Sourcethief (Book 3) (6 page)

"Been a while since we had ourselves one of
these nice little talks. What's sticking in your craw?" Tanner asked,
pulling up a chair and tipping back in it, putting his boots up on the table.
"I assume you heard about Relleth."

"Aye, but I am neither here to beg for terms of
surrender nor did I invite you here to gloat about it," Captain Zayne
replied. He sat down across the table from Tanner, keeping clear of the
rudely-placed feet.

"Figured that much. What's left to surrender at
this point unless you can convince Safschan and Ghelk and whatever little
city-states signed on with your alliance to throw down their weapons?"

"I have spent a great deal of time and coin
trying to locate the boy your friends kidnapped."

"I told you already, they stopped telling me
what was going on with that. They might tell me if I had something from you to
barter, but I don't see why you'd be any more willing to deal now," Tanner
reasoned.

"No. Indeed, I believe you that they no longer
confide in you. You are stuck here as both my liaison and my keeper. I cannot
tell you how many times I have been within a blade's edge of having you tossed
overboard. But the voice in my head keeps whispering that something will come
up, that I will find a use for you."

"Aww, that's sweet of you. If you don't mind me
sayin', I'm just as glad you didn't try to feed me to the sharks. As many of
your men as I'd run through, I probably couldn't take on the whole crew; we
both know that. And hey, it's not my fault you and Kyrus can't come to terms on
ending the war—your offer was a bit steep."

"It stands though. If he gives me the warlock's
head, we will have some grounds to ending the war and returning the Staff of
Gehlen to Kadrin," Captain Zayne said.

"Uh huh. Kyrus wants to face Rashan as much as
you do. That is to say, you'd rather it be him, he'd rather it was you, and
neither of you likes your own odds. Ever think of maybe trusting Kyrus and
handing him the staff? See if that's enough to give him the leg up on Rashan?"

"Not if the sea froze solid."

"Just figured I'd ask."

"No, Mr. Tanner, I have had another revelation.
All this coin and effort I spend ... for a boy I have never met. For all that
he is as like to Anzik as I am to Jinzan, he is still my son, in some fashion. Whether
he was borne by some whore I bedded years ago, or is no relation to me in this
world, I will continue my search for him, with or without your help."

"Fair enough, Cap'n," Tanner agreed.

"My revelation was this: what is
your
price, Mr. Tanner?"

"My price for what?" Tanner asked, growing
suspicious.

"For bringing Anzik out of Kadrin. For saving
my other son from your friends. How much will it take to bribe you to do the
right thing?"

Tanner furrowed his brow, and smiled.

"Let me think on it."

The gurgling of an indoor fountain lent serenity to
the formal sitting room at the Palace of the Four Hilltops. A dozen small
children played on the floor between the tables, silk-clad guards with jeweled
swords whispered amongst themselves, and the seated princess and her four
guests waited for news of war.

"I find it amazing that children form such fast
friendships," Princess Shiann commented as she watched them. "Who
could tell that they have known each other mere days and barely share a word of
language among them." Princess Shiann, heir to the throne of Ghelk, had
long blonde hair twisted up and secured atop her head with golden pins. Upon
one shoulder she bounced a swaddled babe, Princess Anju, not ten days old.  The
linen cloth beneath the babe's head was all that separated her from Princess
Shiann's gold-embroidered silks. Shiann's curves were generous and flowing,
accentuated by her recent pregnancy, but due in greater part to the royal
cook's prowess.

"Enjoy them while they are young,
Highness," said General Kaynnyn Bal-Tagga, the Megrenn Minister of War.
"And while you are. My grandchildren are faster than my own children ever
were."

"I think it is because they are Megrenn
children," said Nakah Fehr. "They learn to make friends young, and
they do not notice the superficial differences. Why, even Frenna's children
look more like the Princess Shiann's own than they do mine, despite the same
father." Nakah's were the darker-skinned among the children running about
the spacious, marble-floored chamber. Come summertime, hours spent in the sun
would darken Frenna's up to the point where they all roughly matched, and the
winter months indoors would sort them out once more by mother.

"Little Robbono will not care, either,"
Zaischelle added. Her own obsidian skin was darker than the babe she nursed,
but not by much. Before she could add to the thought, everyone's attention was
drawn to a disturbance outside in the gardens.

