Sourcethief (Book 3) (51 page)

Kyrus felt Faolen struggle, both for freedom and for
breath.

"Oh, demons have no need for breath, either, as
I recall. Perhaps I should just wait a moment, and see whether you pass
out," Kyrus said.

"Fine, Brannis, it's Faolen after all. What are
you trying to prove?" Varnus asked.

"You said you think he might have arranged your
death," Kyrus said. Varnus gave a tiny nod, eyes grim. "We know he
has kidnapped a twinborn boy in both worlds, and tried to take him for his own.
You said he has been spying on me for Rashan, which he has so artfully
refuted." Kyrus indicated the false Rashan before them. "And not two
moments ago, he had a knife to your throat. What am I trying to prove? Nothing
but that he belongs in one of those cells regardless. Go on back to your
duties. I am truly sorry for the loss of Zellisan. I will tell Soria."

Kyrus clapped the burly guard captain on the
shoulder, and sent him on his way. Varnus's shoulders still slumped as he
departed the dungeons, but he held his head a bit higher.

"As for you ..." Kyrus took Faolen in tow,
allowing him just enough leeway to breathe. The warded cells were one level
lower, and Kyrus said not another word on the way down. The corridor looked
just as Kyrus had remembered it from his last venture down. There was a furrow
across from where a cell once was that turned into a hole across the way—one he
had made himself to escape from one of those same cells.

The doors of the remaining cells were all ajar.
Kyrus picked the last one of the line, and dumped Faolen inside. He reverted
back to his own form, looking up at Kyrus from hands and knees.

"When Rashan comes for me, I'll tell him about all
this," Faolen warned. "Don't leave me in here."

Kyrus glared down at the illusionist.
Liar.
Kidnapper. Spy. He threatened Varnus's life to worm his way free, probably
killed him in Tellurak.

"Tell Rashan? I think not," Kyrus said.
With a sharp tug, Faolen's Source was emptied of its aether. The little bit was
nothing to the yawning maw of Kyrus's own Source, just a morsel to be tucked
away. Kyrus guided the body as it fell, draping it against the inside of the
door as he closed it.

When Kyrus activated the cell, the deed was
complete. Anyone who came and found Faolen would assume the cell had emptied
his Source.

Rashan suspects, but is not certain. Perhaps this
buys another day or more. If nothing else, I shall cast one fewer shadow where
I go
.

* * * * * * *
*

The double doors of the dining hall burst open, and
a Sixth Circle stumbled through. Every head present turned at the sound. The
messenger had a scrap of paper in hand and his head swiveled about, eyes
searching the room.

"Warlock Rashan?" the sorcerer called out.

"Quiet, lad," Fenris scolded, "we are
in the middle of an important—"

"What is it?" Rashan interrupted. The
table of sketched security arrangements for the wedding was scratched gladly
from his memory by the prospect of something more exciting—which included
anything not related to festival planning.

"Warlock, can this wait? We
need
to be
certain of our plans, considering the last wedding we had," Celia said.
Half the Inner Circle was gathered, along with several of the guard captains of
the various noble houses attending.

"Give it here, Sorcerer Kirkan," Rashan
said, meeting the Sixth Circle sorcerer halfway, hand extended to receive the
note.

They’ve breached Wellspring
holding at third floor. Send aid.

"Inner Circle, follow me to the gardens,"
Rashan ordered. "NOW!" The dining hall was only separated from the
gardens by a wall of large glass doors and a terrace. Rashan was already
halfway to those doors before the first of his Inner Circle rose from their
seats.

"What's going on?" Aloisha demanded,
following nonetheless.

"Whitefield is under attack this very
moment," Rashan called back, not slowing. He thrust open the doors and
jogged across the terrace to the grassy lawn, then turned. He did not wait for
everyone to catch up, or catch their breath, but began explaining. "I am
going there now, via transference. Any volunteers to join me?"

Silence.

