Sourcethief (Book 3) (20 page)

"Two? I think you need three."

"Brannis, one of those is yours to claim. I
hesitate to let any of them challenge you, let alone encourage it. I know not
the lethal range of your draw, nor how strong a mortal Source need be to
withstand it in full force. By the winds, you might even slay your
opponent—that would be unprecedented," Rashan said, shaking his head.
"No, your gluttonous ego needs no sugared sweets after the feasts it has
gorged on of late."

"But ..." Kyrus paused a moment to
consider. "I had no intention of joining the Inner Circle."

"No intention?" Rashan asked. The warlock
gave Kyrus a disbelieving look and slumped down into the emperor's throne.

"Technically, I have no affiliation with the
Circle at all. I work for the emperor directly. I would gain no authority,
little prestige, and I would be burdened by sitting in on those long, pointless
meetings that seem to occupy much of their time. You have no idea how many
times I went to look for my uncle Caladris, and found him embroiled in what
amounted to a draw with words over some trifling matter, the whole of the Inner
Circle attending only to look on as two of their number wasted everyone's day.
I have too much to get done to take on that weighted chain," Kyrus said.
"Oh, and get off that throne. Enough folk thought that you wanted to sit
there that half the Circle conspired to oust you as warlock."

Rashan smiled, raising his eyebrows and giving Kyrus
a nod to concede the point. He looked all about the room and Kyrus followed his
gaze. There was no one about. Rashan began to chuckle. He did not stop, but
allowed the mirth to overtake him, the sound echoing throughout the audience chamber
as it grew to an uproarious volume. The demon managed to hold up a hand in mock
surrender to Kyrus as he pushed himself to his feet, vacating the chair. Kyrus
found himself drawn in, laughing at, if nothing else, the spectacle before him.

"You win, Brannis," Rashan managed between
fits. He regained some control of himself before continuing. "You win. I
spend so much time of late surrounded by fools and cowards that I forget why I
placed you so highly. You are right, of course. I will go back to war, but I
promise I will seek some pretext to cut it short, something that will satisfy
everyone."

"Except Safschan," Brannis added.

"Fine. Except Safschan. But they should be
grateful for any quarter they are given. In the meantime, if you are intent on
keeping the leash between yourself and the emperor—regardless who holds the end
and who wears the collar—then you ought to see that he comports himself more
respectably."

"Thus far, allowing him his debauchery has been
the only thing keeping him from causing trouble at court," Kyrus said with
a shrug.

"Pitting the noble daughters against one
another for sport is worse than I had expected from him. He is liable to start
a small war among them before long, and I have no wish to require a sorceress
to follow the objects of his amusements about to prevent bastards," Rashan
said. Kyrus frowned, unsure of what he meant by the last and not sure that he
wanted to know. "Get him fixed on one girl if you possibly can and we can
get him establishing a proper dynasty."

"He rather unsubtly hinted that he wanted my
sister for his empress," Kyrus said, noting that the residual joviality in
Rashan's demeanor sizzled away like water droplets on a hot stove.

"Get that notion out of his head. If I wanted
sorcerers ruling the empire I could have just let the conniving traitors have
their way," Rashan said. He fixed Kyrus with a gaze that reminded him of
the Sanctum and the dozen servants who were up there with brushes, buckets and
lye removing the remnants of the slaughtered sorcerers.

"Of course," Kyrus agreed. "I will
find some way."

Rashan nodded silently. The warlock's gaze drifted
away from Kyrus, settling nowhere in particular. "So much to do. I see the
empire turning though—a great behemoth foundering in the water as we patch the
holes and throw the dead weight into the sea. New sails, a fresh wind and an
able mate at the helm—that is where we go from here."

"Despite our captain?" Kyrus suggested.

"Very much so," Rashan agreed. "I
shall see you at the draw this afternoon, whether or not you change your mind
in the interim. Perhaps a friendly wager over the results."

