Sourcethief (Book 3) (17 page)

"I was empowering my speaking stone,"
Kyrus began. "I ran into some difficulties on the innermost layer of the
rune structure."

"It was sabotaged." Celia spoke before
Kyrus could elaborate and he snapped his head down to look at her, surprised by
her assessment.

"What?" Kyrus asked. "Sabotaged
how?"

"That flaw within the final rune. It trapped
you into pouring too much aether into the crystal. Whoever did that must have
wanted the device to explode, not simply fail. The damage was too well hidden;
there was no way Brannis could have realized until it was too late."

"You saw this?" Rashan asked her. He
reached a point next to the recumbent pair, and towered over Kyrus.

"It became obvious."

"I had no idea you were so adept with
runes," Rashan observed.

"Well—" Kyrus began.

"It was glowing like dawnfire," Celia
said.

Rashan looked to Kyrus who was lying amid the rubble
he had created and clothed in rags. He fixed Kyrus with a withering, pitying
glare.

"So firehurler, you have botched this one quite
well. What made you think the stone needed more aether when it was refusing all
advancement? Did you think you would recarve the runes within as you
went?"

"It had always worked before," Kyrus
replied, but he knew it to be a lame excuse even as he offered it. He tried to
shrug, but found his circumstances greatly inconvenienced by Celia lying atop
him.

"How did you manage to survive the blast
yourself?"

"Celia warned me. I drew as much into my
shielding spell as I could before the crystal shattered."

"See, Brannis? I told you shields worked well
against hurled fire. That essentially is what the blast was."

Rashan turned to the wary crowd. It was full of
staring eyes and idle hands.

"Get to work. There will be a gold lion for
each body pulled free, ten for anyone brought out alive. Get to it!"

"I know who did it," Celia said. "Or
at least, I can narrow it to two."

"What two?" Rashan leaned closer, a
viper's smile leering down at Celia. She did not flinch at his sudden
closeness.

"Dolvaen or Caladris," she replied.

"What?" Kyrus and Rashan exclaimed in
unison.

"Neither would have done the deed themselves,
but they are the ones to whom all trails lead. Dolvaen opposes you from across
the open plains of battle; Caladris opposes you from your own left hand."

"You have evidence of this?" Rashan asked.

"Of course. Brannis can act as witness."

Kyrus felt a chill as the blood drained from his
face, as well as his brain, stomach, and extremities.
I am a dead man. Thank
you, Celia. If you were twinborn I would have Brannis march over and strangle
you myself.
Kyrus managed to confuse himself even in his despairing
thoughts.

"Brannis, you know of this?" Rashan's eyes
narrowed, boring into him, searching for deception.
Undone by my own deeds.
Better than getting caught lying for those two vipers.

"Yes," he admitted.

"And what part did you play in this?" The
tone was neutral to Kyrus's ear but he watched the warlock for signs of a
sudden draw just in case. Heavens Cry was of token concern.

"Yours," Kyrus replied. "They both
sought my aid in overthrowing you, being of the opinion— rightly I must
say—that you rule Kadrin rather than Emperor Sommick."

"Indeed." Rashan's eyebrows raised. A
small grin accompanied it.
Amusement, or trap?

"So long as neither side received my aid,
neither would act. I had but to persist in hedging to get Dolvaen to divulge
more of his plan. Caladris was cagier. I was not even sure Celia knew of his
crossways dealings," Kyrus finished.
That felt good. What was that
Axterion said about truth always being best? Blasted old fool is wiser than all
of them.

"Highly enlightening. Brannis, I must thank
you. I have put you under more burden than I realized, and you have managed
admirably. For the time being, I feel I must restore some measure of sanity by
personal artifice. I will hold a meeting in the Inner Sanctum in an hour's time
or whenever all the Inner Circle can be roused. I shall order the summons. Just
clean yourselves and be present ... both of you."

Rashan's rant had the rolling momentum of a seasoned
politician, with no civil spot to break in for comment. Even as he finished,
Rashan bounded off for the palace before Kyrus could form a question.

