Firehurler (Twinborn Trilogy) (81 page)

Chapter 38 - Solstice Feast

The halls of Solaran Estate felt different as Brannis
walked along its corridors. He had not long been Grand Marshal of the Imperial
Army when last he had been in his family’s ancestral home. Now the servants who
hurried about seemed more deferential; his relatives seemed to noticed his
presence and grant him acknowledgment when he passed them in the halls. He had
not realized just how diminished he had been in their eyes until he had finally
earned a position worthy of their respect.

The torrent of activity was due to preparations for
the Solstice celebration. Elsewhere in the Empire, Solstice had been observed
days ago, but Brannis had just arrived back from Raynesdark the night before,
having stayed long enough to ensure the orderly progress of the city’s repairs.
Initially he had not intended to stay long after the victory over the goblin
forces, but Duke Pellaton’s assassination had thrust him into the forefront of the
recovery planning.

Two nights after the Heroes’ Feast, as it was being
called, the duke had been found dead in his quarters with a goblin dagger in
his chest. A search had been launched to find and capture—or kill—the second
goblin assassin to have infiltrated the castle, but the skill of the second
assassin was greater than that of the first. Either that or the second assassin
had just chosen his victim more carefully and not tried to kill everyone in the
guest wing, as had seemed to be the plan of the one Juliana had caught and
killed.

After the duke’s death, his elder son Harwell had
inherited the title of Duke of Raynesdark. With the assassin undiscovered, he
was a wreck of nerves and little use to his people. Brannis had taken over the
day-to-day operations of the city with Mennon’s help, and arranged for the
repairs to be made to the walls and other damaged parts of the city. The
tradesmen of Raynesdark numbered few stonemasons among their brethren, given
that the city was thousands of summers old and was maintained by wards, not
manual labor. Little had needed to be repaired or built within the lifetime of
anyone in the Empire, so the skill was limited to those who had immigrated from
less ancient and warded parts of the Empire, and those who had learned to
practice new trades while in the city.

So Brannis had arranged for Mennon to contact the
stone folk. Living for centuries as neighbors since their mutual excavations
had run together, neither the folk of Raynesdark nor the stone folk had seemed
interested in engaging in close contact, other than occasional trade in dire
times. Brannis considered the times sufficiently dire to engage with the folk
again.

The stone folk proved to be tough negotiators but
straightforward in their manner. They were wide, stocky people, hairless and
covered in thick, hard skin that lent them the name Kadrins called them. They
spoke their own tongue, but it was based on the rune language, and in written
form Brannis could communicate enough to arrange with them what he needed. The
stone folk were all stonemasons in the manner that all humans are cooks. Not
all were expert in the working of stone, but all could manage to some degree,
and they had among their numbers those whose work was artistry itself.

The cost of all the repairs the city needed was to be
a majority share of the materials that had been gathered from Jadefire’s
corpse. Brannis found it appropriate that the beast whose predations cost the
city so much would be the source of their payment for rebuilding, with plenty
still to spare for the Empire’s own use.

Rashan had claimed choice bits of the creature for his
own personal use, namely fangs and claws, along with a selection of choice
scales from among the smallish ones near the joints. The rest he had allowed Brannis
to allocate as he saw fit, and Brannis had traded much of it away. The stone
folk had no interest in the flesh but coveted the bones and scales for their
armor. Brannis knew not of the conflicts among the races that dwelt deep
beneath the ground, but the stone folk were reputed to be fabulous armorers and
weapon-smiths, scoffing at Brannis’s warnings about the difficulty of working
the dragon-bits and their resistance to fire.

As for that dragon flesh, men who had eaten it had
largely grown sick. Raw meat sits well in few human stomachs, but those who
braved the delicacy and kept it down saw certain benefits. In the several days
Brannis had kept in the city, he had seen many a soldier impressing folk by
holding his hand over a flame with no ill effect. After such displays, a small
group devoted themselves to consuming as much of the dragon meat as they could
stomach, for as long as it lasted.

Brannis knew not what to make of that particular group
of culinary adventurers, but he wished them all the best and left them to their
curious choice of foods. Brannis had felt no different for his meal of dragon
and wanted no part in more of it.

*
* * * * * * *

“There you are. I looked over half the estate to find
you,” Brannis commented, spying Iridan on one of the balconies overlooking the
lake.

The young warlock in training was staring out at the
water. He did not turn to look at Brannis when he heard him call out.

“I was not hiding, if that is what you are driving
at,” Iridan replied. “I just came out here for the quiet. I always took
Solstice as a quiet holiday, with no feasting. What is going on inside there is
madness.”

“It does not sound like you are finding peace out
here, either. I can go,” Brannis said and then turned to leave Iridan to his
solitude.

“How do you deal with her?” Iridan asked, finally
turning toward Brannis.

Aha, the real reason he is out here alone
, thought Brannis.

“Everything I say to her comes out wrong, and it never
passes without comment. It does not matter if there are others about, she takes
every chance to diminish my dignity.”

“Well, first off, do not blame yourself for whatever
you say. She is good at twisting words and ascribing double meanings where none
were meant. She knows what you mean as well as you do, so do not let her fool
you into thinking you have offended her. There is
very
little that I
have found that truly offends her, and if she persists in harassing you, I just
might let you in on what a few of those are. It would be cruel, but on
occasion, she has to be reminded that she often is as well. I honestly think
that at times she forgets that,” Brannis said.

It felt odd putting Juliana’s person into so few
words. She was complicated, and even Brannis only understood her partially. She
often cried at night, or at least did when she was younger, and would angrily
deny having done so if it was ever mentioned. Brannis thought he knew her as
well as anyone, but it still did not explain the half of her. She was outwardly
aggressive and confident, but he had glimpsed beyond the façade a few times.
Iridan would too, in time, he was sure.

