Sourcethief (Book 3) (28 page)

She called out to the children. Some of the words
were likely names, but Juliana understood only a word or two and nothing that
lent meaning to the interaction. Instead she judged by the children's
reactions. They scrambled from the railings, the sky’s wonders momentarily
forgotten in the face of mealtime.

"Do you worry about them playing on deck?"
Juliana asked. She took a strip of salted, smoked pork, one of the few morsels
that the children had not grabbed in their frenzy.

"No. They are children, not fools," Ushiqa
said. "They are not so small that they would jump off. Mushina would scold
the younger ones if they began to get rowdy."

"Do you have someplace you can take them?"
Juliana asked. "I don't know how far the war has spread, but I can take
you anywhere."

"I have family in the North."

"Fine then, north we go," Juliana replied.

"What about you? Do you not have to return to
Kadrin?" Ushiqa asked.

"I'm not sure when it will be safe to go back
there, if ever."

A crash of thunder boomed beneath them.
My whole
life is upside down,
Juliana thought.

* * * * * * *
*

Jinzan sailed carefully. It was as alien an
experience as he had ever encountered, sailing amid the clouds. The sea was in
his blood. It was familiar and reliable. The Katamic Sea held firm to the
contours of a well-crafted hull. In the air, the winds leapt suddenly, taking
the Kadrin airship along, unwilling. The
Black Gull
flew askew in the
currents, its stern always twisted slightly to the starboard side.

Despite the quirks of navigation, the airship’s
captain and sorceress were keeping it on course. All the dead seemed sluggish
in their movements: a resigned, plodding sort of existence. It reminded him of
Denrik's fellow inmates on Rellis Island.
The dead feel no pain? I wonder if
I will find that they do, after all.

Anzik came over to him. The boy had been poking
about the ship, examining both it and the crew since they had taken off. The
boy stopped before Jinzan, looking at him with bald curiosity. Jinzan thought
to ignore him, but Anzik was his son, not some underling to be brushed aside.

"Anzik, it is rude to stare. Go find something
to play with or read," Jinzan said.

"Someone wants me to tell you something,"
Anzik said. Jinzan looked at the boy once more, fixing his gaze to the aether.
There was nothing that he could see influencing the boy.
Someone is
influencing his twin?

"What?" he asked.

"Well, it's more of a question really, so I
think they phrased it wrong. They should have asked me to ask you something,
not to tell you—"

"Just tell me what it is," Jinzan snapped.

"He wanted me to ask if you have been playing
with Loramar's books," Anzik said. A pensive look scrunched up his face
and he paused. "So, 'have you been playing with Loramar's books?' Oh, and
who is Loramar? That was my question, the last one there."

"Anzik, who is the one asking?" Jinzan
felt a twinge of pride that he had managed to remain calm despite his
suspicions. His heart had not raced; neither had his breath quickened.

"Me. I just asked you," Anzik said.

"Yes, but who is asking
you
?"

"My apprentice," Anzik said with a smile.
"He's just like me but doesn't know magic."

"No. That is not what I mean. Who wants to
know?"

Anzik shrugged. It was a gesture that signaled a
blind canyon of inquiry.

"Oh," Anzik added. "He also wants you
to know that he is still planning to come to retrieve your skull, and that you
shouldn't fall asleep. Do you have a skull that you're planning on giving
someone? Can I see it?"

Anzik squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head. He
wobbled on his feet then slumped to the ground, fast asleep. Jinzan scooped him
up in his arms and carried him to one of the crew quarters belowdecks. His
spell had robbed Anzik of his wakefulness and Rashan of his puppet.

Filthy demon! Leave the boy out of this.

* * * * * * *
*

Rashan laughed as he pulled his hand away from
Faolen's forehead. The coolness of the demon's skin had left no sweaty imprint
and a welcome sense of relief. Back in Tellurak, Wendell released Jadon in the
same manner, allowing the sleepy boy to return to his bed. The demon's spell
had taxed Wendell's Source to its limits, but he had been able to see through
Jadon's eyes and Rashan through his own.