"This ought to be fun," Celia muttered.
She was close enough that Kyrus could feel her breath on his neck.

"Why did you sell Caladris's name along with
Dolvaen's? You have no traitors left to bargain with."

"It was that or lose you once one of them used
this as leverage to goad you into conflict with Rashan. You're no good at this
Kyrus, much as you try to be. You've got more raw power than I can fathom. But
at the same time, you're a menace because your little mistakes level buildings.
Rashan's afraid of you, you know. If you prove yourself too uncontrollable,
he'll kill you. Not try, just kill you."

"I somehow doubt—"

"No, he toys with armies. Don't finish that
thought. Follow my lead and let Rashan take care of business how he sees fit.
Become his true ally, and Kadrin will be safe and prosperous."

"Why?" It all seemed so convoluted. Kyrus
had kept up as best he could, but Celia was thrice a puzzle.

"Because if I left things alone, I'd wind up
married off to Caladris as a favor somewhere in the near future," Celia
said. Kyrus was about to contradict her, but she cut him off. "I know,
ruse within ruse. I fancy you well enough Kyrus, but we both know you just bide
your time with me. Rashan will be mine and you can have your feral one, when
she wanders home. You wouldn't," Celia appeared to struggle for a word,
"settle for me."

Kyrus swallowed.
She knows. She figured it all.

"Deal."

* * * * * * *
*

"I may have only just been fitted for this
crown sirs, but I find that this is below my station. I am not to be summoned
in the middle of the night to stand in the middle of this ... this ... room of
yours," Sommick said. He was standing between Celia and Kyrus, the only
others not seated up in the row of Inner Circle sorcerers.

"We pried you from between two whores, Your
Highness. Your business hardly seemed pressing," Rashan replied, drawing a
chorus of chuckles. It broke a mood that had been understandably tense given
the warlock's surprise return and urgent, dark-hours meeting.

"They were daughters of Hallimere and
Pellaton," Sommick protested, drawing himself up to his most erect
posture. The seats of the Inner Circle still towered well overhead,
unimpressed.

"Only the finest for you, Your Highness,"
Rashan mocked. "Now if we can dispense with the pleasantries, I will cut
to the meat of this meeting. I would like to discuss a sword." Rashan slid
Heavens Cry from its sheath, cradling it across his upturned palms. He paused
long enough for all eyes to fix upon it.

As everyone watched, he took the sword by the hilt.
With a sudden burst of motion he skewered Dolvaen Lurien through the heart,
crackling through his weak shielding spell.

A riot erupted as Inner Circle members made
themselves as scarce as possible without leaving the chamber.

"Sit!" Rashan snapped. He drew a dripping
blade from Dolvaen's body. "Caladris, would you say that justice was just
done?" he asked.

"Yes, Warlock Rashan," Caladris answered
with a shaking voice.

"Excellent."

Rashan turned then to Caladris but the duplicitous
sorcerer was not caught unawares as Dolvaen had been. A shielding spell stopped
the first strike of Heavens Cry. Before a second could follow, an arc of
lightning issued forth from Caladris's fingertips. Rashan was thrown bodily
across the chamber and staked to the wall by the force of the blast as a
secondary arc snapped and spat along the stonework.

Kyrus put himself in front of Celia and Sommick who
cowered next to her .
So much for wards in this chamber preventing violence.
Either they have been damaged, or they never existed.

Taking care for how strongly he drew with the
emperor so near, Kyrus reinforced his own shielding spell, putting a layer of
aether between the combatants and where the emperor and Celia took shelter. The
maneuver stole much of the free aether from the room, and Caladris, who had
already taxed himself to his limit, could no longer hold the demon at bay.
Rashan ran him through.

One by one, Rashan asked Celia's verdict on each of
the Inner Circle. Only Aloisha and Fenris were spared.

