Highlords of Phaer (Empire of Masks Book 1)

by Brock Deskins

  A soul given freely carried twice the energy of one taken by force, and Amaia now brimmed with power. Soul sourcing was normally a complex ritual, usually carried out by touch and only against a single victim, but Amaia had spent decades learning this new form for just this eventuality. It was inefficient and taxing, but the net gain was worth it.

  The four remaining Ulec fell to the ground, their bodies desiccated as if mummified, the rictus of agony locked onto their dead faces. Amaia strode toward Nerea who looked on in shock at the destruction her foe had just wrought. Cobblestones broke free from the ground around Amaia’s feet and took up an orbit around her body as she fed power into them and cast them out.

  Nerea turned to flee, but an innervated stone struck just behind her, exploded, and sent her crashing into the side of a planter. She rolled across the dirt filling the vessel, fell behind the far side, and scrambled on hands and knees a moment before regaining her feet and sprinting away. She focused all of her power into a protective ward as the world around her became a hellish nightmare of tiny meteors shattering walkways and blasting apart planters and sculptures.

  Amaia chased her would-be assassin from the park, through the streets, and into the surrounding city, heedless of the damage she created. She sundered entire buildings, leaving ruin and death in her furious wake. Nerea, more knowledgeable about the city’s layout and putting all of her respectable power into flight, managed to elude the enraged preceptor until she was able to once again cloak herself in concealing magic and make her escape.

  No longer able to see or sense her prey, Amaia stormed back to her rickshaw. As she expected, she found her runners lying dead around the cart, two out of what appeared to be half a dozen attackers still standing nearby. The Ulec assassins saw Amaia’s return and rushed at her from the far side of the rickshaw where they had lain in wait. With a snarl of contempt, Amaia sent a lance of black power into one’s chest, felling him instantly. The other closed on her in just a few long strides and raised a macuahuitl over his head in preparation for cleaving her in twain.

  Amaia lunged forward, slapped her right hand against the Ulec’s rock-hard chest, and locked his muscles in place as if turning them to stone. She summoned a shadow blade to her left hand and ripped it upward through his crotch and out of the top of his bald, grey head, hewing him in two with no more effort than if she had run the ethereal blade through water.

  The two halves fell to each side like a split apple. Amaia cursed her lack of transport, stepped over the spreading gore, and made her way on foot across the city like a furious thunderstorm.

  CHAPTER 15

  Jareen and Auberon spent the next three days further refining the blasting powder and creating enough to provide a proper demonstration for Overlord Caelen Law. With a writ provided by Auberon, Jareen was able to enlist a pilot and two innervators from the guild at what he thought to be an exorbitant cost but was likely a pittance for Auberon.

  Several crewmen hauled the three barrels of blasting powder from the cart Jareen drove to the mooring yard and labored to carry them onto the airship and secure them in the hold. Gill had sent a dozen men with airship experience to act as crew. It was about a third of a full complement but sufficient for their needs. He hoped to recruit many more, as well as his own pilot and innervators, at a later date. If Jareen had any hope of wresting his people from the highlords’ iron grip, he would need thousands.

  “Good morning, gentlemen!” a cheery voice called out.

  Both men turned toward in the direction of the hail and watched Chief Inquisitor Quinlan’s head hove into view as he ascended the stairs leading up to the embarkation platform upon which they stood. Auberon’s face went slack so as not to betray a hint of emotion. Jareen succeeded in mimicking his master’s expression, but he could not still the hammering in his chest.

  “Chief Inquisitor, what brings you to my airship uninvited?” Auberon asked.

  Quinlan cocked his head and smiled. “Your airship? Is this not the Voulge, the crown jewel of Sah Driscoll’s fleet?”

  “It was but is now mine. My brother ceded it to me when he lost an ill-made wager.”

  “A wager risking his flagship? What sort of bet was it?”

  “The kind that is no concern of yours. Is there something in particular you needed, or did you merely come to see us off?”

  Quinlan locked his elbows and held his arms to his sides. “I understand you are going to Vulcrad. I require passage.”

  Auberon’s stoic visage cracked and a scowl crept onto his face. “Then find it elsewhere. This is not a passenger ship.”

  The inquisitor reached inside the breast of his light overcoat and produced a folded document. “I am still on official business on behalf of Highlord Nahuza. She has given me leave to travel on any vessel, and even commandeer one if necessary, to carry out my investigation.”

  Auberon’s lip twitched as he stared at the document but did not take it. “You may procure a bunk of your choosing. As this is a military vessel, quarters are primitive, and the ship’s two cabins are spoken for.”

  “Surely you would not place a slave’s accommodations above that of mine?”

  Auberon smiled. “Wouldn’t I?”

  “Sah Auberon, you should know that Highlord Nahuza will hear of any challenges to my authority, particularly those that would hinder my investigations, and will be most displeased with whoever attempts to obstruct them.”

  Auberon took a step forward, his lean frame towering over the inquisitor. “And you should know that once my business is concluded in Vulcrad, I will be of such a station that I could cut off your head, plant desert lilies in your eye sockets, send it to her as a tribute, and she would thank me for such a lovely gift. Tread warily, Chief Inquisitor. You have no idea with whom you are dealing.”

