Firehurler (Twinborn Trilogy) (22 page)

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The Imperial Circle’s home in Pevett was a hexagonal
granite tower of modest size, rising to a copper dome three stories up. The
tower was surrounded by a wrought-iron fence of ornate design, artfully
distracting from the spikes at its top. The gate stood open, allowing
convenient access to the cobbled path to the main door. There was no hitching
post out front, so Iridan tied his horse’s reigns to the fence.

Iridan took the path at a slow walk, taking in the
carefully manicured grass and small flowers that made up the courtyard that
surrounded the tower. Though admittedly he had not seen the lord’s keep on the
other side of the town, it was the only landscaped part of Pevett he had seen.
Stone benches and tables were interspersed across the grounds but were
unoccupied. The hour was growing late, and if anyone had partaken of the
pleasant autumn weather, they had already sought shelter from the chill that
dusk was already beginning to bring.

The door at the end of the path stood atop three wide
stone steps and was a massive thing of carved panels, stained a deep
reddish-black with brass adornments at the edges where time and use might have
otherwise worn it. Iridan imagined that it was probably oak, but he was no good
with trees and what their wood looked like. There was no guard posted outside,
since no one with any sense would trespass on the Imperial Circle’s land.
Carved in the stone above the door was the motto “Herein Lies Power,” written
in the syllables of arcane text. He took hold of the ogre-headed knocker and
rapped thrice on the door—
thock, thock, thock
.

A moment passed and Iridan waited before the door
finally opened, revealing a middle-aged servant dressed in a tidy brown tunic
and trousers, bearing a small emblem denoting service to the Circle: a small
lightning bolt within a flame, stitched in yellow thread, meant to look gold at
a casual glance. The servant’s hair was grey and only ringed the periphery of
his head. He wore a tiny pair of spectacles and appeared rather scholarly.

“Greetings, young man. What business brings you here?”
the servant asked.

He glanced up and down at Iridan, which reminded
Iridan that he was dressed most intentionally
not
to look like a
sorcerer, given the hazards of his recent assignment.

“My name is Iridan Korian, Fourth Circle. I am
returning from an assignment with an army regiment scouting beyond the Cloud
Wall Mountains in Kelvie Forest. This is the first town we have come to that
has a speaking stone, and I would be obliged if I could make use of it.”

Iridian knew his rank of Fourth Circle was enough to
at least garner a modicum of respect from someone who would realize that it was
rather an advanced position for someone of his apparent age, though with
sorcerers, trying to determine age by sight could be misleading.

“Oh, and I might ask if I could trouble your
hospitality for a change of uniform. I was deployed to be inconspicuous among
the soldiers I accompanied.”

“Well, enter then, Iridan Korian. I will announce you
to the master of Pevett Tower, Haridiar Stellarus of the Second Circle. You may
make your requests of him. In the meantime, avail yourself of a late repast in
the dining hall.”

The servant clapped his hands, and a younger man, no
larger than Iridan, came from around a corner so quickly he must have been
awaiting his summons.

“Geofard,” the servant said, “take our guest to the
dining hall and see if the cook has kept something warm for him to sup on.”

With that, the servant bowed quickly and turned to
depart, leaving Iridan to Geofard’s care. The young man led Iridan to a small
but elegant room with a polished wood table, lit by magic, as would be the case
all throughout the tower, he knew. Sorcerers left few opportunities unexploited
when it came to using their magic to make their homes more comfortable.
Lighting that would react to a mere gesture or word was too dear a luxury for
many to consider lighting with candles.

The boy mumbled a few pleasantries and trundled off to
presumably get him some dinner. Iridan had not come with the thought of a free
meal in mind but found he was hungry enough not to argue, and expected that the
sorcerers of Pevett were unlikely to deny themselves a fine kitchen staff.

Iridan’s conjecture bore out, and he was halfway
through a fine venison stew when the master of the tower arrived. The man was
taller than Iridan by a head and built like a merchant. That is to say, he was
rotund and looked unfamiliar with the concepts of fresh air and manual labor.

