Sourcethief (Book 3) (22 page)

"I think I can make it out against the
stars," she confirmed. "We shouldn't take a chance. Let's get out of
here. Wake the children, take what you can carry and let's get to the airship
before we're noticed."

"Yes," Tiiba replied, not turning his
attention from the smoky sky. "Take them. Find them somewhere safe, well
east of here."

"I know that look, Rakashi," Juliana said.
"You're coming with us. You can even bring those soldiers if you hurry.
Let's move." She grabbed Tiiba by his upper arm; he shook her off with an
annoyed flinch. He turned then, his eyes seeking hers.

"Keep them safe. I have to go," Tiiba
said. "This is what I am." He spun and jogged out the door, heading
for the stables where his men and Ushiqa's horses could be found.

"Gather your children," Juliana ordered
Ushiqa. The Safschan woman seemed oblivious as she ambled over to gaze out
after the father of her children.

"He never was much for goodbyes," Ushiqa
said. Tears welled in her eyes as she stared into the night. They could hear
men's voices from the darkness, the sound of horses. Juliana tugged at Ushiqa's
arm, snapping her from the stupor into which she was falling.

"Yes. Yes, the children."

* * * * * * *
*

Tiiba's horse flew down the winding road, little
more than a rutted path that led to the nearby village of Ainza. The horse,
Zhi-zhi, was one Tiiba trusted to carry him bareback with just a bridle to
guide her. The soldiers that had flown with him back to Safschan were less
familiar with the land and their horses, and were well behind. Even if Tiiba
had not known the way, Zhi-zhi did and would know the way as well in sunshine
or fog.

There were flashes of light on occasion. They were
still well ahead, but he could tell for certain that they were coming from
Ainza. A calm settled into him as galloping hooves shook the ground, screams
and blades grew louder, and his children were being herded aboard a vessel that
belonged to their enemy. Battle approached. The hands that held Zhi-zhi's reins
would relax soon about the hilt of a rune-blade, the comforting feel as natural
as clutching Ushiqa close.
I am made for this. I will not fail.

The tree-lined path showed glimpses of fire between
the foliage. Whatever tragedy would befall Ainza, his was to be a mission of
vengeance, not rescue. He was going to arrive too late to save the villagers.

“
Indreithio anamakne ubtaio wanuzar pronedook,
”
Tiiba chanted, taking his hands from the reins long enough to weave a stronger
shield spell than he normally brought to battle. The rush of aether he felt as
the spell acted through him gave him an extra measure of confidence. A palpable
feeling of protection washed through him and surrounded him.

The path opened up at the outskirts of the village
where farmers had plowed the fields and harvested autumn's crops. Zhi-zhi
trampled cabbage and squash vines beneath her hooves as Tiiba's eyes scanned
the village for signs of the attacking force. He traced the line of burning
homes but could as yet see nothing. His milky eye, the one that saw the aether,
noticed a vortex, aether disappearing into a void with no Source. Another building
ignited with a crackle and a
whoosh
.

Tiiba slid down from Zhi-zhi's back and gave the
horse a swat on the rump, startling her away. There was no point in dooming the
beast as well. The rune-blade found its way into Tiiba's hand without a
conscious thought. Instinct, training, rote repetition, he had only his
adversary to consider, all else was a part of himself. The blade would obey his
mind as well as his hands and feet.

He went into a low crouch, keeping the latest of the
burning buildings between him and the converging aether. That had to be where
the demon was. Unfortunately, he was not remaining stationary.

"Hello," a cheery voice called to him in
passable Safschan. "You ought not to go sneaking about with a Source like
yours. It demeans you and does little to conceal your location."

Tiiba saw past flames and smoke to the image that
had played itself in his mind a hundred times. The demon looked much like his
son, but paler, slighter. Rashan Solaran carried himself like one with a
hobbyist's casual interest in battle, betraying neither fear, nor tension, nor
focus.

Tiiba advanced, unsure how to close the gap to bring
his blade to bear. A creature such as the Kadrin demon would not fall prey to a
simple headlong rush as would most opponents. He seemed to be in a talkative
mood. Tiiba was not above deception.

"I am Tiiba of the Blade," he gave his
formal title.

