by J. S. Morin
It would be cold enough at the outdoor ceremony, she decided, that wearing a cloak would not seem inappropriate. Any sorceress worth the title ought to have been able to shield herself against a bit of chill—and Juliana was certainly capable of doing so—but she was enough maligned among the Circle for her idleness and lack of ambition that it would not surprise most folk.
Juliana made her way across the room, and opened the wardrobe. She found it half empty. Missing half her clothing would be a minor inconvenience, but the half that remained was Iridan’s, not hers. She hurried to her dresser, and began pulling out the drawers. Empty. Empty. Empty. She looked under the bed and found her spare boots missing as well.
What have you got in mind, Kyrus? Are we making an escape tonight? If you were going to do it, I would have rather it been the wedding rather than an assassination that gave you the idea.
She went back to the wardrobe, and pulled out one of Iridan’s cloaks. It did not hang quite low enough for her taste, but it would do. She posed in front of the mirror to be sure, then left for the coronation ceremony of Emperor Sommick.
* * * * * * * *
There must have been thirty or forty thousand in attendance, Kyrus estimated. The tournament grounds in Kadris were used all too infrequently, but they had been refurbished in short order upon Rashan’s orders. The structure itself was a stepped bowl shape of cut stone blocks, covered with an overhanging wooden roof supported by stone pillars. The roof only covered the outermost half of the seats; the sod field of roughly tended grass and the seats nearest it were exposed to the night sky. The stars themselves would bear witness to the crowning of a new emperor.
The grounds had been opened up to anyone in the Empire who wished to attend. The throng outside attested to how many more wished to witness history than were able to actually get seats. The commoners crowded together on bench seats, packed in so tightly they could scarcely move. Kyrus thought back to all the things that Denrik and Stalyart had told him about the lot of the peasantry of the Kadrin Empire as he watched them herded to their seats like cattle to market. There is only so much room to be had. It is not as if anyone is forcing these conditions on them. They are at least allowed the privilege of attending. More can have that privilege if more are allowed to crowd in together, Kyrus told himself from the Solaran section of the reserved seating. The nobles, the sorcerous houses, the Circle members whether they had a house or not, knights and officers of the army … all those were allowed spacious seating, cordoned off from the rabble.
He searched the crowd for signs of Juliana. The arrangement of the seating made it difficult, with the Solarans and Archons seated on the same side of the bowl, but not so closely that there was an unobstructed view. His aether-vision was mostly useless as well, since the sorcerers of the various blooded houses had Sources that ran the full gamut: stronger, weaker, and similar in strength to Juliana’s. Picking her out among the commoners would have been easy enough, but finding her among her own family was difficult. Everything that made her stand out in crowds happened to be traits that ran among the Archons, from her height to her Source; she even had cousins and older sisters who had their hair colored not so differently from hers.
“Uncle Brannis, I can’t see what’s going on,” a small voice complained from beside him. Through some perversity of humor, it seemed that Axterion had arranged for Danilaesis to be seated next to him.
“There is nothing to see yet. Just wait,” Kyrus told him.
“Can I sit up on your shoulders?” Danil asked, making it sound as easy at nearly eight summers as it would have been when he was four.
“You are too big for that now. Just settle in. There is not going to be much to see anyway.”
“Then why are so many people here to watch it? They must be expecting to see something good,” Danil said.
“When someone is made emperor, they want lots of people to see it. It helps give the emperor legitimacy. Everyone here can personally vouch for having seen him take the crown, and all the people accepting that fact. Most of the people here are just here to be able to tell people they were here. The rest of us are here because it is expected of us. You are old enough now that you are expected to be here as well.”
“Who expects us to be here?”
“Everyone else who is expected here. It is sort of a mutual affair. By coming, we show that we support the new emperor. Anyone who did not come would, in a way, be saying that they did not.”
“Why is grandpa not here, then? Will people think he doesn’t support the emperor?”