“So, back from the borderlands, I hear.” Haridiar
stalked across the room to clasp hands with Iridan as the latter quickly set
down his spoon and stood to meet his superior. “Good lad. Way to make a name
for yourself, hold one over the heads of all those pompous fools who think they
will learn all about magic sniffing at the same aether from dawn to dusk.
Haridiar Stellarus, Master of Pevett Tower.”

“Iridan Korian, Fourth Circle, sir. Thank you for your
hospitality,” Iridan responded. He was about to continue, but Haridiar was
quicker.

“So my man Delft says you have a favor to ask, want to
use our speaking stone, is that so?” he asked.

“Well, we had sent a report back via an enspelled
bird, you see, but we have no means of ensuring our message was received and
understood. I would be much reassured if I was to know our warning had been
heeded.”

“‘Warning,’ you say? What sort of warning? Things not
all flowers and tea cakes in the borderlands?” Haridiar’s already considerable
interest in Iridan seemed to suddenly grew.

“No, sir, not at all. I accompanied one hundred men,
ten of them knights, into Kelvie Forest. Two other commands of similar size went
as well and spread out to investigate reports of goblin activity. Fifteen
remain now, including myself, and of the other two commands, we believe all are
lost save two we rescued in the wood; they are included among the fifteen.

“We also picked up a traveler, a woodland hermit who
gave us shelter and aided in healing a bad case of aether burn I suffered in
battle. We head on to Kadris come morning, and I had hoped to convey all this
to someone in the Inner Circle before we depart.”

“Well, that’s quite disturbing.” Haridiar’s face grew
pale. “Nearly three hundred lost. I presume the other groups had a sorcerer
assigned them as well? Do you know their names—the ones the Circle may have
lost?”

“One was Kelurian Donarte, Fifth Circle, I believe.
The other was Randul of Sarcen, Fourth Circle. I do not believe any others were
assigned to the expedition. We have no physical evidence of their demise, but
we strongly suspect it.”

Iridan was glad that Haridiar was more concerned about
his fellow sorcerers than about finding out details about their newest
acquaintance. He was not sure how to truthfully give the tale without making
himself out to be a fool or half crazed. Had he thought Rashan was lying, he
could give a faithful account without casting his own credibility into doubt,
but he was fairly convinced that Rashan was who he claimed to be. Let Brannis
be the skeptic; Iridan
wanted
to believe.

“Terrible tragedy. Terrible tragedy.” The master of
Pevett Tower shook his head sadly. “By all means, take your leisure with the
speaking stone. I shall leave orders that you are not to be disturbed. Until
you are given leave by the Inner Circle, I will ask no further details of you.
You have sated my curiosity enough that I can in good conscience allow you
access to our stone. I shall press for no details that you may not be at
liberty to divulge.” Haridiar gave Iridan a wink. “Come right this way. Follow
me.”

And with that, he headed for the stairs. Iridan
followed close behind. Down they went, two levels underground, the stone walls
smooth and well cared for at either side of them as they descended. A fine rug
hugged the middle of each stairway, thick reddish-purple fabric deadening their
footfalls and reducing the echo of the stone stairwell. The sorcerers in Pevett
clearly took excellent care of their home.

Haridiar stopped before a door marked “Room of Words”
in arcane text.
“Geknu feroll benah,”
he intoned and then made a series
of twisting motions with his fingers and wrists.

Iridan watched in the aether as the wards protecting
the door unraveled. It was a common enough spell, but to unlock a particular
ward required either knowing the correct gestures to pull it apart, or long
hours of guesswork figuring them out. Iridan was not sure he had seen what
Haridiar had done well enough to copy it, should he have the need.

“Do not worry. I shall leave it unwarded behind you.
My sorcerers and servants alike are trustworthy and will leave you in peace.”

With that, Haridiar left Iridan to enter the Room of
Words.