"I thought not. Instead I order you to stand
your ground, ready to receive whatever comes back. I will try to keep yet
another stone out of Megrenn hands," Rashan said.

"What do you think might—" Fenris began
asking, but abandoned his question by the roadside as Rashan was already
enveloped in a sphere of aether.

* * * * * * *
*

The sphere of his transference spell vanished,
leaving him in a chamber of yellowed marble with a circle of well-tended lawn
at its center. Rashan had time to register that, and no more, as runes carved
all about the walls erupted in lances of ice. He was stabbed through a dozen
times even after the first several had wasted themselves against his shields.
No blood poured from those wounds, of course, but Rashan was aware of the chill
that seeped in. His muscles slowed and rime encrusted him, spreading over the
whole of his body.

The ceiling of the chamber was rent asunder and a
cascade of water poured over him, freezing as it touched. In seconds he was
encased in a slovenly prison of ice, resembling nothing so much as a splash
suspended in time.

* * * * * * *
*

Jinzan rushed into the speaking stone chamber,
amazed at the calmness he felt despite victory being so close at hand. His
hands did not shake, nor did his heart race. Truly, he had gained mastery over
his physical body.

His trap had worked perfectly. The demon, Rashan
Solaran, was impaled and frozen solid. Jinzan took the Staff of Gehlen in both
hands and pressed the squared wings of the head against the icy prison. Jinzan
commanded it to draw, to crush the living Source from the demon from just a
handsbreadth of ice away. He felt a cyclone of aether whirling into him, filling
him, filling the staff—but none came from the demon. Even grasped by ice and
held immobile, those demon eyes seemed to taunt him.

Jinzan paused, realizing he was drawing nothing but
whiffs of aether. All that had been readily at hand he had taken already. He
knew he needed some other plan. Loramar's technique for removing a Source was
not working on Rashan Solaran.

“Hakvea golotanu dexjahi ecalamu
,” Jinzan whispered, mindful that
the demon had reacted to his spells by their sound once before. He cupped his
hands together, holding the Staff of Gehlen in the crook of his arm. Between
his hands, an orb of swirling energy formed. It grew, and Jinzan forced more
and more aether into it. The more tightly he restrained it, the more powerful
it became. It grew only when he was unable to contain it in a smaller
vessel—and grow it did.

When the sphere became wide as his own chest, he
unleashed it. It flew towards the icy prison where Rashan Solaran—was no longer
trapped! The orb tore through the empty prison and the far wall of the speaking
stone chamber, annihilating all in its path.

Jinzan shrieked in rage as the demon resumed his
corporeal form, a pace from where the orb had passed. That shriek—a pained,
wheezing, hiss—died quickly upon the realization that the demon was drawing his
sword.

"Well, it looks like I was expected,"
Rashan quipped. The demon bore an insouciant smile, mocking the gravity of
their encounter.

Jinzan tried once more, free of the barrier of ice
that separated them, to extract the demon's Source. The Staff of Gehlen gave
every sign of compliance, but delivered no result; it shook in his hand from
the effort.

Rashan just clucked his tongue and watched.
"Bite into an apple, and you might suck its juices dry. But you bite into
stone, Councilor Fehr, and you merely break teeth. I knew a man once, long ago,
who thought like you did."

"Loramar," Jinzan furnished the name.
"I am his heir." His mind struggled to form a plan while the demon
parlayed. If there was to be an advantage gained, it would be from the demon's
own hubris. He took a single step back, and Rashan did not follow.

"Loramar may have been many things, but a
father ... I think not," Rashan joked. "As you may have surmised, I
am here for that staff, which you have no rightful claim to."

"And to kill me, no doubt?" Jinzan
offered, hoping to draw a soliloquy from his adversary. He kept a slow and
steady draw, hoping to keep below the demon's threshold for alarm.

"Kill you? KILL you? My dear Councilor Fehr, I
could not kill you if I wanted to—you are already dead." Rashan spoke the
last in the tone of an elder, trying to scare small children with fireside
stories. Jinzan was not amused.

