Sourcethief (Book 3) (54 page)

Kyrus watched for a time, wondering how best to
broach the topic of Faolen. Given Rashan's unusual turn of mood, he decided
against it entirely. His other revelation, he could barely prevent himself from
gushing about.
I figured out your puzzle, you clever old rascal.

"Let me send up for wine," Kyrus offered.
"We can toast the new era of the Kadrin Empire, and the end of the Fourth
Necromancer War." He smiled, hoping to make it infectious. Rashan looked
at him a moment before nodding his assent.

"I had scarcely thought to consider it such.
Those wars were the product of Loramar vengeance. I suppose, thanks to
Axterion, this was as well," Rashan said.

"You might do well to consider the old man for
a seat in the Inner Circle once more. You could use a cool head with a sharp
tongue attached," Kyrus suggested.

"Do we have a vacancy, then?" Rashan
asked. Kyrus nodded. "Was it anyone I would be saddened about?" Kyrus
shook his head. "Then we can leave it for a later time. There is a wedding
on the morrow, and an empire littered with corpses that still move. You shall
help. There is nothing out there to truly risk ourselves against any longer—at
least nothing imminently bent on our harm." Rashan tried a smile, but
seemed not to find it to his liking.

Servants brought the best and oldest vintage from
Emperor Sommick's cellars, one that dated back to Rashan's mortal days. They
nursed the bottle for hours, filling their bellies with words more than wine.
By the time Kyrus retired to bed, he wondered if perhaps his future in the
empire might be something other than the bleak march toward confrontation with
Rashan that Dolvaen had predicted.

The songbirds heralded the morning, though what
portent their songs held was beyond understanding for the waking travelers.
Neither Brannis, nor Soria, Tomas Abbiley, even erudite Rakashi, held any
knowledge of bird omens. There had been a finality about their battle with Lady
Skaal's mercenaries that gave the group a sense of ease in the aftermath. It
was a road-weary, blood-spattered, aching sort of ease, but an ease
nonetheless.

Abbiley had awakened feeling much improved. She was
still light-shy, but did not need to keep her eyes wrapped. She borrowed
Soria's cloak instead to keep off the glint of the dawnlight.

"Happy age-day, Brannis," Soria greeted
him when first he woke. "You're an old man now." She gave him a
playful smile and ruffled his hair.

"For a whole two days I share an age with
you," Brannis retorted, ducking away from her.

"Congratulations," Tomas said. He came
across their little camp to clap Brannis on the back. "How old would that
make you?"

"Three and twenty summers ago I was born,"
Brannis replied.
And in another world
.

"Twenty-three? By thunder, I thought you'd had
a year or two on me, and I'll be seeing my thirtieth year soon, thanks to you
and your friends."

Brannis scratched his head. "Thanks?" he
replied, unsure how to take the dubious assessment of his age.

"Well, all the more life ahead of you, you
know," Tomas said with a wink. Separated from the threat of imminent
death, the man was irrepressible.

Abbiley gave him a quieter congratulations just
before they broke camp for the day, and thanked him for her rescue twice over.
The only one to say nothing about it was Rakashi. Brannis realized that he had
never spoken much with Rakashi when matters were less than urgent. In Scar
Harbor, he had gone about his business while Brannis and Soria had met with
Lord Harwick day after day. When they traveled by boat, he kept himself apart
either by choice or because of the fawning affection of Takalish travelers who
rarely saw warrior-scholars.

Well, I'll find a time to talk
with you—in private. We have some things that can be worked out between us, now
that there is no one's life dangling by our delay.

With no road or map to guide them, they set their
course by sun and shadow, plodding north.

Soria hung back with Brannis, and gave him a full
accounting of the meeting she had had with Illiardra. She left out no detail.
She told Brannis where to find the immortals' enclave, and the secrets that
Illiardra had bade her to keep. She even told him about the gate between worlds
that the immortals guarded, and the price they were willing to pay to stop him
using it.

"What made you decide to tell me all
this?" Brannis asked.

"Eyes open. I don't trust Illiardra,"
Soria replied. "She's manipulating me to manipulate you. She already made
one false move by handing you the clues to Rashan's immortality. She made
another by thinking she could convince me to hide this all from you."