“No. He is too old for anyone to expect him to travel, even if it is just halfway across Kadris by carriage,” Kyrus said. “Try looking around to find all the people you know. Make a list in your head of the ones you do not see. Find them afterward, and ask why they were not here.” That ought to keep him occupied a while.
Kyrus’s plan worked well enough for him to watch what little of a show accompanied the ceremony. A mix of palace guards and an honor guard of soldiers marched into the stadium carrying torches. There was something primal and ancient about bared flames, accentuated by the lack of magical lights as dusk began to fade. After marching out in formation, they spread themselves, and lined both sides of a path out to the center of the tournament grounds, which yet more of them encircled in fire. There was a circular stone slab at the very center, which Kyrus could see glowing with runes around the outer edge.
A hush fell over the crowd. Emerging from the end of the torch-lit line was Sommick Highwater, who would shortly become Emperor of the Kadrin Empire. He was clad in red-and-gold velvet, accented in white. His head was bare, ready to receive a crown. Hard though it was to tell from so far away, Kyrus thought he looked nervous.
Behind him followed two of the most influential figures in the Empire, walking side by side. To his right was Dolvaen Lurien, dressed in his Inner Circle finery, black with red-and-gold trim. To his left was General Sir Hurald Chadreisson, his runed armor polished to a shine that glowed orange in the torchlight. Both men were choices of politics rather than true influence. Though Kyrus knew for certain that Dolvaen opposed the emperor’s selection, Rashan had ceded the honor of issuing the Circle’s blessing to his second in command to force Dolvaen to publicly endorse him. Kyrus had given his own honor over to his former commander as a peace offering. He knew that Rashan intended him to take over his regency in all but name, so the oversight of the army would fall to Sir Hurald anyway unless he chose to replace the man.
Lastly came the imperial regent, Warlock Rashan Solaran, bearing in his hands the crown that had been worn by the last twelve emperors. It was a golden circlet ringed in golden horns. Four gems were set equally spaced around it: emerald, ruby, sapphire, diamond. Kyrus knew the last fact from Brannis’s history lessons; it was too far to make out what gems might have been set in it. It glowed in the aether as well, prompting him to wonder what powers the crown might possess—if the aether indicated anything more than just preservative magics, that is.
The four men came to a stop on the stone slab, the emperor at the center, the other three arrayed around him. The purpose of the runes became clear when Rashan began to speak. His voice carried throughout the tournament grounds, reverberating like the roar of a dragon. Kyrus could attest to that from Brannis’s experience.
“People of Kadrin, we gather today to crown a new emperor, Sommick the First. I ask of you, Sommick, of House Highwater, are you prepared to accept the mantle of emperor, as is your birthright?” Rashan said for all to hear and bear witness.
“I am.”
“Does this man have the support of the army?” Rashan asked.
“I give my support, and that of the Imperial Army, to the claim of Sommick, of House Highwater,” Sir Hurald attested, swearing his fealty, and committing the military to back the new emperor.
“Does this man have the support of the sorcerers?” Rashan asked.
“I give my support, and that of the Imperial Circle, to the claim of
Sommick, of House Highwater,” Dolvaen Lurien attested.
Kyrus was impressed at the man’s acting ability. He gave every indication of sincerity. Kyrus supposed it was how Dolvaen had kept his ruse from being accidentally exposed.
“From this day forth, let any who speak or act against Emperor Sommick be struck down by the might of the Imperial Army, acting as the left hand of the emperor, or by the might of the Imperial Circle, acting as the right hand of the emperor.” Rashan paused. “As Imperial Regent, I have ruled over the Kadrin Empire this past season as we sought the rightful heir to the throne. As of this moment, I resign the position of regent, renounce all claim to rulership, and swear my fealty to Emperor Sommick, the First. I bestow upon you, my Emperor, the crown of the Kadrin Empire, and with it all rights and powers granted to her emperor.”
