaming when drawing her first breath while parted from Brannis’s lips.

  “You have no idea the lengths I have gone to be here,” Brannis replied. “I think we will have time aplenty for tales, though. Which ship will we be taking?”

  “Whichever we want, of course,” she said, then smiled lopsidedly. All seemed to have been put to rights in her world. There was no problem that seemed to matter anymore; all would be fine, with Brannis around.

  * * * * * * * *

  Brannis looked at his cards, and found them worthless. He threw them into the middle, and took up his tankard in their stead. The ale that Stalyart kept aboard was top tier, much better than Zayne had kept on his ship. Brannis considered for a moment that Kyrus’s palette might have different tastes than his own, but decided that Stalyart just had more class and a better appreciation of strong drink.

  It had been Brannis who had pointed out to everyone that they really ought to be in charge of the disposition of the ships instead of Stalyart or his crew. The Fontinue had been sent on its way with generous reparations for the damage and casualties they suffered. Coin could not buy back the lives of the men who perished, but it could make their widows comfortable, and allow the captain to hire on new crew. Stalyart had been irritated at the loss of so much of his ill-won treasure, but seemed to have known he had been let off lightly by Soria and her friends, who had been more concerned with swift transport than with justice.

  “So, Captain Kyrus, where are we heading off to?” Tanner asked.

  Brannis had learned that Tanner’s twin was one of his officers, stationed off in Naran Port. To the best of his recollection, he had never met him before, though with the size of the army, he could not be expected to know everyone. He made a point to look into the service record of Tanner’s twin, though, both to check the character of Juliana’s companions and for possible promotion; it was always good to have loyal men placed well.

  Brannis chuckled. “I am not captain. I just happen to have one under my boot for now. Sorry if I cannot be a bit more accommodating, Stalyart, but last time I was on a ship with you, I got marooned.”

  “This was nothing personal, I assure you. Captain Zayne was merely wishing to avoid bloodshed,” Stalyart responded. Being good sports, they had allowed the captain and his first mate into their game, a man by the name of Crispin.

  “His own, no doubt,” Zellisan commented. Not Varnus, Brannis knew. The old guard at the Archon estate had been a familiar face since Brannis had begun visiting Juliana at her family’s home when he was courting her. Varnus or one of the other guards often accompanied them when they went riding—if they had not snuck off. Sorcerers might have been untouchable in the Empire, but their children still warranted protection from kidnappings and such when they traveled alone.

  “We will sail for Takalia, then I think we can give Stalyart his ship back, assuming no betrayals between now and then,” Brannis said. He looked around the table for signs of disagreement but found none.

  “I will ensure he complies,” Rakashi commented from his post by the door. The Takalish warrior disdained games of chance, but chose to stay close by his comrades. “He knows I can find him in Veydrus.”

  “Tiiba, you wound me,” Stalyart feigned indignation lightheartedly. “You know I keep to my word when I give it. I am just a miser of promises, so I have few to keep. I swear I will not harm any of you, or take you anywhere but where I am instructed to go. I am no fool, and I wish my ship back. See that keeping promises runs both ways, Tiiba, because I have friends in Veydrus too. Remember who Captain Zayne really is.” Stalyart grinned.

  “Um, should we be talking about this in front of this person?” Wendell asked, indicating Crispin. It was an unwritten law among twinborn—as all “laws” for their kind were—that matters of the other world were kept well away from the ears of the one-worlders.

  “Bah, Crispin is my half-brother. He has heard all this talk. It is so much gibberish among madmen to him. Besides, who would he tell that would find any use from such tales?” Stalyart said. He seemed far too at ease for Brannis’s liking, considering the circumstances.

  “I call,” Soria commented, bringing attention back to the game at hand. She was well into her third tankard, and her eyes spent more time aimed at Brannis than the cards. The needs of their circumstances aside, Brannis was feeling much the same.

  Juliana had always been a proper young lady, elegant and refined, with an acerbic tongue and a wild streak kept carefully in check among polite company (which, Brannis had noticed, she did not consider Rashan to be). Soria was that wild streak unchecked. While Juliana took her adventures in small bites—rides in the countryside, hanging about in dockside taverns—Soria was living the life he could only imagine Juliana wished she could.

