Aethersmith (Book 2) (50 page)

It was a difficult spell for Wendell. It stretched him to
the limits of his magic, but with the stakes as high as they were, he pushed
himself to that limit. Wendell waited and watched, directing the invisible bird
in a careful circuit of every part of the crowd amid the general chaos of the
flapping flock.

“I got one!” exclaimed a thin, childish voice, speaking
Megrenn. Wendell let the rest of the imaginary birds flutter up into the
rafters and disappear. The invisible bird turned visible in the hands of a
willowy stick of a boy, the very image of Anzik if he would have eaten like a
mouse.

Everyone turned to see the bird nestled in the boy’s hands.
His fellows pushed and prodded, herding him to the front of the crowd.

“What is your name, boy?” Wendell asked in Acardian.

“His name is Jadon,” Nephanti answered in the boy’s place.

“Hello, Jadon. Do you know who I am?” Wendell asked.

Jadon frowned for a moment. Then his eyes lit up, and he
nodded vigorously.

“Would you like to be my apprentice, Jadon?” Wendell asked.

“Yes,” Jadon replied in Megrenn.

“Jadon, if you want to be a magician, you are going to have
to remember to speak a real language, like Acardian or Takalish, not ones you
hear in your head. Can you do that?”

Jadon looked puzzled, lost. With a moment to gather his
thoughts, he replied, “Yes.” This time, he spoke Acardian.

“How did you do that?” Nephanti asked. “He rarely deigns to
speak anything other than gibberish, and we have had experts in many languages
try to talk to him.”

“I was afflicted much the same as a boy,” Wendell said. “I
was lost in the musings within my own head. It seemed more real than the world
around me. Dreams can be more interesting than being awake, and he chooses to
live in the dream world when awake as well as asleep. He knows this world is
here, but ignores it. Magic helps, because it brings a sense of wonderment to
the real world that can make it seem worth seeing. In time, he will learn to
properly separate the real world from his imagined one. My master did the same
for me, many long years past. I would like to do the same for Jadon.”

It was highly irregular, but Nephanti apparently had seen
such a change in Jadon that she could not in conscience deny him Wendell’s
help. There were forms to sign, and contracts promising that he would take
proper care of the boy, but by the evening, Jadon sat in the same wagon that
Wendell and Zellisan had ridden in on, prepared to depart for a new life.
Wendell sat beside him, handing the boy a spare cloak to use against the evening
breeze.

Zellisan paused just within the entryway. Wendell watched
him turn to look back inside the main building. Zell started to take a step,
then retracted it. He reached into his coinpurse, and pulled something out.
Wendell saw his hand go somewhere out of sight behind the door; he had seen a
donation box there when they had entered.

“Does your conscience feel cleaner?” Wendell asked once Zell
had climbed into the wagon.

“S’pose it does,” Zell said with a grunt, not looking right
at him.

I wish my own felt a bit cleaner.

Chapter 29 - Ascension

Steel clanged against stone as Kyrus’s sword bounced to a
stop against the wall of his bedchamber, missing a bookshelf by a mere
handsbreadth. He winced at the sound, reflexively bringing his hands—one of them
smarting from where the sword was bashed free of his grasp—to cover his ears.
Once the noise stopped, he hung his head and went to retrieve it.

“We have time for another go of it,” Kyrus said, flexing and
clenching his fingers to work the sting out of them.

“Suit yourself. I’ve got nothing to do today but show up to
the coronation, and that’s not till sunset,” Tanner retorted, grinning.

The Veydran incarnation of the Tanner whom Brannis had met
in Tellurak was, if possible, a smugger, cockier, less disciplined version than
the one who led the free and easy life of a coinblade. He had a slouch about
him, not of the hunched and self-conscious type, but rather the casual, relaxed
posture of someone who does not feel the need to make any effort in order to excel.
He could lean against a wall from the middle of a room.

“Might have picked a later hour for it,” Varnus called out
from Kyrus’s desk chair, which creaked under the bulk of the giant guard
captain as he leaned it back on two legs, watching the two men spar. “My
stomach’s craving dawn feast, but I couldn’t very well miss this spectacle.”

Kyrus brought his sword up to guard position, locking gazes
with Tanner, or at least attempting to. Tanner’s gaze wandered the room, his
sword bared but resting across his shoulder in a loose grip.

“Whenever you’re ready, boss,” Tanner said, covering a yawn
with his off hand.

Kyrus launched a probing thrust, but Tanner stepped aside
and back, well out of reach. A follow-up thrust got Tanner to take the sword
off his shoulder and the more expertly wielded blade picked off the attack with
contemptuous ease. Three more attempts at attack were met with increasing
levels of defense, until the parries themselves were putting Kyrus on the
defensive, pulling his blade back to guard himself against a counterattack he
knew would come as soon as Tanner grew bored of defense.

“You could at least make it look like you are trying,” Kyrus
complained, feeling the burning in the muscles of his arms that alerted him
that his sword was slowing.

Tanner’s sword whipped around in response, sliding past
Kyrus’s awkward attack, and slamming into the side of his neck.

