Sourcethief (Book 3) (34 page)

He walked to the nearest wall and set about testing
a brand new theory, one that explained his predicament far better than a simple
trick of architecture. He took Heavens Cry and tried to stab it into the wall,
which shook. Protective wards fought back against the phenomenal pressure of
all of his demonic strength concentrated in a rune-forged point. He added a
bolt of aether, and the ward shattered.

The room around him melted away like rain-washed
chalk. He was in a courtyard with the palace some distance off. Five Ghelkan
sorcerers encircled him at a dozen or so paces distant. Correction: four
sorcerers and a sorceress.

"I'm sorry, Princess. I could not hold the wall
against that much power," one of the sorcerers said.

"Princess?" Rashan asked. "Oh my,
this is a pleasant surprise. This trip might not be an entire waste after
all."

"Zaitu, Tinnok, now!" Princess Shiann
called out, ignoring Rashan's banter. Aether flowed away from him in all
directions. It was an effective and efficient method for a group of lesser
sorcerers to isolate a stronger one.

"
Nexhi inkodu jokatchu stovoko fahni
,"
one sorcerer chanted and spun in a circle.

"
Igno denfaquo nahi teztuju
,"
intoned another as he reached clawed fingers toward the sky.

A continuous coil of silvery metal wrapped around
Rashan's limbs and torso, curling up about his neck. It pulled tight and held
him. If he still had the habit of breathing, such would have been beyond him.

In the sky, a haze of clouds gathered, enough to
call down lightning from above. A bolt struck Rashan, crackling along the metal
strand that restrained him and causing his muscles to twitch, though not enough
to break his grip on Heavens Cry.

"Jarok, Lensu!" Princess Shiann cried.

"
Kinzif holomae tiatu hulnas fenragu otomar
tedo peadakna
," a third sorcerer spoke. His hands seemed to fight
against an unseen force between him and Rashan.

A blackish tar poured over the demon. It dripped and
stank and stuck wherever it touched. The last of the sorcerers under Shiann's
command snapped his fingers and the muck burst into flame.

"
Zinfa gijami dafivi oronoto penedakti
,"
Princess Shiann chanted and brought her hands together into a cup.

For a time at least, that was the last that Rashan
saw of any of them as he was enveloped in a crystalline shell that was opaque
in both the light and the aether.

The Ghelkans had always proved to be innovative
opponents, even leaving Loramar out of the discussion. The use of teamwork was
something Kadrin sorcerers could have used lessons on, and their repertoire of
spells was impressive.

Sadly, there was one crucial aspect of magical
battle in which his current opponents were unforgivably lacking: power.

Being wound up in coiled steel, shocked, and set
aflame was all very interesting but not a bit of it hurt more than
superficially. His body was scorched but already healing itself.
If I cannot
see them, they likely cannot see me, either. Do they expect me to shrivel and
die, stuck in here?
A moment's thought snuffed the fires. Using the same
spell he had once taught Brannis to use to free himself of restraints, he
turned incorporeal for a moment and let the metallic coils fall free of him and
the muck slough off to pile on the ground.

Rashan leveled Heavens Cry at the wall of his
crystal prison, preparing to use the blade to pierce the aether that held it
together. Before he could act, the crystal caved in upon him, accompanied by a
wash of fire. Rashan staggered out through the wreckage of the crystal shell,
even as it began to disperse back into the aether. He raised an arm to shield
his eyes against the brightness.

"Now!" Shiann ordered.

Rashan could not hear the chanted spells over the
rush of flames, but he felt the aether bolts coming. The first slammed against
his shielding spell, the second he dove to avoid. He used the momentum from his
dive to roll and spring back to his feet. He found the nearest of the Ghelkan
sorcerers and leaped for him, raising Heavens Cry for a fatal strike.

The Ghelkan had just finished casting an aether
bolt, but had instinct enough to cast silently before Rashan reached him. One
moment Rashan saw a hairless, shriveled old sorcerer with his hands raised in
fear, the next, there was a wall of steel blocking his view. Rashan reversed
his grip on Heavens Cry and took it in both hands. He hit the steel barrier
feet first and drove the tip of the sword through. The demon's keen ears heard
the blade bury itself in flesh on the far side, and the steel barrier fell to
the ground.

Before he could pull the blade free, Rashan was
struck and thrown aside by a boulder. The Ghelkan sorcerers were clever enough
to whisper their incantations so that he could not anticipate their spells.
Rashan growled. He sent a blast of air straight down and struck the earth with
a shock that kicked dust into the air all around the battlefield.

