Firehurler (Twinborn Trilogy) (28 page)

There was much to be done but little work for
Ni’Hash’Tk herself. She settled down to enjoy the pampering of her priests. She
had planning to do, though, and hoped that it would all sort itself out before
she arrived. If they had a demon among them, she would prefer it show its
powers against her worshipers first, before she had to deal with it.

Chapter 16 - Some Explaining to Do

Towers rose in the distance, seen above the rooftops
of the small building that had been built outside the city walls. Kadris had
outgrown its wall long ago, and the Empire was secure enough that the populace
felt safe just being within sight of it. The buildings outside were a diverse
assortment of small shops, inns, and dwellings. As the city expanded as a
trading hub, the need for more places to put the vast number of visitors
outstripped the ability of the old city to provide.

Brannis could make out the Imperial Academy, various
noble houses, the largest among the watchtowers, and the Tower of
Contemplation, attached to the Imperial Palace. Iridan had told them they
needed to report there first, the morning after returning to the inn where the
rest of their small band had actually gotten a night’s sleep. Brannis was a
little worried about what he had been up all night discussing with the
sorcerers back home but trusted that Iridan had not cast him in too bad a
light.

On horseback, they had little trouble making their way
down the main thoroughfare of the outer city, as folks generally had the good
sense to clear a path for a dozen horses to pass. Had they been on foot, the
crowds would have made it difficult for them all to remain together. Men and women
of various kingdoms were in abundance, though still outnumbered tenfold by
local Kadrins. While much of the Empire was segregated by choice to either
native-born Kadrins or conquered peoples—with a fair number of loyal Kadrin
soldiers garrisoned among them—in a given city, the capital itself was quite
metropolitan by comparison. The architecture of the outer city was especially
worldly, with much of the more modern expansion coming via the developing trade
with lands across the seas—folk who had little historical reason to distrust
Kadrin, unlike many of their continental neighbors, most of whom either warred
with Kadrin or had been conquered by them sometime in the past few hundred
winters.

Brannis rode at the head of the group, followed by
Iridan and Sir Lugren. Rashan rode in the middle of the conscripts, not wanting
to draw undue attention to himself quite yet. The city gates stood wide open
and, as a sign of Kadrin power, were never closed, so certain was the city of
its defenses. There was, however, a token force of guards at the gate and, on
this particular occasion, a herald.

“Hold and be recognized!” came the herald’s shout as
they approached.

Brannis drew up just short of the guards and their
brandished halberds.
This is apparently going to be a formal affair
,
Brannis mused. The herald was dressed in white finery, with a pinched face and
sporting long blond hair and tiny spectacles, giving the impression of a white
mouse that had learned to read. He carried a scroll, held open before him.

“I am Sir Brannis Solaran, commander of the Eighth
Battalion, returning from investigating Kelvie Forest,” Brannis replied.

“I am Sir Lugren Malchea, serving under Sir Brannis.”
Lugren’s reply was the most he had spoken in a week.

“I am Iridan Korian, Fourth Circle,” Iridan said.

“I am Tod Hellet—” Tod began, but the herald cut him
off with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“Sir Brannis, Sorcerer Iridan, you are hereby ordered
to accompany me to the Tower of Contemplation and answer the questions of the
Inner Circle. Sir Lugren, and the rest of you, please dismount and accompany
these guards to Imperial Army command,” the herald said matter-of-factly and
then closed the scroll.

“No.”

“What was that?” the herald demanded. He carried
orders directly from the Inner Circle and no doubt was aghast at having been
contradicted.

“I am Rashan Solaran,” a voice from the middle of the
pack said evenly, and a horse rode to the front, “Warlock of the Empire, High
Sorcerer, and the blood-stained right hand of the emperor. I will see the Inner
Circle, and I will take orders from none but the emperor himself.”

Rashan stopped his horse just short of the herald. The
tidy, fussy man who had initially been outraged was now petrified with fear.
Unarmed and dressed in poorly made clothes, Rashan’s presence was still
unnerving.