  It agreed with her. Her slim body was toned like a dancer’s, her skin lightly bronzed. He liked her hair cut short, though it would take a bit of getting used to th
e color. He knew Juliana kept hers up with magic like nearly every sorceress; Soria’s color was likely what Juliana’s would have looked like if left to its own ends. There was an ease about her manner that Brannis only occasionally saw from Juliana, when they had been free of judgmental eyes.

  “Where is the head?” Brannis asked, realizing that he had taken too much ale, and needed to relieve himself of it.

  Stalyart frowned skeptically, as if the question were ludicrous. “To the bow. That is where we keep the front of the ship, before you ask that, too.”

  Brannis excused himself from the table, where his small pile of Kadrin coins had nearly run itself to ruin. Kyrus had not been much of a Crackle player, but at least he was able to cheat to win. Brannis had just been guessing at the game, and staring into Soria’s eyes over his tankard.

  Rakashi followed him out of the captain’s cabin, where they had been playing. Brannis did not know what to make of the Takalish twinborn, suspecting that he was not fighting for Kadrin on the other side, and likely allied against them. There was an odd separation of politics between the worlds that he was going to have to learn to understand.

  “Sorcerer Kyrus, a moment if you will?” Rakashi asked politely, putting a hand on Brannis’s shoulder.

  Brannis had changed out of his armor once it was clear that Soria and her companions had the ship well controlled, thus Brannis could feel the warmth of the man’s hand through the fabric of his tunic.

  “I am no sorcerer, but of course. Just a moment first …”

  Brannis returned from the head to find Rakashi staring out at the twilight sea. There was a calmness about him that almost seemed wistful. Kyrus knew little of the ways of Takalish warrior-scholars, and Brannis was finding this one an intriguing introduction to them.

  “Kyrus, you are a man known to many on the other side. You have a reputation, even among your enemies, you know,” Rakashi began. “I would know what kind of man you are, and your intentions as regards Soria. Are you the warlock’s thrall, or just a man fighting the war his people find themselves drawn into? Are you the sort of man who gets rescued by a pretty girl, and takes her to your bed, or do you truly care for her? I am not blind. I see the looks between you.”

  “In Kadrin, I take on the burdens I am given. As for Juliana, I have loved her since I was a boy. Beyond that, it is our own business. I think here, away from Kadrin politics and meddling, that bit matters—to me at least, and I suspect perhaps even more so for her.”

  The door to the captain’s cabin opened, and Stalyart and his brother emerged. Stalyart once again looked irritated, though being put out of his own quarters seemed enough of a slight to warrant it. Close behind them followed Zellisan and Tanner. Wendell emerged a moment later, carrying his hat in both hands, piled over with coin. Despite making him play with his sleeves rolled to the elbow, and half of the players having aether-vision, the street magician had cleaned them out. Soria was the last one remaining within.

  “Kyrus, I think you know as well as I what she has in mind,” Rakashi commented. “But for all her bravado and swagger, I very much believe she is a maiden; she does not let men close to her. If you are not gentle with her, we will have a quarrel.”

  Brannis smiled wistfully at the cabin door, left slightly ajar in invitation. “We have played this out once before, she and I. I think your reminder might better have served her ears than my own. She needs no protection from me.”

  When the door to Stalyart’s cabin closed behind Brannis, a crude, hastily scratched ward flickered to life, ensuring their privacy for the evening.

  Chapter 21 - Sharing Secrets

  Juliana was nearly skipping through the halls of the palace the next morning, her evening with Brannis in the other world being a memory just hours old. Iridan had not been in her bed when she awoke, though he had been when she had fallen asleep. Her only tiny worry was that she had given some hint of her actions in Tellurak as she slept. A dream is a dream, unless you are not a dreamer yourself, she reasoned. Even if she had talked in her sleep, she could hardly be held at fault for it. She was certain Iridan was stuck in Veydrus.

  Her destination had not been far from the chambers she shared with Iridan. The wards nearly glowed in the light, making Kyrus’s room simple to find, even had she not known where to look for it. Juliana knocked softly on the door, hoping not to draw attention to her visit. Unfortunately the ward kept the knock from making any noise at all.

  From its concealed sheath, she drew Freedom, having assigned the name to the heavier of her daggers that had seen her through Rashan’s ordeal the day before. When he had come to let her and Iridan out of the cells, he had found her collapsed and nearly insensible, but she had broken the wards; the door had been unlocked, and only awaiting the return of her strength before she would have left under her own power. She took Freedom, and jabbed at the door with it, hard, watching in the aether for a reaction. Wobbly waves shuddered through it, like poking a finger into the still water of a wash basin. It gave no sign of relenting before her attack, but it served better than knocking with her fist.