In the concealment of the dust, Rashan was
invisible. The Ghelkan sorcerers shone in the aether, but he was a ghost. He
heard the coughing, the struggles for air, the attempts to shout to one
another.

With a crack, he broke the neck of a sorcerer who
had not so much as flinched at his approach. He flung the body away.

One of the Ghelkans gathered wits enough to summon a
wind to clear the cloud of dust before Rashan could use its concealment to kill
again. His opponents' discipline was admirable; they still had him at the
center of a rough triangle formed by the three remaining sorcerers.

"You've been planning for me," Rashan
called out.

There was no answer from the Ghelkans save for a
renewal of their magical assault. A storm of blades flew at Rashan. He
flattened himself to the dirt by reflex, but as he did so, the ground beneath
him liquified. Rashan's eyes widened as the earth swallowed him.

As with the crystal, there was a standoff. The earth
hardened all around him, and Rashan was cut off from the battlefield above.
This time though, he could see his opponents in the aether, and saw that they
were drawing and storing aether.

Without the need to breathe, the earthy confines
offered Rashan a respite in which to plan. The Ghelkans were certainly planning
to unleash something intended to do him real harm once they had gathered all
the aether they could handle. He suspected that he could weather it, but
preferred an alternative to feeling the brunt of whatever they had planned for
him. He tried to smile, but the earth packed around him held him fast.

Rashan's draw was the equal of the three remaining
Ghelkan sorcerers. He fought them for the same aether they attempted to call.
When he had enough for his own spell, he surrounded himself in a sphere of
aether.

A moment later, a sphere of soil appeared on the
battlefield, where once a Ghelkan sorcerer had stood. That sorcerer had taken
Rashan's place belowground, and the pocket of air that went with him collpased
immediately. The sphere of soil above ground crumbled, and Rashan struggled
free, filthy as a child who had been at play in the mud.

"Jarok!" the last of the male sorcerers
exclaimed.

Rashan looked to the depression in the earth.
"I don't think he'll be joining us," he commented, guessing that
Jarok was the entombed sorcerer. "But I can send you to meet him."
Rashan leaped barehanded at the Ghelkan.

Jarok's friend was not so unprepared as Jarok had
been, nor so trusting to his defenses as the one who had raised the steel wall.
He fled Rashan's charge, going in six directions at once. Rashan landed in the
middle of the scattering duplicates that the Ghelkan had conjured, trying to
discern which was the original. He was accustomed to viewing battles in the
aether, and was surprised that the living specimen did not stand apart.

He caught one of the duplicates and it came apart in
his fingers like a scarecrow. It retained the look of a human just a moment
before the aether it was fashioned from unraveled. He chased after another and
the result was the same. The problem vexed him as three more duplicates
appeared. They ran in a mad tangle, defying Rashan's efforts to keep track of
them individually.

The real sorcerer should be
visible by the aether he drew. Why isn't one of these dimming with each casting
of the spell?

When the answer came to Rashan, he felt the fool for
not having realized sooner. "You're the one who made that maze of a palace
for me, aren't you? None of these is you."

Rashan ignored the illusionary sorcerers and walked
over to retrieve Heavens Cry; its fumes would not care where the invisible
sorcerer stood, but would clear the whole of the area of foes.

He had forgotten about Princess Shiann.

A bolt of aether tore through Rashan's body, sent
with the force of all the aether she had drawn and much from her own Source as
well. Rashan looked down and saw a hole the size of a dinner plate in his
torso. There was no blood, no gore, just bits of sinew and meaty endings
dangling loose from the wound. The effort that Shiann had given appeared to
have taken a deeper toll on her than the spell had taken on the demon.

Rashan gaped a moment, unable to speak. As the wound
closed itself and he could once more fill his lungs with air, he filled them
and let out a long breath. A quick inspection showed that the hole had been
repaired fully in just seconds.

"My compliments," Rashan called across the
battlefield. "I didn't think you had it in you. I believe my tunic is a
total loss."

Rashan retrieved Heavens Cry and strode over to
where Shiann had collapsed in exhaustion. A shielding spell appeared in the air
in front of her.

Rashan rolled his eyes. "Please ..." With
a single swipe of Heavens Cry he cut through the shield and the invisible
sorcerer who had interposed himself between the demon and his princess.

Rashan held the tip of his sword beneath Princess
Shiann's chin and she lay propped on her elbows, unable to rise. She was
panting just from the effort of holding herself up, and her Source was just a
flicker. "Any last words?"