"I think you know already who I am. I can tell
by the fear in you," the demon replied. He held a serrated blade in hand,
dragging the tip in the dirt.

"I have no fear of death, demon, I—"

"Of course not. I was not implying that you
did. You fear for them," Rashan said, he turned to point to the village
inn. On the upper floor there were faces pressed to the windows, watching their
fate being decided below.

"You are truly the monster they say you
are!" Tiiba goaded. He kept to his slow advance, thinking to catch Rashan
Solaran at a distance he could fight from before the demon realized his peril.

"If you want to save them, give me a
reason," the demon said. Tiiba stopped and swallowed back a lump in his
throat. Rashan Solaran had spoken the last in fluent Takalish.

"Ah, I think you understand me," Rashan
continued, obviously taking note of Tiiba's reaction. The demon smiled at him.

"I do," Tiiba replied, still using
Safschan. He was unsure of the demon's ploy, but he knew he could not allow
himself to be distracted. Rashan the Deceiver. Rashan's Bargain. Tiiba knew his
history.

"Well, now before you decide, put away that
blade. I have a rather stern policy against sparing creatures who offer me
harm. I make no exceptions. None, not even for dragons," Rashan promised.
As a show of faith, the demon sheathed his blade.

"Decide on what?" Tiiba asked. He lowered
his rune-blade but did not return it to its sheath.

"On whether I should spare the rest of
Safschan."

"You can decide that any time you like,
demon," Tiiba yelled back. His hand itched to bring his rune-blade to
bear. Some wiser part of him held his hands in check. There was something odd
about the demon's manner.
Could this be his legendary trickery at work? Has
he found the weakness in my thoughts' armor? Why can I not see this clearly for
the ruse it must be?

"I have a task for you, if you know how to use
a half-spear as well as that runed blade." Rashan crossed his arms, the
statement was a challenge.

"It is the same weapon. You clearly know that,
or you would not have known to ask," Tiiba said. He felt his breath coming
quicker. He was trapped between instinct and logic. Victory, his blood told him,
would render the decision moot. Failure, he knew, would spell doom for the
village and who knew how much more of Safschan. Delay and parlay bought time.
But
time for what?

"Yes, but are you the same man to wield
it?"

"I am."

"A friendly contest then," Rashan said,
already drawing his wicked blade. "Prove to me you are worth my effort to
spare and sleep in a peaceful land tonight." Rashan sprang forward,
forcing Tiiba to retreat a step to set his parry.

Rashan launched a series of wild, looping slashes. The
attacks would have been comically inept if not for the speed and power behind
the strikes. Tiiba angled his parries, ducking and diverting rather than
attempting to meet force with force. He moved about the blade like its fulcrum,
using the leverage of the demon's strikes to quicken his step.

"Oh, you are good," Rashan marveled,
clearly impressed with his skills. "If you are this good in the other
world, I think you shall do quite well."

The demon quickened the pace of his attacks. The
looping, lazy swings that carried the weight of ogres behind them became a
fencer's measured strikes, snapping smartly from parry to riposte. There was no
loss of power behind the cuts and thrusts however. Tiiba tried to keep an
offense to blunt his foe's onslaught, but there was simply no opening. He
worked his blade in a frenzy just to keep the demon's sword at bay.

"Simply remarkable," Rashan said, stepping
back suddenly. The demon's blade disappeared into its sheath like a cat
retracts its claws. "Aside from resisting the temptation to use magic, I
was actually giving my best effort there."

Tiiba did not mirror his opponent's lowered
defenses. He kept his rune-blade tight in both hands, sweat wetting the
leather-wrapped handle. His breath was coming heavy from his frantic defense,
but he was by no means spent. He took a step toward the demon.

"Careful. Another step and I may reconsider my
largess," Rashan said. Tiiba stopped in his tracks. "I could have
them picking bits of you out of those trees over yonder. Do not mistake your
swordsmanship for being my equal in battle. Put that blade away and I will
spare you, and this town, at least conditionally."

"What condition is that?" Tiiba asked. The
rush of battle was beginning to fade. The pounding his muscles had taken against
the demon's blows was starting to sink in. His rune-blade began to feel heavier
than the weighted practice blades he had used as a lad.