* * * * * * *
*

Kyrus leafed through mountains of documents, piling
them in a rough stack as he gauged their importance. Here and there he would
set one aside for leisurely perusal, but he had no time to delve into any while
he ransacked his uncle's office.

"Are you sure you ought to be in here?"
Celia asked. She had wandered in as Kyrus was sorting through missives which
had been hidden under a stone he had pried loose.

"My Aunt Faeranna is in Reaver's Crossing. She
is in poor health and hates to travel. I gathered from my grandfather that
Danilaesis has gone to stay with her until the autumn classes start at the
Academy. Who else ought to see to these as next of kin, if not me?" Kyrus
asked. He kept half his attention to the papers while he spoke. Many were
written in Caladris's tilted, scratchy hand, but most were from others. There
were correspondences and formal reports, several which appeared to be in a sort
of code. It would take days for Kyrus to wrap his head around it all. Caladris
was the one to whom he had delegated his own dark dealings. Sorting them
completely out might not be possible before other actors picked apart his
network of ears and eyes.

"What is it you hope to find?" Celia
asked. She stood over him like a disapproving nursemaid watching her charge
soil his clothing in the mud. She was past the point of stopping him but
hesitated to get close enough to dirty her own hands.

"Everything. Anything. Caladris had plots
within plots, and if there were plots wrapped around those, I should know of
them as well. I cannot know what might happen because of his death, what
contingencies he might have made. There might be plans in need of a guiding
hand that we must decide to continue or to quash. I would rather do so with
full knowledge than let his fiefdom of lies and intrigues run amok."

Kyrus dug back into the papers when a thought struck
him.

"Thank you for directing Rashan's wrath
elsewhere," he told her.

"Of course. I explained my reasons
though."

"Well, I should like to do you a good turn. Go
tell Rashan you want to be part of the Inner Circle," Kyrus told her. He
did not look up to gauge her reaction, but in his aether-vision, he could see
her straighten. He took it as a sign of surprise.

"I'm only Fifth Circle," Celia protested.
"I have no place—"

"Up there?" Kyrus asked. He did turn then
and gestured upward, to the short set of stairs that led to the Inner Circle's
ring of seats around the perimeter of the Sanctum. "You mean that nice,
sectioned chamber awash in blood by your direction? You cleared enough space
for certain. I am sure you can have a spot there."

"It would be impudent. I am just an agent, I
work in hallways and back rooms, not in front of the whole empire," Celia
protested.

"Fine, but know that you leave vast wealth and
personal power sitting there to be taken by someone else ..." Kyrus
stopped himself.
Oh, would that not just be a needle in Rashan's arse.
A
little smile fixed itself on Kyrus face, unbidden.

"What is that? You sounded as if you were about
to say something else. What just occurred to you?"

"Nothing." Kyrus shook his head clear of
thoughts to summon Juliana back to Kadris so she could claim a position in the
Inner Circle. Not only would Rashan be irritated by that, but Juliana would
hate it as well.
She is more inclined to Rashan's methods of diplomacy,
though both would hate to hear that. She is better with a blade than with a
quill. She honeys her words with vinegar, and takes insults as well as a tavern
brawler.
"You should just consider taking a spot before you lose your
chance. I would go now, before some other sorcerer—or sorceress—" Kyrus
teased, "thinks of it first."

"You would like to have me in the Inner Circle
with you that much?" Celia asked, batting her eyes and smiling. Kyrus
fixed her with a steady look, neither mirth nor guile muddying his intent.

"No. I have no plan to take on more burdens at
no gain to myself. I already run whatever parts of the empire I deem fit, excepting
the Circle and the army, and I could have some say over either if I
chose," Kyrus said. He stood and set a handful of papers on his dead
uncle's desk.

"Then why—"

"From this point on, I suggest you look to your
own ends. You have all that you claim to want dangling right before you. If you
want control over your fate, take a place for yourself in the Inner Circle you
slaughtered by your accusations. If you want Rashan for yourself, have out and
tell him. If you have learned nothing from him over the season and more that
you served him, you ought to have learned that he prizes boldness."