  Most men would have wilted beneath the formidable sorcerer’s fearsome gaze, but Quinlan locked his spine and met his eyes without flinching.

  “You certainly know how to pique a man’s curiosity, Sah Auberon. May I assume this apparent elevation in status has to do with your cargo? What business could possibly be more important than the attempted assassination of a highlord and the deaths of two of the emperor’s closest advisors?”

  Auberon took a step back but held Quinlan’s gaze. “My cargo and business in Vulcrad are also none of your affair. You have delayed me long enough, and I tire of your presence. Take your things and locate a vacant bunk.”

  Quinlan gave Auberon a perfunctory bow, lifted the satchel resting near his feet, and boarded the airship. Auberon glared at his back until he disappeared below decks.

  “You see, Jareen, this is why our class system is so important. Chief Inquisitor Quinlan is a prime example of what happens when one’s authority exceeds their birth status.”

  “Indeed, sah,” Jareen replied.

  “Watch him. His kind are not easily dissuaded, and I fear he may yet attempt to pry into my affairs. My mission’s secrecy is paramount if I am to make the greatest impression on Overlord Caelen and the emperor.”

  “Of course, sah.”

  ***

  “Our future relies on us moving forward,” Dante said, pressing his argument for the third time to the three councilmembers sitting before him. He had gotten their support to invade Eidolan, but they balked at openly deposing the harbinger.

  “Dante is right,” Gaizar said. “Idleness might not bring the swiftest death, but it will ensure it. Our forbears got lost in their complacency and confidence in their power. They refused to acknowledge and head off the threat that the lowborn and sorcerers posed until they grew too bold, too numerous, and too strong to defend against. If we continue to live by that example, we will surely suffer the same fate.”

  Councilwoman Aroha let out a long breath and shook her head. “But what you are proposing is thwarting Pherick, and not in defense, but to engage in an offensive operation that will undoubtedly result in numerous deaths.”

  “Since when have Necrophages shied away
from death?” Gaizar challenged her. “We welcome death, we embrace it, and twist it to serve our means. Death is the greatest source of our power!”

  “Others’ deaths!” she countered.

  “There will be plenty of that as well, far more than we shall experience. Those who fall will only make the survivors stronger until we crush the sorcerers and their mortal peasants.”

  “We do not even know if the tempest will continue to wane or why it is weakening now. Like Pherick said, it could be a ruse to draw us out so that the highlords can crush us once more.”

  Gaizar nodded. “Yes, that is possible, but it is more probable that it lessens so that they can send an army of their own here. Would you rather fight them in their cities or ours?”

  Aroha opened her mouth to issue a rebuttal, but the door crashed open and Amaia stomped in. Dante saw her disheveled countenance, torn robes, and the bruise spreading across one cheek and stood.

  “Amaia, what has occurred?”

  Amaia pushed his reaching arms away, leaned heavily on the table, and locked eyes with Gaizar. “You told me you were with me all the way. Does that still hold true?”

  Gaizar wagged his head, confused at what had come over Amaia. “Of course. I am committed to this.”

  “All the way, no matter what!”

  He nodded. “No matter what.”

  Amaia’s gaze traveled across the others in the room. “And you, are you committed to our cause?”

  The councilors exchanged worried looks and Aroha, who had taken it upon herself to be their spokesman, answered. “We are in agreement with your assessment, but going so far as to take this kind of stand against the harbinger is a delicate matter.”

  “There is nothing delicate about it,” Amaia said, her voice grating. “If you wish to live beyond tomorrow’s vote, you had best choose wisely. Now get out, all of you.”

  The three councilors glanced at each other before standing, glad to remove themselves from the dangerous tension in the room.

  Amaia stared down at Gaizar once more. “How many warriors can you get into the acropolis undetected?”

  Gaizar’s jaw worked up and down as he fought to decide whether to answer her or ask what had befallen. He settled on the former, feeling it wiser not to keep the agitated young woman waiting.

  “Perhaps a score. More than that would likely result in someone asking questions.”

  Amaia nodded. “That should be enough.”

  Dante stepped to her side and laid a hand on her arm. “Enough for what? Amaia, what happened?”

  “The meeting, it was an ambush.”

  “Weimar attacked you?”

  Amaia shook her head. “Nerea.”

  “Nerea, are you sure?”

  “I did not see her face, but I would bet my life it was her.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense!” Dante exclaimed.

  Gaizar cocked his head to one side. “Actually, it does. Our young lady here is rather renowned for her strength as well as her intelligence for one so young. Her eventual inclusion to the council is all but guaranteed. Pherick has been grooming Nerea for the position for a long time, but if she fails to ascend to the position before Amaia gains a seat, particularly if this invasion happens and is successful, she would be a real threat to her.”

  “You really think she would do something as foolish and reckless as attack Amaia in the street?” Dante asked.

  “She might, especially if someone she admired encouraged her to do so.”

  Dante clenched his fists. “Pherick, the coward, using someone else to try and do his dirty work.”