"What did that all mean?" Faolen asked.
"Why ask about Loramar?"

"Well, did you not notice that the crew were
all living corpses? Someone has been practicing necromancy, and there is no
better authority on the subject," Rashan explained.

"I thought you hated Loramar."

"I have no quarrel with books, whoever wrote
them. Besides, I had a healthy respect for the shriveled old death-herder. No
one has ever posed a greater threat to the empire."

"Do you really think that Jinzan Fehr is trying
to become a necromancer in the mold of Loramar?" Faolen asked. It occurred
to him then that he had not just revealed Jadon's sights to him, but Wendell's
in the process.

"Possibly. He certainly is trying his hand at
it, wherever he is getting his techniques. If he had found any of Loramar's
research though, it would seem that Ghelk would be the likely hiding place for
them."

"The Grand Necromancer's crypts were all found
and destroyed after your final victory. The Circle saw to it as part of the
peace treaty," Faolen said. "I would suspect that somewhere there was
someone else who tried to replicate the process."

"Well, I just happen to know someone who was
around for those treaty negotiations. I think it may be about time I pay him a
visit."

As soon as Rashan had gone, Faolen slumped back in
his chair. He reached for a decanter on the side table, pulled the stopper, and
drank his fill without so much as checking to see what it was.

* * * * * * *
*

Axterion was sitting with his feet soaking in a
sulfur-salted basin and a pipe in his mouth when Rashan arrived. The smoke and
water warmed and soothed him at both ends, but his demon grand-uncle put a
chill in his belly.

"What brings you to my bedchambers, old
man?" Axterion greeted Rashan. "Did the rumor get free that I was
better company than I've been letting on? I just chased Brannis out of here not
long ago. Talked my ears raw."

"No preamble this evening? I can appreciate
that," Rashan said. He lifted a high-backed chair, toted it across the
room to face Axterion's foot bath, and sat down. "You answered at least
one of the questions I came here for. I had heard Brannis spent much of the day
here, but I knew not why. He took you into his confidence, then?"

"Confidence? Confidence would have been if he
had taken my advice over that bloated son of mine. I think I'm more of a last
resort. You're too busy to while away the day yammering over a bowl or two of
strawberries with him. Me? I'm slow-moving and got nothing better to do with my
days. Worst yet, he knows it," Axterion complained. He blew a long jet of
smoke from his nostrils.

"Well, nice as it is to know that Brannis has
someone to confide in, I came about another matter," Rashan said.
"How much do you remember about the end of the Third Necromancer
War?"

"Why does everyone always assume I don't
remember anything? After my fifth or sixth springtime I have a fair
recollection of my life, you know." Axterion gave the warlock his best
"crotchety face" and dared him to question his memory again.

"Well, fine then. You oversaw the destruction
of Loramar's strongholds, did you not? You made sure that all traces of his
necromantic work were piled up and burned?"

"Between you, me, and the walls? Nah,"
Axterion replied. He winked at Rashan, teasing him before revealing his
reasoning. It was going to be entertaining working for Brannis if folks started
visiting more often. "I had to burn most of it, for appearance's sake of
course. But I was a right bastard in those days, and I had a glut of 'mean' in
my blood. Wasn't feeling too generous toward those dome-dwelling death puppeteers.
I took a good look through Loramar's notes and research, and torched the best
bits of it. I left the rest though, enough to get someone in a heap of trouble
if they tried it with all the precautions, remedies, and work-arounds gone to
cinders."

"Do you think it possible that someone is
reconstructing Loramar's work from those leftovers?" Rashan asked.

"No, entirely impossible," Axterion
quipped. "Can't see how anyone could have read a bunch of books, done what
it says inside them, then replicated the results." He shook his head.

"Why might it have taken this long for someone
to uncover the secrets? Have you heard reports of a major necromancer emerging
while I was away and covered it up?" Rashan asked. Axterion sneered,
annoyed that the demon had ignored his sarcasm.