“Dead,” Tanner said with a shrug. “Or would be if you didn’t
have a shield spell like the walls of Raynesdark … from about two seasons ago,
anyway.”

“Aye, Brannis, give those little twigs dangling from your
shoulders a rest,” Varnus added. “Even dead men need a good dawn feast.”

“It ought to be here soon,” Kyrus said. “I arranged for a
full dawn feast to be brought up. I have things to discuss with both of you
besides swordplay.”

A disturbance in his wards alerted Kyrus to the arrival of
their meal. The servants had been taught the proper spot to knock where the
wards would not suffocate any hint of noise from the outside. Two young cooks’
assistants carried covered platters that smelled of fresh-cooked meats and
citrus, a young serving girl brought a pitcher of ale and tankards, and a group
of porters carried in a small table and chairs for them.

“I had half-expected field rations and last night’s bread
with a bit of water to wash it down with. Ale in the morning … my sort of dawn
feast,” Tanner said once the assemblage of servants had departed.

“We don’t allow that dried leather you soldiers eat past the
palace gates,” Varnus said, tankard in hand already.

“Well, I meant that with the coronation tonight, I expected
the servants to be too busy to make such a diversion for us.”

“Well, I have a bit of a say in such things,” Kyrus said
with a sly grin. “As to the selection, I picked a few of the things that seem
to taste close enough to Tellurak fare that it does not bother me. The spices
are all wrong, the game fowl seem a bit … foul, many of the fruits here do not
seem sweet enough, and I do not know what you do to the waters in Veydrus to make
the fish taste too oily. The citrus is strong enough to overpower any strange
flavors, though, and bacon … well, the bacon tastes just like home.”

“And the ale? You prefer it over mulled wine, or even just
plain water with breakfast?” Tanner asked, humoring Kyrus’s treatise on the
local cuisine.

“Well, it took a few days to realize the cause, but the
drinking water was giving me the runs. The wines here feel grimy in my mouth,
like they could have used a straining through a fine cloth. Do they leave the
skins ground up in it or something of the like?” Kyrus asked.

“Gut me if I know,” Varnus replied. “At least you’ve got
ale, eh?”

“Well, the ale was merely the best among bad options,” Kyrus
replied, lifting his eyebrows and his tankard in unison.

Kyrus waited until they had settled in, and begun their meal
in earnest, before deciding it was time to change to more delicate topics. The
wards in the room ought to have given them privacy enough should anyone attempt
to eavesdrop. Kyrus could only hope that he would be perceptive enough to
notice should anyone test themselves against those wards.

“So how fare you two on the other side?” Kyrus asked,
leaving the question open ended, lest he get an exact answer that left out
details. If he was to set up his own private network of spies, he ought to at
least act like a master of intrigue.

“Well, Captain Denrik Zayne wanted me to convey to you that
this whole war was just a simple misunderstanding,” Tanner said, causing
Kyrus’s eyes to widen in surprise. “You see, there were these detailed orders
on how
not
to launch a war against us, and a splotch of ink happened to
fall on the ‘not’ bit.”

“Stow it, jester. Be serious,” Varnus chided Tanner, giving
him a backhanded slug in the shoulder. “Stalyart hasn't even got you to Zayne’s
ship yet, and we all know it.”

“Hey now! I’m stuck for days on a ship in the middle of the
Katamic with a bunch of pirates. I got nothing to do but swill rum, and gamble
at dice and cards. Can’t even properly enjoy it, though, worrying ’bout a knife
in the back, shield or no shield. I think I’m entitled to piss in Brannis’s ale
a bit in return,” Tanner said. Kyrus paused mid sip, giving Tanner a
narrow-eyed glare. “Figure of speech, of course,” Tanner said.

“Well, at least there you’ve got rum and cards,” Varnus
commented. “Did either of you hear that there were three bodies found last
night? Separate incidents scattered about Kadris, but all three were
sorcerers.”

“No,” Kyrus answered, Varnus having taken the entirety of
his attention away from Tanner’s jests. “I have not left these quarters yet
today.”

“City guards were handling it, but the Inner Circle pulled
them off the job. Dolvaen assigned a bunch of sorcerers to look into it.”

“Anyone important?” Tanner asked.

“No more so than a typical sorcerer, I would say. Two Sixth
Circle I never heard of, and a Fourth Circle by the name of Kaman who tried
courting one of Juliana’s cousins a while back. Didn’t know him well, but I
knew his face well enough to find him in a crowd.”

“Megrenn assassins, that’d be my guess,” Tanner speculated.
He mimed a dagger thrust to the back. “More of those invisible fellows like
tried to snuff out Warlock Rashan and Mr. Tellurak here.”

“No …” Kyrus began, causing Varnus and Tanner to wait
expectantly in the heavy pause he left as he gathered his thoughts. “I think
not. The coronation is tonight. Not everyone has been enamored of the choice of
successor to the throne. The city is packed to the rafters with visitors
despite the war going on, meaning that there are likely many more sneak-blades
about than usual, coming in with the noble guests.”

“You think this is the start of a coup? They were no
powerful or influential sorcerers, the three victims. It seems an unlikely
first open move for one,” Varnus said.