“Do you understand?”

“Yes,” came the meek reply.

Brannis wondered whether some magic was at work to so
cow the man, or if he was just familiar enough with the busts decorating the
Academy and the Tower of Contemplation that he was familiar with the face of
the warlock.

Am I the only one who is not convinced?
Brannis wondered.

*
* * * * * * *

Rashan had left orders, and made the herald confirm
them with the Circle’s borrowed authority, that the soldiers and Sir Lugren be
taken instead to The Harp and Lute, a rather pricey inn that had been in
business since his own time. The herald had a horse tied nearby, and the four
of them—Rashan, Brannis, Iridan, and the herald himself—rode across the city in
silence; three of them seemed worried.

The streets were crowded, but the path before them
always seemed open. Slightly suspicious, Iridan focused on the aether for a
moment and saw why: Rashan was using magic to gently push aside anyone who came
near to getting in their way.

“Kemu nantalo chanisi quega,”
Iridan muttered, and touched the index finger of each
hand to the palm of the other.

“
What are you doing?
” Iridan spoke
telepathically to Rashan.

“Making this into a procession,
”
came the
reply.

“You are going to start trouble. Please stop.”

“
I am drawing attention, but there will be no
trouble. I want people to know I have returned. When the rumors begin, I want
plenty to have borne witness,
” and with that, the communication was cut
short. Iridan was not sure how Rashan had managed that, but if he wanted to
contact the old demon again, he would have to work the spell a second time.

When they arrived at the Tower, the herald led them
around to the side entrance. There were two main entries to the Tower of
Contemplation, one through the palace itself and the other was the way they
were taking. The Tower was a masterpiece of magical architecture. Like the rest
of the palace, it was built of Ghelkan marble, mostly black with highlights of
green streaked through it. The whole of the palace was also accented with
filigree and statuary, and silver-capped towers of smaller height. The Tower of
Contemplation was carved with runes of old protective spells, shielding the
sorcerers of the Imperial Circle from enemies of magical power both near and
far; the runes could turn aside mighty spells and prevent spying.

As they dismounted and allowed stable boys to take the
reins of their horses, Brannis could not help but wonder anew at its beauty. He
was born and raised in Kadris, but he spent much time away. It was easy to
forget how wondrous the capital could appear. Iridan also could not help but
take in the sight of his order’s seat of power, having only been up close a few
times and only inside even fewer. The Circle’s herald barely gave the Tower a
second glance, having just come from it earlier in the day, and having been in
and out of it a dozen times a week for many long summers. Rashan, however,
stopped entirely. He looked up, and his gaze swept each balcony, each carved
gargoyle, every rune, and all the greenish swirls of the exotic marble. Brannis
thought he might be harboring second thoughts about bullying his way in to see
the Inner Circle, but Iridan thought he seemed more wistful.

When they finally did enter, the guards did not budge
to challenge them. Brannis suspected, though he had no way to look into the
aether to tell, that their overly stiff posture was due to Rashan holding them
at their posts by magical means. A sweeping set of stairs circled almost
endlessly upward around the circumference of the main chamber of the Tower, the
ceiling of which was obscured in shadow over a hundred feet above them. Rashan
took the lead, marching straight for the middle of the room. Brannis and Iridan
followed. The herald remained behind as the three of them began to rise on a
platform that formed itself beneath them out of nothing but aether. While
Rashan had been the one to activate it, it was not his magic that was at work.
It was an accommodation for the many elders among the Circle, for whom the
number of stairs was daunting if not entirely impossible. The levitation
platforms let the older sorcerers attend Circle meetings without needing their
own magic to ascend the stairs. It was in very poor taste for young,
able-bodied sorcerers of the Third Circle and below to use them.

As they gently ascended, Iridan leaned close to
Rashan. “Do you think you might have changed clothes? You … You do not quite
look the part at the moment,” he whispered to the purported warlock.

“I am just hoping he does not decide to kill them
all,” Brannis muttered under his breath.