"Put the blade away, then I will tell
you," the demon said, daring to turn his back on Tiiba. Every instinct
told him to bury his blade in the defenseless opponent he saw before him.
No.
He is far from defenseless. His very body is a ruse
. Not even a shielding
spell protected the demon, but Rashan Solaran was also a warlock and likely
watching his movements in the aether. Tiiba forced himself to put his
rune-blade back in its sheath.

"Where are you in Tellurak right now?"
Rashan asked.

Tiiba said nothing. A long moment passed.

"I have a job for you there and I would like to
know how soon you might get to it. If you would rather I go back to destroying
your homeland, so be it."

"I am in Acardia," Tiiba admitted. "I
am a traveling scholar and warrior. Much of my time is spent away from my
home."

Rashan grinned. "Excellent. I have a task for
you."

Kyrus became a mass of thought, bodiless in the deep
aether. His frequent trips across Kadris had accustomed his eyes to what was no
longer a weird, alien landscape. The aether had patterns and habits that were
becoming plain for him to see.

To flee Denku Appa he had tried the navigators' way,
plotting a heading and figuring on a distance. If he was inaccurate, he was not
worried about missing the landmass upon which Acardia and Hurlan rested; close
was close enough.

Now Kyrus ignored the heading he would need. He went
up instead, to view his destination from afar before he ever left. Devoid of
form to hold him back, there was no sensation of the vertical. He tried to
latch onto some feeling of vertigo as the Sources that dwelt close to the
ground fell away. With no bodily sensation, neither stomach to clench nor head
to lose blood, the sickened feeling could not take hold of him. The people in
the streets, their animals, the paths they trod, and the wakes of aether left
by their passing, all shone to Kyrus's aether-vision. Hazy, muddied streets
took form because of the trails of aether left by mortal traffic.

The higher he went, the more of Kadrin he could see.
Kadris was a huge blot on the landscape. Podawei Wood emerged as a haze of
floral aether. To the north and east, the subtle blue shading of the aether
hinted that it was not of animal origin. Ailen Point became a dollop to the
west and Pevett, Marmet and Farfield came into relief as well. Kyrus had
studied maps of Koriah and the lands beyond the Aliani. The wider his field of
vision grew, the more like the maps the world below became. Rivers, hills and
mountains were all but indistinguishable, but cities, forests and even roads
stood out plainly enough.

Kyrus drifted along at altitudes that he doubted any
airship captain would dare. The "drift" came at speeds that would
tear sails to tatters, and shake wooden hulls to splinters. From his frame of
reference though, he felt no faster than a lazing cloud.

He paused to steel himself when he came to Megrenn,
facing the daunting task of setting off above the sea. The Kadrins were no
great seafaring people. Their maps were a poor and suspect collection. He had
seen the most excellent maps aboard the
Fair Trader
though, and knew the
layout of Tellurak by memory. It was time to test how well Veydrus and Tellurak
truly matched. Kyrus kept Koriah within his sights as he ventured over the
Aliani Sea, heading to the north and west. His fantastical velocity brought his
discovery in moments.

Acardia.

Azzat.

The landmass looked like moth-eaten cloth. The
barren, rocky countryside was stark and nearly invisible in the aether. The
northern hemisphere of Veydrus was approaching winter just as Kadrins looked
forward to the onset of summer. The hardy evergreens still glowed, but where
crops and deciduous plants grew, Sources slept. The cities were not entirely
where Kyrus had expected. Azzat was scarcely on a foreign map, so jealously did
its dwellers guard their privacy. History and chance had guided the demon-ruled
kingdom along a different path than the one that Acardia had trodden. Where
would a demon live?

It would be impossible to reason out fully in his
head. Kyrus decided to choose a place at random and find his way from there.
There was a concentration of aether that was larger than the others, though
only by degree. If the easternmost tip lay where Scar Harbor was in Tellurak,
then Azzat's largest city must have been near Golis, or perhaps a bit further
upriver. Kyrus headed for it.

The process of rising above Kadris reversed itself.
Kyrus's perspective narrowed as he descended, rendering the map-like view from
five days' ride straight up to a more local panorama. Blurs came into focus,
revealing streets and public buildings, homes, businesses ... a seat of power.