The room itself was sparse. A stone table stood in the
center of the octagonal room, an O-shaped rug encircling it. Four
comfortable-looking high-backed chairs surrounded the table, with padded seats,
backs, and arms. Set into the surface of the table was a geodesic sphere of
glass. While the glass itself was of ordinary, though excellent craftsmanship,
it was enchanted to communicate across vast distances with others like it.

Iridan would be trying to contact Kadris, where the
Imperial Circle had their own speaking stone. He had no idea who might be
attending to one at such an hour, but someone would be. He walked over to one
of the chairs and sat down. He took a deep breath to calm his thoughts and
reached out with both hands, laying them on the stone.

Woooom!

The stone pulsed with aether, causing a moment of
dizziness to Iridan as he accustomed himself to the link. Tendrils drifted far
off into the vastness of the aether, and as Iridan envisioned Kadris and the
tower of the palace that the Inner Circle called home, the tendrils veered off
in the direction of the Empire’s capital.

Iridan lost some sense of perspective as he could
simultaneously perceive his backside cushioned on the seat of a chair in Pevett
while his mind felt like it was suspended in the aether halfway to Kadris.
After what seemed to be just a moment or two, he heard a voice echo in the
aether.

“Who is this?”
the brusque voice came clearly enough, though the echo would make it hard to
identify someone by voice. It was clearly male, though.
“That had best not
be you again, Haridiar. I shall make my move when I make it. I will not let you
harangue me into making a mistake.”

“Um, no, this is Iridan Korian, Fourth Circle. To whom
am I speaking, if I might ask?” Iridan spoke aloud, knowing that his voice was
carrying across the aether as well.

“I am Caladris Solaran, boy. You were sent to Kelvie
Forest with my nephew,”
the voice
responded.

Caladris had no need to identify himself by Circle; he
was Inner Circle. All sorcerers in the Empire knew who the twelve members of
the Inner Circle were. It would have been almost pompous of Caladris to dangle
his rank about when he knew Iridan was well aware of it … which is why it
surprised Iridan slightly that he had not done so. Brannis’s kin were not known
for their humility.

“Why are you using the Pevett Tower speaking stone?”
Caladris asked.
“Have you news? We received a
messenger bird, but it told little.”

“Well, that relieves me greatly. The first thing I had
wanted to do was confirm that the Circle had received our warning. We were
nearly wiped out. Goblins overran our camp. We believe they followed the
survivors of Sir Ferren Jessair’s command; his was wiped out as well, and there
were but two survivors, sentries who had been cut off from the fighting. Of Sir
Dennever Taldeen’s force, we had heard nothing and suspect the worst.”

Iridan was sweating. It was not so much the exertion
of the speaking stone link—that was rather undemanding—but rather the fact that
he was having this conversation with Caladris Solaran of the Inner Circle …

… and eventually he would have to mention the one
member of their entourage that was going to be uncomfortable to explain.

“Tragic. Kelurian and Randul were their sorcerers, at
least for the expedition. I suppose neither of them survived.”
There was a long sigh from Caladris, who seemed
genuinely mournful.
“How did you manage to escape their fate? Was it by
trick or fortune that you survived when so many others did not?”

“We were victorious, after a fashion. We had deduced
after one of the fugitive sentries arrived that he would have been followed, if
not directly, then at least tracked to us. Sir Brannis had us dig in and ambush
them as best we could. The losses on both sides were staggering, but I do not
think more than a handful of their assault force survived to flee,” Iridan
said.

He felt a small swell of pride for the first time
since the battle, considering how his actions had helped ensure their survival.
He had not really given much thought to how the other two Kadrin forces had
been destroyed utterly, and how they had actually prevailed, albeit at a
terrible price.

“And what did
you
do in this great battle? You were sent in support of Sir Brannis’s command, but
if it was as wiggly a spot as you describe, I suppose you must have intervened.
How did you represent yourself? Did you give a good and professional
accounting, a credit to the Circle? We will have reports from the others, and
your stories will be checked against one another …”
Caladris trailed off
ominously.