"I'll have my revenge," she replied.

"Good as any, but not very original."
Rashan skewered her.

He looked back to the palace, which he had been led well
away from by the Ghelkans' clever illusions. There was a king somewhere that he
ought to deal with before he left.

* * * * * * *
*

"I hope you know what you're doing, son,"
Frenna said.

General Kaynnyn and the Fehr family huddled in the
cellars of the palace along with the infant princess. They had been ordered to
flee, but Anzik had shown a strange assertiveness in insisting they hide
instead. They had argued, General Kaynnyn in particular being of a mind to
follow Princess Shiann's order to evacuate, but somehow, Anzik had prevailed.
Whether it was because all the adults knew of his extended experience in hiding
from sorcerous eyes or some trick of his own magic, he had convinced them.

Now the young boy's eyes turned to the ceiling,
enraptured as if someone was making shadow puppets to entertain him. The rest
of them, even the others among the Fehr children with aether-sight, saw
nothing.

"Anzik, what is he doing up there?" Nakah
asked. She watched the ceiling as well, but had no vision that could see through
the stone.

"He killed them all. He looked everywhere but
here. He found everyone but us." Anzik's expression was vacant, his
thoughts outside the room with them. "He will be here soon."

"We have to get out of here then!" General
Kaynnyn said.

"Quiet!" Anzik snapped. All eyes turned to
him. Anzik rarely spoke until recently. None of them had ever heard him issue a
command to anyone. "Everyone stay completely quiet. Leave this to
me."

They huddled the rest of the children in a corner,
had them cover their ears and look away. The rest crouched behind crates and
shelves and covered their mouths. Anzik alone stood in the middle of the room,
either oblivious or all too aware of what was about to come.

The door opened and a slim, slight figure entered,
dressed in black and carrying a bared blade in hand. Rashan Solaran, Warlock of
the Kadrin Empire, it could be none other. He strode into the room sweeping it
with his eyes. Briefly, he locked his gaze with Anzik from a pace away. Anzik
never flinched and Rashan was never aware of him, it seemed.

Content that the room was unoccupied, the demon left
them.

Brannis walked off the pier and onto solid ground
once more. The trip had been smooth the last several days but he still vowed to
stay off the Katamic for a good long while. His stomach and legs had made it an
ultimatum, and the rest of him had readily agreed.

"So this is Zorren?" he asked Soria. The
buildings were packed in close quarters. There were whitewashed brick buildings
reminiscent of Acardia, sturdy fitted-stone edifices that would have looked at
home in Takalia, the ornately carved tent-shaped structures that were common in
Southern Khesh, and bits and pieces of a dozen smaller lands mixed in as well.

"Well, in Veydrus it would be," Soria
said. "But no, this is Bouo. Once you get beyond the shoreline, I doubt
you'll see any similarity. I only flew over Zorren a bit in the
Daggerstrike
but it was enough to know that it was very different from this place."

"You know Bouo well?" Brannis asked.

Rakashi laughed.

"You could say that," Soria replied.
"We spent years based here. I don't know if our quarry knew that or not
but they picked the wrong city to try to hide from us in. If they so much as
passed through, we'll pick up a trail."

"If that's true, then we have to assume they
know that. They want us to find them or at least to know where they are.
Whatever they are hoping to gain, they are looking to gain it in Veydrus.
Without our knowing, they have no leverage," Brannis reasoned.

Rakashi led as they made their way into the city,
leaving Captain Kaisson and the
Poet's Hammer
behind. Brannis noticed
that there were an unusual number of armed people wandering the streets and no
one seemed to give it two thoughts. When he thought to look for them, he could
find no uniformed guards anywhere.
Maybe why everyone seems to take personal
protection upon themselves
, he thought.

"We're going to see some old acquaintances, to
see whether they can tell us where we need to head," said Soria.

Brannis leaned close as they walked. "Are these
the sort of acquaintances that will be happy to see us?" he asked softly.

Soria chuckled and glanced sidelong at him, a gleam
in her eye. "Yes and no."

* * * * * * *
*

"Why have we stopped here?" Stalyart asked.
He and Tanner stood in the common room of a cheap tavern in Alo Haith, a small
mining town along a tradeway that was used more for supplies and goods than for
travelers.

"Listen," Tanner replied, "you saved
my skull in Lon Mai, so I'll play it even with you: the kid told me where they
were going before I lost him to your friend. We're just heading them off,
trying to figure out where they'll pass through on their way to the
coast."