Sommick Highwater knelt at Rashan’s feet, and accepted the crown as it was placed upon his head. It was awkward and unwieldy upon Sommick’s head, an ornament destined to the storage vaults until the next grand occasion, unless Sommick turned out to be exceedingly vain and insecure. As Sommick arose, Sir Hurald and Dolvaen knelt. All the torchbearers knelt as well. Of all the men standing below in the field, only Rashan did not kneel; the demon warlock merely bowed his head in acknowledgement.
The emperor turned his back on his entourage, and faced the crowded stands, specifically toward the commoners. He held out his arms to them, spread wide.
“My people! It fills me with pride to see what an empire I have inherited, what a fine people to have turned out in such numbers to see me take up the crown. We are an empire at war, beset by many enemies. I will see that this threat is ended. My first order as emperor is this: Warlock Rashan, I hereby command you that, on the morrow, you take personal action to bring war to Megrenn and her allies, that you use that terrible sword of yours to make them suffer for their transgressions against us.”
“As you command,” Rashan replied for all to hear. Kyrus wondered how much of that little speech was written for him by the warlock.
“But that is tomorrow. Tonight we celebrate!” Emperor Sommick proclaimed, signaling the official end of the ceremony. The crowd cheered. There was to be a grand procession of carriages across the city to the palace, where the revelry would stretch into the deep hours of the night. That procession was a time Kyrus had plans to make use of.
Pushing his way through the crowd, Kyrus muttered about having matters to attend to. For most who were able to make room, that vague excuse was cause enough to let Brannis Solaran pass. Warlock Rashan’s lieutenants were not known for making their motives plain, and Brannis was known to be well above that rank in Rashan’s personal hierarchy. By the time the crowd began filtering out into the streets to either join or watch the procession, Kyrus was already at the front of the pack. He disappeared from the crowd as quietly as he was able.
* * * * * * * *
Juliana had sat uneasily through the coronation. She saw Brannis searching the crowd for her, but could hardly find an inconspicuous method of drawing attention to herself without … well, without drawing attention to herself. Brannis, of course, had been easy to spot. Just shifting into the aether, and looking for the blinding light was all it took. In fact, Juliana would not be surprised if many sorcerers had to forgo enjoying the view in the aether during the ceremony because of the distractingly painful glare from Brannis’s Source.
A tiny voice in her head had reminded her that Brannis was now really Kyrus, and that Brannis was off in Tellurak with Soria, but she had hushed it, and told the voice that it did not matter.
Juliana had tried to keep her focus on the ceremony itself, which had been thankfully brief. There were too many thoughts bubbling in her head. Aloisha’s accusation, or at least near-accusation, had been the first item to put her on edge. She had initially heard of the murders with a detached curiosity, the sort that comes easily when you can see no connection between an event and how it affects you. After the “chat” with Brannis’s sister, she had been trying to find a motive for the killings that would fit with the intrigues Aloisha hinted at or the machinations of the Megrenn, who had already tried two assassinations previously. Down by the waterfront, her seafaring acquaintances were no help to her state of mind, having all manner of theories on the deaths of the three sorcerers. The cryptic note and the emptiness of her bedchamber had only served to add a layer to the mystery; she just did not know quite what it was.
The crowd carried Juliana along toward the exits. She made no effort to speed the process, allowing herself to blend in among the sorcerers, dressed nearly identically in black, save a few rank insignia and the differences between men’s and women’s attire. Once the crowd oozed her out into the streets, she flowed to the edges of the group and disappeared down a side street.
Feast nights drew thieves and cutthroats like flies to a corpse. They lurked at the edges of crowds, waiting for errant merrymakers to wander away from the safety of guards and numbers. Juliana activated a shield once she was well away from the bulk of the realm’s sorcerers. After that, any cutthroat would merely pose a delay, a straightforward problem on a day where she had her fill of mysteries; an attack would have been a welcome diversion, a problem she knew exactly how to handle.