"I don't see myself turning into another
Tallax. I can't say I'm even sure I want to destroy Rashan. He's unstable, I
agree, but I think if I can overmaster him, I can keep him in check. I think we
can partner to help rebuild the empire, to sniff out the remaining necromancers
and eliminate them. If he doesn't make the first move, I don't see why I would
fight him. I blamed him for Iridan's death, but I ... I think I misplaced that
blame. Rashan is a murderous warmonger, too careless with lives, but Iridan's
death was not his doing. I could have saved Iridan myself; Illiardra implied as
much."

"Don't rule out having to hunt him down like a
rabid wolf," Soria cautioned. "You seem to have more confidence in
him than anyone, even those who have known him a hundred winters."

"That's just it though. I think I might
understand him better than them. I think he looks at me as a friend."

* * * * * * *
*

The late afternoon had shown them a rock-strewn
stream, clear enough to drink from and deep enough for bathing. They made an
early camp in a clearing a few minutes' walk distant, as the ground near the
banks was too uneven for the horses or for sleeping.

They had pilfered salted meats from the keep, and
Brannis suggested a fire. The men gathered firewood and kindling, and Soria
took Abbiley up to the stream to bathe and wash out their clothes.

Though he had no axe, Brannis was able to chop all
the firewood they could ever need with Avalanche. Tomas was even found to be
useful at tending a fire—a feat most rough-raised boys can manage by the age of
seven, but encouraging nonetheless.

The sun was growing low in the sky, threatening to
dip below the mountains that Brannis could only think to name Storm Spires by
their Veydran counterparts, before Soria returned with Abbiley. Soria carried
her armor, having changed into spare clothes. Abbiley's outfit clung to her,
still not yet dried from washing. Both wore their hair plastered against their
heads, still dripping.

"Saved some for us, I hope?" Soria called
out by way of greeting.

"Just finished your share," Brannis joked.
"But you can have some of mine if you like."

"I think I will," Soria replied. "You
boys go ahead on up to the stream. You smell like a slaughterhouse—all blood
and horse sweat."

* * * * * * *
*

Brannis followed Rakashi along the makeshift trail
that Soria had found for them, Tomas in tow. The Takalish warrior had eaten
little and said less since they had made camp. Brannis meant to put an end to
the latter once they were well alone, and Tomas did not count as company.

The trail was root-gnarled and rocky with little
hollows filled with leaves that threatened to twist their ankles if they grew
careless. Their path grew steep in places, prompting Brannis to grasp at
saplings to keep his balance. Ahead of him, Rakashi seemed to have no trouble
about the terrain, but he turned back often to make sure that Tomas was keeping
up.

They heard the stream before they reached it. The
gentle gargle of the rushing water never seemed to vary as they approached.
It
must have played the same song for a hundred summers, or a thousand, or even
longer
. Brannis found himself contemplating the timelessness of things in
nature, and could only guess that Kyrus was at work in his thoughts.

When they reached the stream, Brannis heard a low
whistle from behind him. He turned to see Tomas gazing in open awe at the
sight.

"We don't grow them like this at home,"
Tomas said. Brannis could see what he meant. The rock-lined rush of water was a
work of divine artistry. Boulders within the water's flow caused swirls and
eddies, and the rocks themselves glistened smooth with untold ages of
polishing. The evening sun shone down between a break in the mountain range,
casting the surface in reds and oranges, and shadows from the rocks. There was
even a small waterfall, where a sudden shift in the stream bed's height caused
a cascade of water to pool in a basin before it continued along on its flow.

That pool was the ideal place for bathing, and the
fresh wet trails leading from it told that the womenfolk had decided much the
same. Tomas headed immediately for it and began stripping off his clothes.
Brannis and Rakashi stood, not watching, but keeping one another in view,
waiting.

"You going to wash up?" Brannis asked.

"Yes," Rakashi replied, but did not move.
"Go on ahead, I will keep guard."

"I think I'll just wait," Brannis replied.
He turned and gave Rakashi a steady gaze. "We need to talk."

"We do," Rakashi agreed. "I believe
you have figured something out. You waited until the Acardians were safe, but
you had your suspicions before."

Brannis had to unclench his jaw to ask the question:
"Why?"

"Why what?" Rakashi asked. A taunting note
in his tone told Brannis he already knew.

"WHY DID YOU KILL IRIDAN?"

Brannis's hand went for the hilt of Avalanche.

Rakashi was faster. He hopped and kicked out,
catching Brannis in the middle of his chest. The armor took most of the blow,
and Brannis outweighed the smaller Rakashi by a half dozen gallons. Rakashi
used the kick to buy himself a few paces space as he flew back. It was enough
time to have his half-spear free of its sheath before Brannis could reach him.