"So all this time you’ve had this simple plan
and you chose not to share it with me? Perhaps to the detriment of finding the
boy at all, should misfortune have found you?" Stalyart asked. Tanner gave
a silent nod, the corner of his mouth curling into a grin. "Well done! You
are perhaps not hopeless."

"Well, I fell for your escape scheme, didn't
I?" Tanner returned. "That was really Warlock Rashan coming, not some
ruse to make me think he might have been. Listen ... I may be pretty
aether-dense on the other side, but there was some fighting going on back at
the palace after we cut out of there."

There was a momentary break in their conversation as
a bleak-eyed serving girl—who looked at least forty years old—delivered their
ales. All booze was cheap in Takalia since they produced so much domestically.
Alo Haith was the sort of place that got the "mistakes"—liquors that
tasted off or that came from weak batches. They were practically drinking for
free, though either would gladly have paid for better, had anything been
available.

Stalyart's eyes followed the server as she left them.
"We are safely away from Lon Mai and tomorrow we will be on my ship. I can
take you back to Kadris but I think it may be time that both of us found
somewhere away from the rest of this war. There are parties who may not
appreciate the roles we have taken."

"Yeah," Tanner agreed, "that's the
main reason I'm not sore about you sneaking me out in the middle of what might
have been a rescue. Not so sure gettin' rescued by that demon would have been
best for my long-term prospects. If Kyrus or your pirate friend manage to kill
off that demon, then we can figure out what to do next."

"I am most glad you agree. This will make
arrangements much simpler."

Tanner's eyes wandered about the room as he nursed
his ale. They settled on Stalyart's sword.

"You still interested in having a duel?"

"No," Stalyart replied the moment Tanner
finished the question. Tanner laughed and took a swig of his ale. His
expression soured momentarily before he swallowed. He worked his mouth to get
the taste out, then laughed anew. "Any man who picks a fight with five
armed men has no place crossing blades with me."

"Aw, and I never even got to see you fi—”

Tanner stopped mid-sentence as the door to the
common room opened and another group entered. Stalyart followed his look. They
were all foreigners, pale-skinned and fair haired—not quite light enough to be
Kheshi but possibly Acardian or Hurlan.

"Trouble," whispered Tanner.

"What makes you certain?"

"Foreigners. This place isn't much for
foreigners. And look at the gear they've got: rope, clubs ... I think that's a
blow gun the one on the left has," Tanner said.

"We are foreigners here as well, you
know," Stalyart said, shrugging.

"Yeah, and that don't make me feel any better,
considering what we're up to. I think these boys are in the same line of
work."

"Piracy?" Stalyart suggested with a smile.

"No," Tanner replied.
"Kidnappings."

* * * * * * *
*

"They came on a ship named
Falcon's Tree
,"
Soria said. She said it in Kheshi so Brannis did not understand it. Rakashi
stood in the back of the little curio shop, and translated for him.

"I heard of it," the rascal behind the
counter replied, his face fixed in a permanent sneer. He seemed the sort that
did more business on the side than in his actual profession. He exuded a greasy
lack of grace that seeped into his clothes and the shop he kept. "How bad
you wanna know about 'em?"

"You know me, Zinn," Soria said. Brannis
picked up a note of warning in her voice without needing it translated.

"Fine. Just remember I done you good before.
What they look like?" Zinn asked. He picked at something in his teeth as
he spoke.

"Both Acardian, and you can tell it easy enough
by the look of them. The male is about thirty, long curly hair, brown eyes,
cleft chin... got all his teeth," Soria said. Zinn stopped picking at his
own teeth.

"The girl?" he asked.

Soria glanced back at Brannis before answering. As
she began what he could only assume was her description of Abbiley, Rakashi
stopped translating. Brannis looked his way and the Takalish scholar put up his
hands in surrender, but did not resume.

Brannis leaned around to better see Soria from the
front. He watched as she held her hands cupped in front of her chest—well in
front of her chest—giving the impression of a rather ... endowed woman. Brannis
felt heat rise in his face. Rakashi grabbed him by the arm and turned him away.

"Just ... just let her deal with this her
way," Rakashi said. He held eye contact as long as possible, which just
made Brannis more determined to see what Soria was up to. He shrugged loose
from Rakashi's grip and twisted back to see her.

Soria had her upper lip curled back, baring her
teeth. She was holding her hands up to either side of her face, making a little
waggling motion with her fingers. He made a move toward her, some offended bit
of Kyrus within him growing heated at the perceived insult to Abbiley, but a
tug at his arm held him back.