"Well, if you must know, I gathered everything
up in a single crypt: books, papers, trinkets and gewgaws. Then I put a ward up
on the door. I'd looked at enough of Loramar's works by then to be able to do a
fair imitation of his runecarving. It was sloppy for someone with his
reputation, so I embellished a bit with some proper Kadrin forms; made it good
and strong too, built it to last. I modeled it after the one from your own
chamber door. Didn't want any stray washerwoman, rat-catcher or second
assistant arse-wipe apprentice getting delusions. I wanted to snare some real
potential madman, do a bit of good by my little trap."

"Well ... I think it just may be that you
caught someone at long last," Rashan said.

"About time," Axterion said. He had been
gesturing with his pipe as a prop but stuffed it back between his teeth and
gave a curt nod.

"Now what was it that you and Brannis spent all
day at?" Rashan asked, shifting topics on him.

"Boy has himself all puzzled up over that
demon—that
other
demon, that is. Not generally one to get fussed up over
trifles, but I think this one worried him a bit. He'd gone asking about getting
that volcano-plugging staff back, thinking the Megrenn who took it might be
hiding out in quaint, friendly little Azzat. Instead, this old friend of yours
goes on an hours-long tirade about you, the other immortals, gets the old gods
mixed in—mind you, did any of them immortals mention meeting them? Anyway, he
tried to remember as much of it verbatim as he could."

"Did anything come of it? Could you infer
anything from what Brannis told you?" Rashan asked. The demon was leaning
forward in his seat.

"A few things. First off, this Xizix chap is
mad as monkeys, as they say. I wouldn't trust him to cook my dawn feast, let
alone find important magical artifacts. He is also a liar, which I am beginning
to think might be the defining characteristic of a demon—no offense, but you
tell unseasoned truth roughly once per summer snowfall. The bit about how you
got thrown out of the immortals' little village was entertaining but I can't
say I can put much stock in it. It certainly
sounds
like something you
would do, but that's the mark of a good liar. I imagine a few thousand winters'
practice is enough to make anyone a good liar if they try."

"What version did he tell?" Rashan asked,
reclining in his seat with a narrowing gaze. If it was supposed to have been an
intimidating look, Rashan was going to have to stop looking like a schoolboy
from the Academy. Axterion had taught there, and sixteen-winter boys had given
him such gazes that they might have hurled fire, gazes not so unlike the
demon's. It was hard to take him seriously.

"Something about an immortal that disappeared.
You and it had a dispute and it told this Xizix that if it went missing, you
would be the reason. Just seemed too dratted convenient that only Xizix got the
message," Axterion said.
Brannis's idea of light truth is a load of
fun. It's just like spitting cherry seeds out of the truth and sweeping them
under the rugs so the servants don't see you doing it.

"It was his word against mine so all they could
justify was a temporary parole—banishment, so to speak. I still have not worked
out whether Xizix killed him and hid the body or if Bvatrain—the one who went
missing—just decided to play hide-from-his-lordship until they executed me for
his 'murder.’"

"Nah. My wager is still on you having killed
the poor demon," Axterion said. The two eldest sorcerers in the empire
shared a chuckle.

The shallow pond lay so still that the night sky was
painted across its surface. A careful observer could make out constellations
younger than several of those gathered by the water's edge. Creatures of
fantastical variety were among their number, most resembling humans but with
odd stylistic choices in their appearances: impossible physiques, brilliant
hair and eye colors, flesh and clothing adornments that defied nature. All
stood waiting in a silence that, if not companionable, was at least familiar to
them all. Patience comes easily to the immortal demons of Veydrus.

The pond graced the center of a clearing surrounded
by elder pines tall enough to brush the clouds—when clouds were allowed in the
immortals' glade. Which of them had done it, no one had asked, but while storm
clouds gathered above them and swelled with rain, the skies were clear beyond
the guardian pines.