"So you admit it?" Brannis demanded,
panting. All the time he had spent with Soria and her friends, and Iridan's
killer was among them.

"Yes," Rakashi answered, speaking with his
blade poised between himself and Brannis.

Brannis rushed at Rakashi, heedless of the deadly
warrior's prowess, trusting in Liead's armor to protect him. Rakashi turned and
ran, scrambling over the rocks along the stream bank. Brannis swatted at him
with Avalanche, but could not get him within reach. He lost his footing in the
process, more intent on his opponent than on the uneven terrain and loose
stones. Avalanche sent up a spray of broken rock as he sprawled.

Rakashi's half-spear stabbed into his shoulder, as
the Takalish warrior perched on a looming rock, but Brannis's armor shrugged
off the blow. He took care with Avalanche as he regained his feet, then took a
slash through the rock Rakashi had staked out as the high ground.

Rakashi had already moved though, and Brannis's
frustration was played out against a victim whose strategic importance had
vanished. Brannis saw him standing a few paces on the far side of the boulder.

"One of us is going to cause Soria tears
tonight, I think," Rakashi observed.

"You bastard!" Brannis swore, and picked
his way through the rubble to close the distance to Rakashi, though not so
heedlessly as before.

Rakashi had a fist-sized rock in hand. He hurled it
at Brannis as he approached. Brannis brought up an arm and warded it away.

"We’re throwing rocks now?" Brannis
scoffed. "Fine!" Brannis sent Avalanche on a sweeping arc through the
stony stream bank. Rakashi ducked and turned away from the spray of rocks.
Brannis noticed tiny flashes where they struck. "A shielding spell? Since
when did you know how to cast those?"

"I always have. It is not enough to stop your
blade, but it is useful."

Brannis rushed forward a few steps. Rakashi hopped
back an equal distance.

"You wanted this fight. You goaded me. Now you
run?" Brannis asked. The reasoning part of his brain was struggling to
make itself heard.
He must have arranged this. I did not surprise him. He wanted
me away from Soria, to keep her out of it. He must have a plan.

"Run? I face a foe with magic the likes of
which this world should never have seen. I am ten times the warrior you are.
You wish me to fight your fight?"

Brannis chased Rakashi downstream. Several times he
had the Takalish warrior-scholar so close he could brush his war-braids with
Avalanche, but Rakashi had Brannis's range well puzzled out.

What is he hoping to accomplish?
Is there a trap laid somewhere along here? When would he have laid it? I cannot
fathom that he has arranged allies ahead. Soria claimed he was with Juliana on
the other side.

It struck Brannis at the same time as did the rocky
shore. Brannis tripped on a rock he had not seen, as the twilight was robbing
him of the ability to see his footing.
Darkness.
Brannis stood up,
knowing that his time as hunter was drawing to a close. Rakashi's patched eye
saw aether. It might not have been daylight, but Brannis's armor would shine
like a beacon, as would Avalanche. Bereft of aether-vision, Brannis would be
relying on moonlight soon.

"Clever trap," Brannis said.

"Clever weapon you have. Let us call them
even," Rakashi replied. Brannis noted that he was no longer running.

Rakashi's thrust his half-spear at him. Brannis had
enough light still that he could see his way to parry. He expected to find
Rakashi's weapon torn from his hands, but the subtle angle of its attack kept
Avalanche from sweeping the blade clear. Instead, Rakashi's attack veered
suddenly, glancing off Avalanche's unstoppable blade and driving into his
stomach. By the time Brannis reversed his swing, Rakashi had already pulled his
blade back.

Brannis tried wider, sweeping parries that cut a
swath in the air before him, hoping that any contact would either disarm
Rakashi or sunder his blade from the force. Raksahi, for his part, kept his
attacks to feints, forcing Brannis to react, but pulling short of each
monstrous parry. When Brannis decided to ignore a feint and lunge, Rakashi
scored a solid strike, square in the front of his breastplate. The Takalish
warrior used the half-spear as a lever to propel himself back and out of reach,
quickstepping away, ever sure of his footing in a way Brannis could not hope to
be. He slipped once more, falling to his hands and knees. Rakashi's half-spear
rang against his helm before he could swat at the pesky fighter and chase him
back.

Brannis was breathing hard. He could hear Rakashi as
well. He had little hope that he would run Rakashi out of breath long enough to
get away, or take advantage of slower feet to land even a glancing blow.
One
mistake. He only has one to give.