Despite her misgivings, the thieves and worse among the Kadris underworld were either lucky or smart that night. She arrived at the waterfront without incident, but was unfamiliar with the drydocks. Of all the parts of the waterfront, it was the place least in need of someone to oversee cargo arriving. There were only two places ships went where they never needed such an inspection: the drydocks where they originated, and the seafloor where they eventually all wound up.
There was more activity than she would have expected at so late an hour on a day of celebration. She would have expected the workers to be among the revelers drinking themselves stupid over the crowning of a new emperor. She did not know the names of any of the new ships that were being built, so she had to ask someone which the Daggerstrike was.
“The metal ship with no masts. You can’t miss it, girl,” one of them informed her.
When she found it, it looked even stranger than any airship she had seen so far. The modifications to most just involved a lot of runes, some extra rigging to keep crewmen from falling off as they pitched and rolled in the air, and a steering sail. The Daggerstrike looked like a ship dipped in molten metal, hot enough to burn away masts, rigging, and rudder. It looked incomplete, heavy, and unlikely to float either on water or in the air.
“There you are. Good. Quickly, get up here,” she heard Brannis call down from above.
She looked up and saw him on the deck, leaning over the railing. Juliana looked around, and found the gangplank. She took Brannis’s advice, and rushed up to meet him on the deck.
Brannis put his arm around her, and hurried her down belowdecks, lighting a soft blue light as they went. Juliana could not help but marvel at how nearly every metallic surface was covered in runes. Brannis pulled her into a room at the end of the corridor that turned out to be a bedchamber.
“Brannis, if this is what you wanted, you could—”
“No, it is not like that,” Brannis replied. “These are your new quarters.”
“My what?” Juliana shouted.
Brannis pantomimed quiet by patting his hands downward in the air. “Things here are going to get messy in Kadris very soon. You have seen a piece of the puzzle, unless you have been oblivious to the rumors about the murdered sorcerers. I am fairly certain that there is a civil war beginning. You are a perfect target for such intrigues,” Brannis said, holding up a hand that forestalled an objection before she could voice it. “I know, you take care of yourself far better than anyone here credits you with. That said, I have a good, legitimate use for those same skills. I have it worked out perfectly.”
“What perfect plan would that be?” Juliana asked. “I remember your ‘plan’ from Raynesdark, which—”
“No, that was Brannis’s plan,�
� Brannis said.
Kyrus! Juliana reminded herself. I keep telling you they are not the same.
“I have this thought through well enough. I want you to captain the Daggerstrike. I have no need of sailors on this ship, I have realized. This is a ship to be run by a sorcerer, or a sorceress in this particular case. I have written up all the appropriate orders to promote you to a naval captain, assign you a crew, and relieve you of your current Circle commitments.”
“I’m not certain you are authorized for all that,” Juliana replied, raising a skeptical eyebrow.
“That is the beauty of the plan. You are leaving tonight, not very long from now, in fact. By the time you are gone, you will be unreachable to rescind any orders. Before anyone can make any serious effort to recall you, I will have all the authority I need. Rashan arranged for Emperor Sommick to send him off to war; the bloodthirsty bastard cannot wait to free himself of the shackles of politics. He told me that he will arrange for me to be left in charge, to take his place tomorrow when he departs for Megrenn, or at least the parts of Kadrin that are under their control now.”
“Wait, what about the emperor? Rashan is free to go because there is an emperor now to take care of all the politics.”
“No, the emperor is a fool. Rashan wants me running things in his absence, not Emperor Sommick. I trust that he will arrange it so that happens.”
“What about this ship, then? I know nothing about captaining a ship, and this thing doesn’t look close to getting off the ground,” Juliana protested, knowing that it would not change anything. She loved hearing Brannis’s convoluted mental acrobatics. It was among her favorite things about him.