  After a moment, the ward relaxed and the door opened. Juliana snuck inside before a surprised Kyrus could react—or object. She shut the door again behind her. She felt the rush of aether past her as the ward sealed them in together.

  “Fair morning, my love.” She grinned mischievously at him, throwing her arms around his neck, and kissing him passionately. “Guess who you are not?” She still held him close by, her fingers laced behind Kyrus’s neck. She was still smiling at him.

  “By the winds, girl, how did you ever find me out?” Kyrus deadpanned in reply before his own face split wide in a grin to match her own. He could not help himself; she was infectious.

  “I admit, a bit more muscle looks good on you, but I suppose, given that you have met Soria, that I am not one to cast aspersions regarding idleness.” Juliana giggled. “You had an outlandish tale, but the alternative was even more so, until I saw for myself. Even when I first saw Brannis, I thought perhaps I had discovered where your sword and armor had ended up. The plate hid your physique well enough, and Avalanche would be just as deadly in the hands of a scrivener as a knight, I supposed.”

  “And my appearance?” Kyrus offered. “Not enough of a giveaway?”

  “Of course not. I was looking for Brannis all along. I was hoping to identify you by his look, and I found him. I was, perhaps, a bit blinded by desire for you. All I saw was my Brannis. I didn't stop to think that probably was not what I should have found.”

  “So when was it that you realized?” Kyrus asked. They had taken so little time to really talk in Tellurak. There was more privacy to be had behind his wards than Soria’s paltry ones. Even without aether-vision, Brannis had been able to tell that her runes were shabby.

  “You sure you want to know?” Her grin spread a bit wider. Kyrus chuckled but nodded. “Well, you may not even have known about them, but you have the tiny little scars on your back—Well, Brannis does at least. They do not look like anything, but you can feel the little raised lines where they differ from the skin around them. I made those, years ago.” Kyrus blushed. Juliana laughed out loud. “I should check to make sure you don't have them, too. I would feel silly if you had them as well, and that other Brannis over there had gotten a matching set by coincidence.”

  She moved her hands to the hem of his tunic, and grabbed hold.

  * * * * * * * *

  Oh, I am a lucky fool. A bad friend, though, but perhaps I can find some way to make amends.

  Kyrus was exhausted. Juliana napped peacefully on his chest. There were a hundred things he ought to have been doing, and eventually Warlock Rashan would be looking for him. The wards at the door might thwart him, or they might not. Kyrus’s wards were simple, but well formed and powerful. Whether he was kept out or not, whether he could see within or not, eventually the wards would have to be lifted for Juliana and him to emerge.

  Things seemed so much simpler now in Tellu
rak than they did in Veydrus. The Imperial Circle’s arcane policies had parted them but had no provision for going back and righting that miscarriage of justice. Juliana and Iridan had wed. Brannis had been there to hear the vows exchanged; they were pledged for life, not the convenience of the emperor, the warlock, or certainly not for some unschooled sorcerer who was not even officially a part of the Imperial Circle, however powerful his Source might be.

  Dark thoughts drifted idly through Kyrus’s head as he watched the serene, sated beauty playing out on the face that rose and fell with his breathing. I could kill him, Kyrus pondered. Strong as everyone says he is, he would hardly put up a fight, I think. If hurled fire can wound Rashan like that, I would need no other weapon against him. Or I could get him killed in battle. He seems to come close every time even without effort; just send him to the battlefront and wait, try again if I must. It is my duty to send men to die, to choose whose sacrifice benefits the Empire. Kyrus shook the thoughts away. No, I could never do it. I can only think thus when I ignore that it is Iridan, not some nameless, faceless suitor of my love. Her husband, my best friend. Never. Might that I could convince him to give her up. It was never what he wanted. With my emergence as a sorcerer, I am no longer an embarrassing match. Maybe I could approach Shador to see about it. Kyrus knew that was not going to work. An alliance with the warlock’s son was too politically valuable to abandon; he might have chanced it before the wedding had occurred, but there would be too much fallout from the dissolution of the union.

  He turned his attentions back to Juliana herself. He watched her, and she pillowed upon his chest. He felt her breath on his skin. He saw her eyelids flicker. Are you watching Soria’s mischief as you nap? he wondered. She could probably hear the beating of his heart.