Heads turned in unison at a ripple in the deep
aether. Such a subtle hint might have passed unnoticed elsewhere—even among the
great Kadrin sorcerers, the Ghelkans, and the goblins—but not in present
company. A sphere of aether appeared in the air above the pond. When it
vanished, a gray hulking creature hung in mid-air with leathery wings spread
wide. It crashed into the pond, which was only knee deep to the creature, the
mirror-like perfection of its surface ruined as steam rose around the demon.

"You did that intentionally," Illiardra
spoke up. She was wearing a green gown just a shade darker than her hair. The
delicate horns that framed her face contrasted the twisted tangle that sprouted
from Xizix's skull. "You press your welcome even upon your arrival."

"It is water, nothing more. It falls from the
sky when you allow it," Xizix chided. A fog rose around him as he reached
the grass around the pond. "But there, there now, I can play nice."
With the wave of a clawed hand, Xizix condensed the mist into droplets and
flung them back into the pond.

"What is it you wished to discuss with us that
was so important?" asked an immortal named Uok wearing golden robes.
"Why call for this gathering?"

"It seems we have someone who wants to hunt
demons," Xizix replied. He swept his gaze around the assembled immortals.
Three dozen had awaited his arrival.

"What?"

"We'll put a stop to that!"

"Will mortals never learn?"

There were few things that riled the pacifists and
the philosophers among them, but someone seeking to end their eternity was an
exception. Xizix threw back his head and laughed.

"You mean to sow discord?" Illiardra
scolded him. She had kept silent, waiting for the loudest immortals to vent
their anger before speaking on their behalf. "You must be speaking of the
Acardian you met with. I do not watch your realm but his movements are too
disruptive to ignore."

"Indeed. He seeks your lover's head," Xizix
replied, ignoring the rest. "I might be inclined to aid him but for my
agreement with Rashan. I want no part of that one's ire." Xizix paused a
moment, put a hand to his chin and gazed up to the stars. "Either of
theirs, for that matter. I would prefer that they leave me and my children
alone."

"Why come here at all then?" an angry
voice called from somewhere in the middle of the group.

"Why? To warn you," Xizix said. "He
is trying to piece together a weakness of Rashan’s, and seems intent on
discovering how he obtained immortality."

"He knows about the gate?" Uok asked.

"He knows enough to discover it, I
believe," Xizix replied. "He has found a journal that Rashan wrote
toward the end of his mortality, and it seems our friend was incautious about
his metaphors. I believe Rashan may have left the key lying in a book, obscured
under piles of gibberish and bad poetry. The Acardian is a scholar at heart, he
will not let the puzzle lie now that he knows it for what it is."

"We all feel the shudders in the aether
whenever he uses his transferences. What was it like being near to him?"
another immortal asked. "Is he like the peacemaker? You were still alive
back then, were you not?"

Xizix curled his lip. "No. This one is strong
but I have seen stronger Sources in dragons. The Acardian is a threat to any of
us, not all of us."

"Why worry then? It seems no harm will come in
letting him do as he will," Illiardra argued. "He sought you out for
advice and ... you withheld it?" Xizix nodded in the affirmative. "I
see no threat to any but Rashan, and I think we can all agree that any enmity
he draws is well-deserved. I have done more than my part to convict him of his
crimes in the past. Let this mortal give him sport. He could do us all a favor
and rid us of a true threat."

Xizix, whose attention had seemed to wander, turned
his fiery gaze on Illiardra once more. "I see now ... It was you, wasn't
it? You were the one who made sure this Acardian got his hands on Rashan's
journal." It seemed Illiardra was going to answer his accusation but he
waved away her reply. "Do not bother denying it. I see now. You are as
besotted with vengeance as he is. Beget mortals at your peril," he warned
the assembly. "Look what it has done to noble Illiardra, resorting to taking
a mortal sorcerer as her hidden blade."

"You are one to lay accusations,"
Illiardra shot back. "I saw the assassins you sent to kill Rashan in
Kadris. Those daggers were your own work, not even a copy."

"I have my agreement with Rashan and I know its
limits. I merely lent knowledge to those with a common grudge against him.
Those spells I showed them, the daggers, all were in purely theoretical
context. All action and motivation was by their own independent will. Besides,
the penalty for slaying an immortal is death. Those daggers would have taken
the wielder's Source as fuel for the magic that would have killed Rashan."