  Gaizar nodded. “Indeed, but perhaps lucky for us all that he did. I respect Amaia’s abilities a great deal, but she might not be standing here now had he chosen to deal with her himself.”

  “Well, I hope you managed to kill her. Then he will have one less vote supporting his position.”

  It was Amaia’s turn to shake her head. “No, she got away, and I am certain she will deny having anything to do with it.”

  Gaizar’s shoulders slumped. “Assuming both of your parents cast their votes in our favor, we still might not have enough to see us to victory. Our former supporters are balking at the risk to their positions should they openly oppose him and lose.”

  “It no longer matters,” Amaia insisted. “Pherick is done no matter how the vote turns out, I promise you. No one attacks me like this and gets away with it. I just need to know I can count on you and your warriors.”

  “You mean to launch a coup?” Gaizar asked. “You are determined to see us all dead, aren’t you?”

  “There will be death in that hall tomorrow, but it will not be ours as long as you do your part. If you hesitate, then we will surely perish. Pherick has crossed a line, and I am not afraid to step over it with him. If he is willing to take such actions to secure his position and control the future of our people, then I will do no less.”

  “What will you do? If more than half of the council opposes us, especially with Pherick’s power, how do you propose to defeat them all? I am certain Dante and I will defend you, but even those who vote with us are unlikely to strike at Pherick and may even turn against us.”

  “As long as they remain idle, I am confident of victory. If they defend him and the others, then I will need both of you to fight back with everything you have. Our people have grown soft. Dante and I have stayed true to the old ways and have not forgotten how to strike death and terror into our enemies. As for my plan, let me worry about that.”

  “And my warriors?”

  “They need to be ready to rush in to secure the council chambers until we restore order and legitimize the new council.”

  “You are certain of this course of action and are not making it purely out of anger?” Gaizar asked.

  “This is what will be. We may die on the council floor, but at least our deaths will be swift, and we will not suffer the slow decay of the rest of our people.”

  “All right then, you have my support until the very end, no matter what that end may bring.”

  Amaia let out the breath she only now realized she had been holding. “Good. Thank you, Gaizar. We could not do this without you. I need to prepare and there is little time.”

  “Amaia!” Dante called out as he ran after her and grabbed her by the arm. “Amaia, are you sure about this? Our little sparring matches are one thing, but you are talking about attacking the most powerful group of people in the city.”

  Amaia returned Dante’s worried look with a scowl. “I was always holding myself back on you, Dante. I will not show the harbinger such constraint.” She pulled her arm from Dante’s grasp and stormed from the room.

  CHAPTER 16

  Vulcrad was the city nearest to Velaroth but it still took four days to reach it. Auberon was so impatient to reach the empire’s mining capital that he forced the innervators to take turns relieving the pilot so he could get a few hours of sleep every day.

  It was not an unusual practice, but it resulted in the three most important crewmen having to work nearly sixteen hours a day. As exhausted as they were, their eight hours of sleep were barely enough to replenish their mental and arcane energy stores when it was time for them to return to their duties. Jareen had not given it much thought and now understood why most ships enlisted a copilot as well.

  Innervators, anyone with the ability to channel sorcerous power really, could point an airship in the proper direction and keep it sailing as long as they did not have to perform any challenging maneuvers or got hit with bad weather. He would not make such a mistake again. This was the shortest of several long voyages he would be making in the near future, so getting a full crew together was paramount.

  Jareen carried a heavy tray of food from the ship’s galley to Auberon’s room in the captain’s quarters. The dinner fare was nowhere near the quality to which he was accustomed, but it was still quite good coming from a military vessel’s stores, at least by Jareen’s standards.

  He knoc
ked before entering his master’s quarters, set the tray on a table bolted to the floor, and began removing the polished metal domes covering each entree. Scooping a portion from each dish, Jareen prepared a plate and poured a glass of wine.

  “Is there anything else, sah?” Jareen asked as he covered the remaining food.

  “Make yourself a plate and sit with me.”

  There was enough food there for at least three people to eat well, so Jareen served himself and sat across from his master.

  “Have you been watching Quinlan as I asked?”

  “I have. He spent most of the day wandering around deck and speaking to the crew.”

  Auberon cleared his throat and took a sip of wine. “About?”

  Jareen shrugged. “Mostly small talk from what I gathered, but I am certain he was fishing for information about our mission.”

  “Typical. I assume he learned nothing.”

  “There is nothing he could learn from the crew. While they all know where we are going, only you and I know why and what is in the hold.”

  “Good, and we shall keep—”

  Auberon bent at the waist as a wracking cough shook him. Jareen leapt up, raced to his side, and held a glass of wine to his lips. Auberon drank when his fit subsided enough to allow for it.

  “Are you all right, sah?”

  “It’s this damnable dust,” Auberon replied, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “My lungs are not accustomed to such irritants.”

  “I will make you a restorative when we reach Vulcrad. It will ease your suffering.”

  Auberon grinned up at his slave. “It will not make me go blind, will it?”

  Jareen forced his body not to betray the rage that instantly flared up within him, once again, thankful that his mask hid his face. “Of course not, sah. My son’s affliction was due to the fever induced by his malady, not my cure.”