"You see, Princess Shiann, we cannot defend all
the towns and villages," General Kaynnyn Bal-Tagga said. "We must
begin moving the people to larger cities, especially Lon Mai. This will be our
stronghold."

"She is right, Your Highness," a man in
military regalia agreed. His starched red uniform and gold epaulettes marked
him as a Ghelkan general. "There is no way to safeguard the
populace."

"For how long? How long do we empty the
countryside and force our people to live in the overcrowded cities?"
Princess Shiann asked. She turned from the planning table which was spread with
maps marked with the locations of Ghelkan troops, and began a slow circuit of
the room, fixing her attention to the portraits that hung on the wall encircling
the war council. "Ten days? A season? Five winters? With farmers away from
their fields, the land will lie fallow and any crops already planted will rot
or feed our enemies. Worse yet, how will the cities feed so many refugees.
Where would this food come from if the farmers are beggaring themselves in the
streets?"

"There will be hardship, princess,"
General Bal-Tagga said. She spread a pudgy, ringed hand across the map of
Ghelk. "But these lands are all battlefields and should be treated as
such. That Kadrin demon and his airships can arrive anywhere at any time."

"Yes, but will he? Here he will find his
nemesis reborn in our crypts. Even now, Grand Sorcerer Jinzan Fehr dons the
mantle once worn by Loramar. Councilor Fehr even has that staff of his, a boon
Loramar did not. The demon cannot be certain of his power. That uncertainty
makes me wonder whether he would rather parlay with us than invade. Let him
think us like the dragons. Let him fear our power within our own lair."

"Princess, do you read Kadrin well?"
General Bal-Tagga asked, her eyes downcast. The question bordered on the
disrespectful.

"Of course," Princess Shiann said, “I was
tutored by the finest sages in Ghelk.” She pursed her lips, gracing the Megrenn
Councilor with an expectant glare.

"If a copy can be found, I believe that reading
The Diplomacy of Fire and Steel
would change your mind. ‘Let nobody live
after they try to kill you,’" General Bal-Tagga said. She shook her head.
"I wish I could believe he would let it pass, but Ghelk supplied sorcerers
for the war and even a few troops. You have offered violence. It is only a
matter of time now."

There was a clamoring of guards outside. Raised
voices came muddled through the chamber door and the assembled generals and
Princess Shiann stopped their deliberations. There was a knock before the outer
door opened.

"Your Highness, forgive the intrusion. She
insisted on—"

Nakah Fehr pushed her way past the guard. "Why
am I being kept from seeing my husband?"

Only one pair of eyes would meet Nakah's gaze.

"He is needed," Princess Shiann answered.
"The comforts of flesh and family will distract him. His mind is set upon
a task, and it is a gruesome path he takes to reach it."

"I want to see him," Nakah insisted. She
crossed her arms, attempting to stare down the princess. Shiann's eyes never
faltered.

"No."

"I—" Nakah began.

The princess raised a warning hand. Her jaw muscles
clenched. Nakah's Megrenn habit of speaking her mind had reached its limit.

"I would like to think of you as a friend,
Nakah Fehr. For your own sake, you would do better to think of Councilor Jinzan
as you last parted with him. It would cause you both pain to see one another
right now."

* * * * * * *
*

"What hour is it?" Jinzan asked, rubbing
his eyes. The crypts of Loramar were a hive of sorcerers now that word had
spread of Jinzan's successorship. Whereas he started with two acolytes at his
command, he now had two-score sorcerers, only five of whom were quite as
disturbing to be around as his first two. The eyeless ones were true believers,
followers in Loramar's ways from bits and pieces they had scraped together. The
rest were more typical Ghelkan sorcerers, fey and weird by Megrenn or Kadrin
standards, but human and alive to all appearances.

"It is early once more, Grand Necromancer,"
Ni-Kani answered. She was his favorite of the new ones. She was
round-shouldered and flat-faced, not comely in the least, but she reminded him
of a Kheshi sailor that Denrik had known, one of the few women he had ever
sailed with. Atop that, she had a sense of humor, something the others either
lacked or feared to display in his presence.