"I cannot abide any of this," Uok
interrupted. "Illiardra, what did that journal contain? What information
did you place before this mortal from the other side of the gate?"

"Two books I left for him to be given. The
first was the journal that Xizix spoke of. It was disguised as prophecy and
written in the prophetic forms. I ... I would surmise that Rashan was
embarrassed by recording his private thoughts and so did not write them
plainly. The journal was the venting of his bile upon paper. I wanted Brannis
Solaran's twin to understand the depths of Rashan's madness and the malice that
underlay it. The other book was
The Peace of Tallax
, which I am sure you
all have read. What better deterrent to a course beyond his station than
that?"

"You fool!" Xizix thundered. The glade
drained of aether almost instantly as dozens of immortals drew in every last
wisp, prepared in case Xizix became violent. "You obviously did not read
that journal well enough, because the single passage he quoted to me hinted
that Rashan had nearly pieced together the secret by the time he wrote it. This
boy may be no Tallax, but that does not mean we should have him running amok
for eternity."

"What harm is there, really?" the young
girl asked. "He opposes Rashan, and you said yourself he was scholarly. I
find no fault with the former and much hope in the latter."

"Xizix, you yourself seemed quite the risk as a
mortal and you were given a chance to prove yourself. Why would this Acardian
be any different?" Uok asked. There were murmured discussions among the
other immortals, but most seemed content to keep their opinions private.

"There is no evidence that he is even seeking
immortality for himself," Illiardra argued. "Thus far it would seem
he is only seeking a weakness in Rashan to exploit."

Someone spoke the words "good luck" just
loud enough to be heard by all.

"Illiardra, you were pureborn. You never felt
the gnawing hunger of the Source-rend," Xizix said. "He knows that
immortality is possible. He knows that Rashan found his way between worlds—he
confided this to me as well—he found out from the other side. He will have
hundreds of winters for that knowledge to gnaw at him as his body grows weak
and rots around him. Even if he has no thought to pursue immortality now, the
seed is there."

"What does he know of Rashan's passage through
the gate?" Illiardra asked. Her voice was quiet, betraying concern for the
first time.

"Some underling of Rashan's old twin reported
on a meeting between the two of them. He figured out from a written account
that it was the Veydran twin and not some relative whose description
matched," Xizix said. "You have merely given him more to poke and to
prod. He seems no fool. I say we wait to see if Rashan kills him, then destroy
him ourselves. We rid ourselves of one malcontent, and head off the coming of
our next overlord."

"Tallax never ruled us ... and you said
yourself that Brannis's twin was no equal to him," Illiardra argued.
"He has heard the name enough times by now, I am sure, to read the book
before acting. If Tallax's tale does not dissuade him, then he will not be
deterred."

"Oh yes, poor Tallax," Xizix said in
sing-song. "Only lived ten mortal lifetimes before going mad and
destroying himself." Xizix dropped his mocking tone. "You never were
mortal, Illiardra, and it again proves a blind spot for you. He will think he
can do better. Tallax's madness resulted in a failure to make himself immortal.
Well, Tallax's Source was intact but flawed, powerful as it was. This Acardian
has all the ingredients to succeed where Tallax failed."

"We should guard the gate," Uok suggested.

"What if we just let him through and destroy
it. It seems a good time for a gambit we can only play once," a
bronze-skinned man offered. He made it sound as if he was jesting, but many
among the assembly began to nod in agreement.

"Enough!" Illiardra shouted. "We will
guard the gate ... but only to prevent one of you from destroying it. It is a
legacy from the gods. Most of you are too young to remember, but I am not. We
are its caretakers."

Xizix snarled. "Very well. Consider yourselves
warned. I will offer neither aid nor death to this Acardian until he has
settled his business with Rashan." The demon flapped his wings, thrusting
himself aloft and sending waves across the pond, before disappearing in a
sphere of aether.