There was no doubt that some manner of wealth and
influence was responsible for an island of Sources in the middle of the city,
surrounded by a barren area that promised others were not permitted within.
Maybe
I should stop outside and seek an audience, rather than emerge inside.
Expected or not, there was probably some protocol against transferring into
someone's palace refuge.

* * * * * * *
*

The world of light snapped back around Kyrus like a
cage. No longer was he free to move about at whim. He floated the short way
down to the ground, having once again used Rashan's trick to avoid dragging
chunks of the landscape wherever he went. The relative ease he felt in his
Source was reassuring. He had not used all the aether he had drawn for the
trip, nor had he needed to draw more en route. Aether roiled within him, stored
in case his welcome was not cordial.

As Kyrus's thoughts turned to his immediate
situation, he realized that he had emerged into the twilight hours of Azzat.
Though low in the sky, he had caught up to the sun in his journey. As he looked
to the curious sight of what was about to become the second sunset he had seen
that day, he heard cries from the natives. The words they spoke had a vague
familiarity to them, but not enough that he could put a meaning to them. It was
not Kadrin, even with a heavy accent, nor was it anything he knew from
Tellurak, though the cadence of the words reminded him more of home.

Booted feet clomped toward him in a run, drawing
Kyrus's attention to a squad of city guardsmen, unarmored but carrying short,
thick blades. They shouted to him but it was more of the same incomprehensible
language.
Drat, I should have thought of some contingency plan for speaking
with them.

"Do any of you speak Kadrin?" Kyrus
shouted. A bit of gentle telekinesis stopped the rushing guardsmen mid-stride.
He lifted them off the ground just far enough for their feet to dangle
ineffectually, unable to gain traction on the cobblestones. He awaited an
answer he could understand, but it seemed that he would not find his translator
among the guardsmen.

"
Indreithio anamakne ubtaio wanuzar
pronedook,
”
Kyrus chanted. The guards watched in misguided horror as he wove his fingers to
form an unfamiliar variant of the shielding spell he so often used silently. It
formed a dome around him, cutting him off entirely from the guards. Once safely
encased with some space to hold them at bay, Kyrus slowly lowered the men to
the ground and released his hold on them.

The six guards approached but knew well enough to be
wary of strange magic. One among them, no doubt of an amateur scientific
persuasion, poked at the shielding spell with his sword. The shield hissed and
sizzled, shortening the blade as quickly as it was presented. The guard drew
back his sword, dropping it and jumping back when he realized it was dripping
molten steel. The guards began a frenzied consultation that ended in two of
them running off while the rest remained to watch over their guest. Kyrus had
no idea what they thought of him, since he was watching a badly-acted pantomime
without a translator.

When the two guards returned, they were accompanied
by a blue-robed gentleman with a stern bearing. The newcomer barked several
commands to which Kyrus could only shrug in reply. Kyrus forced himself to
remain calm when the newcomer began to chant some sort of magic; he could tell
by the flow of aether before the words even began that it was no threat to his
shield, but the reflex to defend himself still goaded the back of his mind.

A paltry bolt of aether splattered against Kyrus's
shield. Kyrus crossed his arms, pursed his lips and shook his head slowly.
Not
in a thousand winters, my friend. Try all you like.

"Find me someone who speaks Kadrin," Kyrus
said once more. If a single word of his held meaning to the Azzatians, they
betrayed no sign. "I am here to see Xizix." That got a response: the
six guards and the Azzatian sorcerer broke into a heated discussion, from which
Kyrus picked out the name 'Xizix' no fewer than four times. When they broke off
their deliberations, the sorcerer took the lead in delivering their response.
He used a great many wasted words, but ended his reply with 'Xizix'.

"You can take me to Xizix?" Kyrus asked.

The sorcerer at least seemed to have gained some
understanding of Kyrus's intent. He nodded slowly, keeping his eyes cautiously
focused on Kyrus. He waved a hand back and forth in a sweeping motion.
He
wants me to drop my shielding spell?
Kyrus snorted a laugh.
Of course he
does.

Kyrus knew that he would get nowhere standing in the
road under his spell until nightfall, which was fast approaching. With a shrug,
he let his shield expire, sucking up much of the loosed aether as the construct
fell apart. There was a ring in the ground of melted stone that marked where it
had been.