“Well, Megrenn’s already tried twice, so why not assume it
was them until you’ve got a better idea?” Tanner countered.

“I do have a better idea,” Kyrus answered, his voice hollow,
his gaze vacant, as if he were musing on his own thoughts, rather than
conversing. “Rashan has said since before Raynesdark that he suspected plots
against him. I have reason to believe that to be true. This could mean that, in
the shadows, sides are being drawn among the Imperial Circle.”

“Sides? What sides?” Tanner asked. His bean-shaped face scrunched
up even farther in a look of confusion and concern.

“Those who support Rashan and those who would rather see him
replaced as regent—by someone other than his handpicked bastard descendant of
his old friend Emperor Liead.”

Varnus cast Kyrus a wary glare.

“Which side are we on?”

“Mine, I am hoping,” Kyrus replied. “As to which side I have
picked, I have not picked at all yet. By rights, I ought to support Rashan,
since he is the reason I am in this position at all … grand marshal that is,
not me being switched with Brannis; that was my own doing.”

“So the dead sorcerers, which side were they on?” Tanner
asked.

“If I knew that, I might be able to tell you which side I
was on,” Kyrus answered.

* * * * * * * *

The corridors of the palace teemed with servants intent upon
tasks they surely had been told were crucial to the coronation ceremony.
A
misplaced tablecloth, or one pheasant too few for the banquet, and we would
have to find a new emperor
, Juliana thought sourly as she wove her way
through the press of bodies. A few who recognized her gave way, and allowed her
to pass, but she was wearing a plain grey tunic and men’s breeches, nothing
that would single her out as a member of the Imperial Circle, let alone the
regent’s oathdaughter. Still, being caught up in the tide of busy humans was
better than dwelling alone in her room or passing idle chatter with the folk
who made a habit of lounging about the palace. If nothing else, her current
circumstance was a temporary inconvenience until she could escape the confines
of the palace grounds, and hide out by the waterfront until her duties required
her back for the ceremony.

“Juli!” she heard a shout from behind her down the hall. It
was a woman’s voice, but not a very feminine one. Juliana slouched slightly,
and continued walking, hoping her pursuer would lose track of her amid the
throng. Being an Archon had its disadvantages, though. Even slouching, she was
taller than most of the peasant folk about her, and her reddish-gold hair shone
like a lighthouse beacon among the drab brunettes and pale blondes surrounding
her.

“Juli, wait!” the voice came again, closer than the last
time. Even if she had not recognized the timbre and tone, the use of the
disused diminutive form of her name would have narrowed the list of suspects to
a short list: classmates from the Academy who had been too much older or
stronger than her to beat until they stopped calling her that. She gritted her
teeth, paused, and waited for Brannis’s older sister to catch up to her.

Aloisha Solaran was almost Juliana’s height, but shaped
nearer to Soria’s more muscular frame, with a mannish jawline and wide blue
eyes that offered a challenge wherever they looked. Those eyes swept up and
down Juliana as she got close enough for the crowd to part between them.

“Washerwoman got your Circle garb? Rinsing the sweat stains
and the smell of ale away before the coronation ceremony?” Aloisha asked with a
smirk. “I am sure I could loan you a gown, if you would prefer, though it might
hang a bit loose on you.”

“You’re one to talk,” Juliana retorted, eyeing the elaborate
nest of braids curled about Aloisha’s head. “Last time I saw you primped like
this was for your own wedding. You usually just go about like a man who grew
his hair long, and stuffed a pair of melons into a gown. I have work to do, and
I’m dressed for it.”

“Work? You? I had thought your father got you that
appointment as contraband inspector just so you had an excuse to hang about in
disreputable ale-halls all day.”

“I am good at my job. I just don’t do it the way everyone
would expect. At least I am suited to mine. You look like the serving maid, or
the scribe for the Inner Circle when you’re all gathered together,” Juliana
retorted. She would be gutted before she let Aloisha run her to ground verbally.

Aloisha Solaran fumed silently for a moment, lips pressed
tight in an obvious effort to remain civil, or at least as civil as either of
them had been to that point. She drew a deep, steady breath. She took Juliana
by the arm and pulled her aside, dragging her into one of the guard rooms near
where they had been standing.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Juliana demanded, twisting
free of Aloisha’s grasp. It took a degree of self-control to keep from using a
Tezuan technique to flip the elder sorceress to the ground, breaking her wrist
in the process.

The door slammed shut behind them. Juliana knew Aloisha was
holding it closed telekinetically, in lieu of warding it.

“We need to talk.”

“We were talking out there,” Juliana noted.

“Was it you?” Aloisha demanded.

“Was what me?”

“The three murders last night. Three dead sorcerers the
night before the coronation. The Inner Circle are having fits over it.”

“What would make you think that—”

“Raynesdark. I heard the stories, and pieced it together.
Goblin assassin in the castle dead by your hand the night before the battle. A
half dozen guards and Sorcerer Ruuglor Megaren dead by dagger, but no dagger
found on the assassin’s body. After the battle, Duke Pellaton found dead, same
wounds, dagger left by his body.”

“So why do you assume it was me?” Juliana asked, crossing
her arms in front of herself defiantly.