"You think yourself amusing, demon?"

"I do." Rashan chuckled.

"I am master of death, Grand Necromancer, student
of Loramar's works," Jinzan proclaimed.

"And dead as soon as you run out of
aether," Rashan replied. "You are student of a select set of
Loramar's works. My nephew told me of them. You were meant to find the tomb—not
you specifically, but whatever ambitious would-be necromancer came along. All
Loramar's works were destroyed, save a scant few, enough to lead some great
threat to the Kadrin Empire down a path of doom instead. I imagine that without
that staff you might have expired fully already."

"You need more plausible lies, demon,"
Jizan said. "I am my Source, my body a mere vessel."

"Ah, Loramar's philosophy boiled down to a
novice's understanding," Rashan observed. The demon took a step in his
direction, a casual step, but carrying the weight of threat by reputation.
There was no unthreatening action for an avowed foe of Rashan Solaran. Jinzan
took a step back to match, but found the demon's advance continued. He kept
backing away. "And you know, I pay you the respect of name and title; you
call me 'demon.' Even Loramar had better manners."

Rashan leapt for Jinzan, catching him unawares
despite having seen the sudden change in his demeanor in battle once before.
Heavens Cry slammed against Jinzan's shielding magic—once, twice, a dozen
times. Jinzan drew more aether in to reinforce it, but knew that it was not a
plan for a long engagement. He thrust out his hand and shot from it a bolt of
pure aether.

Rashan was thrown to the wall, narrowing missing the
doorway to the ruined speaking stone chamber. He crumbled to the ground,
Heavens Cry clattering free of his hand. He gave a feeble effort to rise, and
collapsed once more.

"This is the end of you demon—here, today. Just
as it is for those back in Kadris, helpless without you there to defend them
from my apprentices, and the dead they created from your sorcerers who guarded
this place," Jinzan boasted.

Jinzan approached slowly, wary of the demon's
tricks. He shot another bolt of aether, and the body splayed against the wall,
back broken and twisted. Jinzan allowed himself a smile.
Best destroy him
entirely. Let those who wish to claim he still lives be the ones to offer proof
.
Jinzan nodded to himself.

He stood above the body, marveling at how such a
small creature could have been the cause of such misery and destruction. The
youthful face was still twisted up in malevolent glee, eyes manic, staring
blankly. It was poetry itself that the teachings of a long-dead nemesis were
the key to his undoing. Without Loramar's aid, Jinzan would never have had the
strength of body to withstand the forces his mind could channel. He never would
have had the fortitude to stand up to all the hardship of endless days and
nights of study, to defend the last of the Megrenn Alliance while there was
something left to save.

"
Halatu dunaxi tukaso ...
" Jinzan
began, but a twitch and a twist shattered his concentration. Rashan's body
snapped around, the broken spine realigning itself as Rashan lunged for the
Staff of Gehlen. Rashan only got one hand around it, but that was enough.

Jinzan flailed about, seeking to dislodge the demon.
Rashan Solaran was ferociously strong, but light enough that even Jinzan could
thrash him about like a game hare. Jinzan loosed another bolt of aether, but a
shield sprang into existence around his foe just in time to absorb its impact.
Jinzan began to panic, mind abuzz with conflicting thoughts of what to do next.

"You rely too much on a few simple
tricks," Rashan observed, still clinging stubbornly to the staff. Jinzan
continued to swing him about, battering the demon into walls and off the marble
floor. "That trap was a stroke of brilliance, but you had nothing to fall
back on when it was not enough on its own."

"Shut up, monster," Jinzan snarled.

"Make me, corpse," Rashan countered.

Jinzan reached out with a spell of telekinesis, and
tore two door-sized chunks from the walls. He brought them together to crush
the demon in between. As he had once before, Rashan turned himself incorporeal
just before impact.

Incorporeal hands cannot grasp.

Jinzan had the staff free once more, and began
drawing aether for a renewed assault. Rashan reached out behind him, and his
sword leapt into his hand.