"Does that mean you ... you won't," Celia
tried to ask, but seemed unable.

"No, I will not touch you again. If you mean to
make yourself Rashan's, I should not set jealousy between us. And so long as he
keeps similar thoughts from Juliana, he has no reason to fear me," Kyrus
lied.
Let the words that murderous bastard hears in his own bed serve my
ends. What need do I have to provoke him?

"Thank you, Kyrus," Celia leaned close and
whispered. She knew how cross it made him to let drop his secret carelessly.
I
hope that one name never crosses her lips in his presence.

"Just go, before three ... vipers in human form
beat you to him," Kyrus said. He had just stopped himself from saying
'other.'

* * * * * * *
*

"There you are, Brannis!" The voice
bellowed after Kyrus as he walked down the palace hall. He had not even needed
to hear the voice to know the Source of Varnus as the hulking guard captain
bore down on him. He stopped and turned to face the man before half the palace
was disturbed.

"Do we have time for this right now?"
Kyrus asked. His arms were filled with papers that demanded his more immediate
attention."The draw is in less than an hour, and I do not relish the thought
of a transference spell with so many onlookers."

"I would ride with you, but the emperor is not
attending, and I dare not leave the palace without him. I'll be quick,"
Varnus said. He drew Kyrus aside into a nearby sitting room. Kyrus closed the
door behind them. Neither sat.

"How are you and Wendell faring?" Kyrus
asked. He set Caladris's papers down in a chair, and spotting a tray of
pastries, levitated it to him. Morning feast had been brief and inadequate.

"You know the boy is gone. It's eating at Wendell,"
Varnus said. He slumped onto another chair, elbows resting on his knees. Kyrus
noticed that despite his habit of keeping clean-shaven since taking over as
guard captain of the palace, Varnus wore a day's stubble on his face.

"And you too, perhaps?" Kyrus asked
between bites of a scone.

"I don't care a whit for Anzik. I only saw him
once or thrice. It's being around Wendell that's getting to me. The boy's fine,
but that old street-sorcerer is going to get us killed. We just escaped with
our lives from coinblades sent by Denrik Zayne," Varnus said. He was
leaning forward, spanning half the distance between his chair and Kyrus's.

"Part ways then. The boy was only supposed to
have been a means to finding the Staff of Gehlen. What reason do you have to stay?"
Kyrus studied Varnus. The man was too much a soldier, too much a guard captain.
He suspected he knew why but needed to hear Varnus say it.

"And just leave them?" Varnus replied.
"The boy seems much improved since Wendell started teaching him a bit of that
street magic of his. He even helped save himself from the last group of
coinblades that came after us—set the bastard on fire."

"So you have a ten-summer firehurler on your
hands and you are being chased by every hired blade that pirate gold can buy. Faolen
has done no favors here. Rashan sent him to get the Staff of Gehlen, and
instead Faolen turns to kidnapping and extortion. That boy you guard has no
relation to Wendell. Perhaps you ought to consider whose interests this
serves."

"And just give him over to those blood-crazed
coinblades?" Varnus asked, straightening himself to his full, seated
height.

"No, the coinblades already took him, or have
you sworn off Soria's gang? Find some way to get him back to Denrik Zayne, or
go your own way. Soria, Rakashi and I are in Acardia. You can meet us
there," Kyrus said. He leaned back against the table to finish his scone.
It was stale from the early morning and too heavily buttered, but still was
preferable to the sorry story that Varnus offered. The old former Archon guard
captain looked like he wanted to say something, but never did. Varnus stood and
nodded to Kyrus as he stalked past, wrenched the door open, and continued off
into the palace halls beyond.

I once looked up to Varnus
.

Kyrus took a second scone and set off to reach the
Academy before the draws began.