"I think I really do need to sleep,"
Jinzan complained. "A bit would harm nothing."

"I agree. We can't have that. We need you
harming things, else this effort is all wasted," Ni-Kani joked. "How
about I go get you a piglet?"

Jinzan squeezed his eyes shut and leaned his head
down to rest in the palm of his hand, his elbow propped upon his writing desk.

"Bring it in cooked, I am famished."

"No," a voice said from behind him.
"No sleep, no food. Loramar's way."

"Chioju, I am not Loramar," Jinzan
protested. He heard the whine in his own voice and cringed a little.
They
are breaking me.

"Not yet ... not yet ..." Chioju trailed
off, leaving a long, silent pause among them.

"Shall I bring that piglet?" Ni-Kani asked
again.

Jinzan sighed. Fatigue and hunger, imaginary though
they might be, had worn down his objections. "Yes."

* * * * * * *
*

The forest canopy overhead was just sparse enough
for moonlight to peek through. The sounds of the rest of the company were dying
down as everyone, save the unfortunate guards, settled in for the night. There
were six: three pairs traipsing out from the clearing where the motley
battalion had made camp and into the dense forest. They each carried a spear.

There were nearly sixty of them in total:
stragglers, survivors, deserters brought back into some semblance of the
military. Three stripecats they had among them, as well as eight horses and a
pair of pack mules. It was a waiting game, to see whether they could hide away
long enough for peace to save them from the wrath of the merciless Kadrin
airships.

"Gut me, this seems familiar," Tod said
once they were out of earshot.

"Yeah, not in no good way, neither,"
Jodoul agreed. They pushed their way through underbrush, looking for a spot
that was light enough to play dice but with cover enough to hide in.

"You ever wonder if they can see it in us? You
know, like all them sorcerers and whatnot, with Sources?" Tod asked.

"See what in us?"

"I don't know, something that says we oughtta
be guardin' things. First thing seems to pop into a fella's mind when he sees
us is 'you fellas, stand there and don't let no one in,’" Tod said.

"Dunno. Maybe."

The two of them found a spot that they both agreed
upon. Tod sat down and settled in while Jodoul pushed leaves aside and prodded
at the decomposing muck of the forest floor.

"Whatchu lookin' for?" Tod asked.

"Ah, silly thought," Jodoul said, rattling
a pair of dice in his free hand. "Just thinkin' maybe I'd find my old ones
just lying about."

"We was nowhere near here," Tod said.
"We just passed into the trees, coming from the north. Last time, we was
south and east going in."

"No, we went in north and west, I think."

"Yeah, from the south and east. That's what I
said."

Jodoul gave Tod a puzzled look. "Why's you said
it backward, then?"

Tod shrugged.

"Either way, back in Kelvie again, eh?"

"Yeah. Gut me, this is givin' me the
shivers."

* * * * * * *
*

There was a smell rising from the little corpse, an
odd co-mixture of barnyard filth and acrid chemicals. The piglet's Source had
awakened Jinzan as he devoured it. Its blood had been collected in a wooden
bowl. The silver tray in which the corpse lay was spattered with stray flecks
and puddles of blood and the concoction that Chioju had given Jinzan to replace
the creature's blood.

A faded diagram, inscribed on parchment older than
the crypt, hung in the air above the tray. It was at such a height that Jinzan
could comfortably refer to it often. In exacting detail it showed the
musculature of the pig, its ligaments and tendons, and the interplay of its
bones. Jinzan had cut away much of the skin which made the piglet look like the
diagram, though not delineated so clearly.

Jinzan reached within the body with a pair of
miniscule tongs that he held pinched between his fingers. Once he had hold of
the particular tendon he wished, Jinzan gave it a tug and watched the piglet's
leg twitch.

"Good my lord. Now with aether. Same
tendon," Chioju said. Though merely an acolyte, his understanding of the
subject matter still made him an invaluable teacher. He never slept, never ate,
and had the manners of a jailor.