Though he supposed that he should not have been
surprised, the sorcerer shouted a command and the guards rushed him. The shield
had only kept them paces away, which someone apparently thought was close
enough to launch a surprise attack. Kyrus felt a tug in the aether as the
sorcerer drew for a spell to support the guards' assault.

A moment later, the sorcerer lay on the ground,
drawing with all his might to keep his own Source from being pulled clear out
of him. The six guards hung upside down as Kyrus plucked the swords from their
hands one by one. He gathered the swords together in mid-air and melted them
into a ball, incinerating the wood and leather from the handles in the process.
The molten steel he reformed roughly, making a staff more than head height. Kyrus
took hold of it before it even cooled, letting his personal shield spell—which
he had never allowed to expire—protect him from the ferocious heat.

Ignoring the cries of the frightened guardsmen,
Kyrus released his draw against the sorcerer's Source and lifted him to eye
level, grasping him by the collar with his free hand.

"Xizix?" Kyrus asked, not bothering with
any of the superfluous words that prevented their communication. As the
sorcerer pointed off in the direction of the city's island-in-the-aether, Kyrus
looked into his eyes. For a moment, he imagined that he could see Rashan's face
reflected there, summoned by the sorcerer's fear.
What do they see when they
look at me? The same madman that I see when I look at Rashan? I have done no
real harm. Is fear harm enough though?
Kyrus broke his gaze and shook his
head.

The guardsmen flipped over as they hung suspended,
boots bottommost once more. Kyrus set them down and released them. The men
wobbled on their feet as they fled.
Must have spun them over too quickly
,
Kyrus realized. That was the risk he took. His spells were so strong that he
did not need to intend harm to cause it. He could as easily have snapped all
their necks had he whipped them about carelessly. He let go the sorcerer's
collar.

Kyrus held his staff out in the direction the
sorcerer had indicated. He pointed first to the sorcerer, then down the line of
the staff. "Xizix," Kyrus ordered. The sorcerer nodded.

* * * * * * *
*

"I hope my children have not vexed you too
sorely," a voice boomed from across the chamber. Kyrus had finally managed
to prevail upon one of the caste of Azzatians whose lot in life seemed to be
keeping Xizix free of visitors. There was a formal audience chamber that the
ruling council of Azzat used, but they had eschewed it—that was for the puppet
government's use, not the demon's. Side passages and underground tunnels led to
a more secluded venue where the helpful bureaucrat had left Kyrus in some
haste.

"It seems you prefer not to be seen,"
Kyrus called out in reply. "Many still question your very existence."
He looked about, but saw no one in the room with him. Columns and pedestals
cluttered the place, showing off opulence of every variety and providing
countless options for concealment. Aether-vision was useless as well, since it
was a demon he was searching for.

"I assure you, I do," the voice came from
above him. Kyrus turned to see a monster emerge from nothingness. It was at
least as tall as any ogre Brannis had fought, with skin like leather and a head
that was a nest of horns. Kyrus scrambled back and drew aether.

"Are you Xizix?" Kyrus asked.

Xizix straightened, pulling back away from Kyrus.
"I may not be much longer, should your temper fail you. Forgive my
theatrics, I have so few acquaintances that I fear I over-think my
greetings." Xizix spread his hands wide in a gesture of apology. Kyrus saw
that the demon's fingers were little more than articulated claws.

"You were the one who extended an invitation, I
believe," Kyrus said, ceasing his draw but doing nothing to dissipate the
aether he had taken.

"Indeed. I was led to believe by our mutual
acquaintance that you two hold some common cause against an old adversary of
mine. Curious, is it not, how he finds enemies so readily among his own people?
The Megrenn sorcerer's vitriol is easily understood, yours less so, but I would
not say that I am surprised," Xizix said. The demon's smile showed fangs
like carving knives.

"What quarrel do you have with Rashan?"
Kyrus asked. "If I am to trust you, I would know your motive."

"Now now, who said anything about trusting one
another?" Xizix asked. The demon gestured to a pair of chairs set off in a
corner of the room, stalking off toward them and leaving Kyrus to follow or not
as he chose. Kyrus followed. "But I have no need to conceal my reasons for
despising him. Rashan Solaran is a brute. He is a murderous machine of war and
death. He has tried to reform himself and failed. By all reports I receive, his
failure deepens by the day."