"Just be glad you do not speak Kheshi,"
Rakashi said in his ear.

Brannis was fuming when Soria finally finished
bargaining with the shady shopkeeper.
She is just jealous. She wants to see
if I am past Abbiley, and it seems that maybe ... Kyrus ... is not. I am a
better man than this
, Brannis assured himself. He took deep breaths to will
away his anger. By the time they left the shop, he realized that his hands were
sore—his fingernails had been digging into his palms without him even
realizing.

* * * * * * *
*

A cloud of dust rose behind two horses as they
stampeded down the western road out of Alo Haith. The horses were freshly
stolen and well provisioned, the latter a lucky coincidence. Horse theft was
the least of their worries if caught and the owners certainly were not going to
be the ones chasing them down.

"This is all your fault," Stalyart
shouted. He rode awkwardly but a fear-strengthened grip kept him in the saddle.

"My fault? You were staring at them,"
Tanner yelled back. "If you knew how to use the corners of your eyes they
never would have come over, but you had to turn and stare at them like some
five-eckle puppet show." Tanner had ridden the length of Khesh and back
again more times than he cared to count. He was a fair rider, even if he did
not particularly enjoy horses, and was comfortable enough in the saddle to turn
and look behind them for pursuit.

Stalyart caught sight of him looking back. "Are
they still following us?"

"Yeah, four or five of 'em. Can't tell from
this far away whether they have long guns or not. I hate those things,"
Tanner shouted.

"You like your pistol well enough,"
Stalyart pointed out. "I see no difference."

"My pistol is mine, that's the difference.
Those blasted things might be able to reach us here if they get lucky. Just
keep riding. Either we'll lose them or we'll deal with them after
nightfall."

"You assume we can ride to nighttime without
our own horses failing."

"You're just a cheery fella, aren't ya,
pirate?"

They rode on, trusting to luck, fate, and the
questionable horse-buying habits of hired thugs to get them through to night.

* * * * * * *
*

Soria watched as Brannis stabbed his fork into the
mush on his plate for the tenth time or so without taking a bite of it.

"Kheshi food not to your liking?" she
asked.

"Nothing wrong with the food," Brannis
said, not looking up from his plate. "Well, maybe could do with a bit less
corn meal in it."

"We got a good solid lead. You get two of these
magpies to tell the same story without the time to talk to each other about it,
and you have yourself something to go on," Soria said.

Rakashi cleared his throat, gave them each a nod and
got up from his empty plate. Soria watched him head upstairs before turning her
attention back to Brannis.

"You're mad," she said.

Brannis looked up from his plate but kept his head
down. He stuffed a forkful of the corn mush into his mouth.

"I can tell." Soria smiled without much
feeling.

"Why are you even helping with this?"
Brannis asked. "You can't stand her."

Soria wrinkled her nose and frowned.
Why am I?
She had not given the matter much thought. "It's just what I do, I guess.
I get a job and do it. Normally it's for money, but this time all I cared about
was going with you."

"So that's all there is to this for you?"
Brannis asked. "Just a mission, a job that you're doing gratis as a favor
to me?"

She shrugged. "I guess. I take things as they
come. If you had been happy leaving her to her fate and going to find Zell in
Takalia, I'd have been right there with you for that, too. Frankly, if you find
a way to get away from Rashan in Kadrin, I'd leave all them to their fates,
too."

"Just like that?" Brannis asked. He cocked
his head as he awaited a reply.

"Just like that. You're getting caught up in
the same trap as Tallax. I've read you almost the whole thing, you must have
seen the pattern by now."

"Yes, when there's no one else, it is your duty
to step in and set things right," said Brannis. "The warring
kingdoms, the dominance of the dragons, the murderous immortals, the mediation
with the gods—and if anything I think that's where the story crosses into pure
myth-making—all of it fell to Tallax because he was the only one who could handle
it."

"Tallax chose his path," Soria countered.
"If nothing else, see that difference. Poor Kyrus is dealing with all the
troubles heaped on him by a rotting empire and a demonic regent. You are the
one who welcomed all that, not him. Now you're chasing after a girl that Kyrus
held hands with once or twice and made moon eyes at. I'm sorry if I may have
over-salted my descriptions of her, but three informants were able to know her
by it."

"That thing you did with the wiggling
fingers?"

"Face it, she has peasant teeth. You can't have
helped noticing," Soria said and let out a sigh.