Jinzan reached out using the Ghelkan technique which
Loramar had devised. He fed the aether into the creature's body, into the
muscle, using Chioju's potion as a guide through the piglet's veins and
arteries. The leg twitched. A bit more aether and it stretched out. Jinzan
withdrew his power and the leg sagged back like a weary spring.

"We have not the luxury of time, my lord.
Tomorrow I will make sure a full beast is ready for you. We may have to take
your practice out of doors," Chioju said with a smile. He stood from his
stool and without another word, left the Heir of Loramar to his own amusements.

I could sleep
. Jinzan made to rub his aching
eyes but remembered the fluid and mucous that stained his hands. He worked two
fingers against his thumb, feeling the viscous sludge between them. There was
no disgust; his stomach still hungered but he ignored it. Jinzan drifted his
vision into the aether.

A lick of aether, a twitch of muscle. A tendril
connected back to Jinzan, each tug of his mind causing the piglet's flesh to
jerk and spasm. He added another tendril. It burrowed its way into another leg,
then another, then the last. He played about, tugging this way and that, the
corpse convulsing under his incompetent direction.

As the tendrils branched, he was able to reach down
to the secondary sinews, controlling smaller, more subtle muscles. A bit of
magic levitated the little corpse and set it on its feet in the tray. Buoyed
just enough to balance it, Jinzan worked the legs. The dripping creature that
could no longer be properly called a piglet lurched forward. Jinzan scrambled
from his chair as the undead puppet stumbled out of the tray and knocked the
mess into his lap. Stacks of manuscripts a hundred autumns old were splashed
and dripped upon and scattered under tiny, splintered hooves.

Jinzan laughed. He lifted the thing and set it upon
the floor where it could cause less havoc, and walked along behind it, still
keeping it upright by means of his own Kadrin-taught magic, though he used
Loramar's to propel it. He had the incongruous recollection of his own children
as babes and how they would grab hold of his fingers, one to each hand, and use
them to walk when their own tiny legs were too clumsy.

Jinzan followed it around Loramar's catacombs,
accepting congratulations, laughter, and praise from the gathered sorcerers who
had all answered Princess Shiann’s call.

* * * * * * *
*

Jinzan did not know how much later it was. Getting
clear answers about the time from Chioju and Aolyn, his primary attendants, was
maddening work. Half his time was spent buried in books and sheaves of notes
written in scribbled Ghelkan. The other half was spent putting the entombed
secrets of Loramar's work into practice. He had stopped asking for food; the
preparation of his subjects was sustaining him sufficiently. Meals of aether
did not satisfy the stomach but after a time the gnawing feeling became as a
trickling brook or the chirping of morning birds—he ignored it. But the lack of
sleep was persistent in its torments.

Denrik, what are you about?
Jinzan had an awareness of
Denrik's memories, even as they formed unwatched while Jinzan kept awake. The
constant influx of new knowledge into his brain overshadowed the trivialities
of Denrik's daily life aboard the
Fair Trader
. With Mr. Tanner gone, the
ship was even more mundane by comparison to Jinzan's adventures within the
moldering pages.

To his repertoire he had added a snake and a
chicken, both strangely different from the pig. The most important addition was
his latest work, a monkey the size of a goblin. He had not needed Chioju to
tell him that a monkey was built closely to a man. He got the monkey to walk
and to grasp and to beat upon the table with its fists. He did not need to pull
each muscle in series; he had discovered perhaps Loramar's most important
revelation.

The Source of the monkey had been sucked dry—the
manner of its demise. That had left it well intact, enough so that it could be
used as a temporary vessel. The Source and brain in concert rule the body.
Though an intact brain makes it easier, the Source can move the limbs on its
own. Jinzan constructed a river in reverse. It began at his own Source and
flowed upstream, forming major tributaries, then smaller rivers and brooks that
wound through the creature's body. Instead of leaving the whole system of
aether lashed to his own Source, he transplanted it to the resuscitated Source
of the deceased monkey.