He panicked, though, as Rashan chuckled; he had not
actually intended to speak that aloud. Rashan did not answer either of them,
however, and kept to himself as they rose.

As the platform made its way up toward the topmost
levels of the tower, they drew curious stares from those on the landings and on
the stairs who were going about their daily business in service to the Circle.
Clerks and scribes, messengers and sorcerers, all bustled about, entering and
leaving the various chambers and corridors that branched off from the landings
at each level. The sight of the three travelers was extraordinary enough that
much work was interrupted to gossip about the unusual visitors.

Brannis had not really stopped to think about it at
first, but Rashan’s shabby attire was probably low among their interests. Here
Brannis was, still dusty from the road, armored and bearing a magical weapon.
It was the last that he regretted. Had the herald not been so disconcerted by
Rashan’s bullying, he likely would have disarmed Brannis, or at least required
him to leave the sword below. Brannis fingered the dragon-sculpted hilt of Massacre
and wondered if he might be able to leave it with the guards who would be
stationed outside the Inner Circle’s Sanctum.

Brannis’s musings did not have long to fester and gnaw
at him with worry. If the Inner Circle was going to feel threatened by his
sword, so be it, because as soon as they reached the top of the inner chamber
of the tower, Rashan strode off. There was naught else at the landing but a
short corridor leading to the stairs up into the Sanctum. A pair of imperial
guards flanked the bottom of the stairs. Each wielded a weapon like a trident,
with the center tine greatly shorter than the outer two. Neither of them so
much as flinched as the three approached, and even Brannis had caught on as to
why.

I suppose they would not do much good taking custody
of it anyway
, Brannis reflected,
consciously removing his hand from the hilt of Massacre and assuming a normal
gait.

The stairs led up into the Sanctum proper. They
emerged at the lower circle, a great, ornate chamber with a floor inlaid with
runes of protection, both from physical harm and from more subtle invasions
against the privacy of the proceedings. Around the walls of the chamber were
portraits and busts showing past high sorcerers, set into shallow alcoves in
the stone. Iridan could feel the faint hum of harnessed aether, both from the
room’s wards as well as from the members of the Inner Circle and the various
protections they carried.

The Sanctum had a mezzanine level all around. A
complete circle was formed of twelve seats behind a chest-high wall, with stone
desks hidden from view below. Those seats held the twelve members of the Inner
Circle itself. Each had a commanding and imposing view of those stranded below
in the lower circle, who by their lack of a seat above were already deemed to
be lower in rank to the Inner Circle—only the emperor could command them, and
the emperor did not petition at the Sanctum but would hold audience in the
palace itself.

There were faint noises of surprise as Rashan entered
ahead of Iridan, with Brannis following in lastly. The assembled sorcerers had
not been prepared for their guests to have arrived already.

“Markham, what is this? You had not leave to bring
them in yet! Markham?” called Gravis Archon, High Sorcerer of the Kadrin
Empire, seated directly opposite the entrance, looking down at them.

Even seated, it was clear he was a tall man, gaunt,
with intense green eyes. His hair was streaked through with grey, but his
narrow face was only slightly wrinkled. He appeared to be a man in his late
fifties, though really he was more than double that age. Like all the rest of
the Inner Circle, he wore black robes trimmed with red and gold; neither
insignia nor regalia marked him as the leader.

When there was no response, and after a somewhat
uncomfortable pause, Iridan spoke up: “High Sorcerer, the herald remained
below. He gave no reason but did not follow on the lifting disc,” his voice
quiet and meek.

“I shall deal with that later,” Gravis harrumphed.
“So, Iridan Korian, you have returned to us safely and reported on troubling
goblin activity in the vicinity of Kelvie Forest. Caladris has passed along the
information you have shared with him already.” Gravis nodded in acknowledgment
of Caladris Solaran, seated three seats to his left. “We will, of course, be
interested in further details, especially on two subjects. Firstly, we would
like to hear Sir Brannis’s account of the events you described. By your own
admission, you were incapacitated in battle and did not recover for some days
thereafter.