“She has taken me to her bed twice now,” Iridan
confided, his tone and sudden lack of eye contact making his embarrassment
obvious. “And when she lies atop me, I cannot help to think back to when she
would beat me up as a boy. She looks the same now as then, at least in the
face. I know it is foolish, but …”

“It
is
foolish. That was almost fifteen winters
ago. You are a grown man now, and she is a grown woman. She could not beat you
now if she tried.” Brannis tried to sound convincing, even if he would not have
laid good odds to anyone betting against Iridan in such a fight. “Besides,
Rashan sees a warlock when he looks at you. Maybe you should start seeing one
as well, and not remembering a time when you were the weaker one.”

“Well, maybe, but—”

“She is your problem now. Learn how to deal with her,”
Brannis advised. “I cannot be there to protect you from her anymore.”

Brannis continued on his departure, leaving Iridan to
ponder what to do about his future wife.

*
* * * * * * *

Brannis could not bear any longer to talk with Iridan
about Juliana.

She is your problem now. She has been my problem for a
long time, so it is about time someone else had to deal with her.

Brannis could not help Iridan in good faith, since he
still held on to the remote hope that Juliana would still be his. He just did
not know how. Somehow he thought that if he suggested they both abandon their
lives in the Empire and run off together, she would agree.

I am Grand Marshal of the Imperial Army. I am favored
by the warlock. Would I really give that all away just to be with her?

Brannis found himself greedy: he wanted to have her
and all the benefits of his rank and station as well. The decision might not
have been as simple as that, either. The warlock was unlikely to be kind in the
face of not only his desertion but also his interference in his son’s
betrothal.

The trip back from Raynesdark had been filled with
temptation as well. He well understood that Celia had been sent to him to
divert him from his interest in Juliana, but he had found himself drawn to her
regardless. There was a familiarity about her that Kyrus had felt with Abbiley.
She was unpretentious, witty, and easy to talk to. She even looked enough like
Abbiley that he found himself lusting after her, perhaps on Kyrus’s behalf.

He had objected when Rashan had suggested inviting her
to the Solstice celebration with the Solaran household. Brannis had won a tilt
against the warlock when he said he thought it ought to just be family present,
which would mean that Juliana would not be invited, either. It would give him
time with his family and relieve him from the headache of having the two most
life-complicating women he knew present at once. Even in the brief time they
had both been around, Brannis could not help but notice the enmity between the
two—or rather, the enmity that Juliana bore Celia.

*
* * * * * * *

By early afternoon, the festivities began outdoors at
Solaran Estate. Two games of yalter had begun on the grounds, one for the
children and one for the adults. Since Solstice was an event for the household,
and not just the family, both games were being played family versus the help.
While the kitchen staff was occupied with preparing the evening feast, there
were stable hands, porters, gardeners, stewards, and advisers, as well as their
own families, all eligible to play.

Upon the great stone terrace of the manor house sat
many of the elder members of the household and the women who felt the game too
rough for their sensibilities. They drank warmed cider and watched those at
play, commenting amongst themselves upon the game or holding discussions
unrelated. The common folk kept their own gathering, just outside the roped-off
fields of play, and were much more exuberant in their attention to the games.
Many looked forward to the yalter games at Solstice, and the delay for
Brannis’s return only increased their hunger for the event.

Brannis had always enjoyed the game. His family was
generally outmatched by their servants in the adult games, and he had been
playing amongst the elders since he was fourteen, trying to even the match in
the Solarans’ favor. The older a sorcerer grew, the greater the temptation to
leave physical tasks to others or just use magic to complete them. With the
strict ban on magic in the friendly games of yalter, this left the laborers of
the estate in greater position. A sorcerer in his fortieth summer might still
retain much of the vigor of youth, but not so much as a lad of twenty who wrangled
horses all day, or a courier whose days were naught but rushing about carrying
missives.

Brannis arrived late to the game and found his family
already hard pressed. He considered seating himself among the elders and
relaxing to watch the game, thinking that finally yalter might be beneath his
station. When the players caught sight of him, though, he was quickly disabused
of that notion.

“Brannis, there you are. Get over here, now,” his
sister Aloisha shouted from the playing field. “This is getting embarrassing.”

Aloisha was eight summers his senior and recently
appointed to the Inner Circle, and yet she was out on the yalter field, running
and sweating among the commoners and his other relatives. Brannis was
thankfully unarmored, safe as he was in his family’s own home, but he carried Avalanche
at his hip out of long habit of having a blade wherever he went. He unbuckled
his sword belt and left it on the terrace, then ran off to join the game.

*
* * * * * * *

“I forget at times how young he is,” Rashan commented
quietly to Axterion, who sat beside him watching the children’s game.

He had been pleased to learn that the old man was
still alive, though he had been in his forties when Rashan had left the Empire.
He had thought at the time he killed Gravis Archon that the last living person
who remembered him from his early days had died.

“Hmph. You look younger still. Looks lie. You are no
more an unblooded lad than you look, and Brannis is no more a boy than he
looks. Thinks too much to be a knight, if you ask me. Broods. Not so much as
that boy of yours, though. No, that one thinks the world watches him, and is
shamed by it.”

Axterion was in a lucid mood and liked having someone
older than him around. Though by rights he could have reclaimed the head position
in the household, Rashan had left the honor to Axterion, deferring to him in
matters of family. It seemed only fitting, since Axterion knew them all from
babes, and Rashan had only recently met most of them.