Princess Shiann and several of the children noticed
it first, before the light began. There was a shifting in the aether, a gale
storm wind that swept in along with a Source familiar to the aether-strong
brood. The least shy among the Fehr children darted for the garden doors,
knowing that their father had returned. The rest of the children, Megrenn and
Ghelkan alike, followed soon after, with their mothers and the Minister of War
bringing up the rear of the procession.

A sphere of aether dispersed, leaving a worn-looking
Jinzan Fehr. He was standing atop a circle of rocky ground that stood out from
the manicured grasses, wearily clutching the priceless Staff of Gehlen as if it
were a walking stick.

"You continue to vex our gardeners, Councilor
Fehr," Princess Shiann noted dryly. She cast her gaze across the irregular
circles of soil and rock scattered about the palace gardens.

"You look like you could use a good rest,
Jinzan," Nakah remarked. "This magic takes too much from you. Staff
or no staff, you have limits."

"Perhaps I need rest, but I will make do
without. Remember why we are here, and not safe at home. While the Ghelkan
royal family has been a gracious host, I must still retake Zorren for us to be
able to return there," Jinzan said, walking stiffly as he made his way
indoors and settled on a cushioned chair.

"We are a long way from retaking
anything," Kaynnyn reasoned. "If it were not for the luck of a coin's
chance, this might have been Rashan Solaran's next target, instead of
Safschan." Zaischelle winced at the mention of the impending conquest of
her homeland.

"The Kadrin demon hopes for our surrender, not
to face us," Shiann said, lifting her chin with pride. "Too many of
us are sorcerers here, it gives him pause. War is in his nature, so he will
still seek Ghelk out, but we are the only ones he fears."

"Well, it is not inevitable that Safschan will
fall. Narsicann and Varduk will both be negotiating with new allies soon
enough, if they are not already. They both have their speaking helms linked to
mine. I should not need to use another transference soon; we will hear from
them via the helms' magic. I think it is time for the other reason I am here.”

Princess Shiann nodded wordlessly.

"General Kaynnyn, it would please me for you to
take Princess Anju for a little while. I shall speak with Councilor Fehr in
private," Shiann said. She took the babe—little more than a tiny face amid
the bundle of feather-soft linens—and handed her to the aging general. Kaynnyn
took the newborn princess with practiced hands, as familiar with babes as he
once was with spears and stripecat reins.

Princess Shiann strolled out into the gardens.
Jinzan followed, once again leaning on the staff. They passed beneath a
wrought-iron arch woven with ivy, and entered into a topiary wonderland. The
Ghelkan royal gardeners were artists more than laborers.

"You mean to take up the mantle of protector
against Warlock Rashan Solaran?" Shiann asked. She did not look over her
shoulder as she preceded Jinzan down the path.

"Someone must. No one else seems to be coming
forth to save us. We must save ourselves."

"That is hardly an inspiring sentiment. You
would ask me to expose a secret that has been kept for a hundred winters. If
you fail, we may not have the chance to bury it away again before it is
discovered and destroyed," Shiann said.

"I have faced him once. Even with the Staff of
Gehlen to lend me strength, it was all I could do to escape him. I need
knowledge to guide this awesome power. My own, I think, will not suffice."

Shiann sighed and looked up at the clouds as if they
might provide her guidance.

"I went to see the wards once, when I was
younger. It was an intimidating sight. Between your Source though, and that
staff, I think you may be able to break the wards and get inside. If you are
successful,” Shiann gestured toward the palace where Jinzan's wives and
children awaited him, “you may end up losing all that you have back
there.""That may well be, but it may also be the only way to save
them. That monster will not content himself with victory. He will burn and kill
until no resistance remains. If I have to become a monster to confront him, I
will not hesitate. I will learn the secrets to how Loramar once nearly defeated
the Kadrin Empire and be the heir to his legacy."

* * * * * * *
*

"Is this all really necessary?" Varduk
Steelraven sat naked in a vat of sudsy water as two goblin priests ladled
scented oils over him.

One of the priests chittered something in the goblin
tongue.
I never should have admitted to understanding goblin-speech.

"Pardon?" Varduk asked. He had not caught
the first word and the rest became jumbled as he tried to keep up a translation
in his head. The goblin repeated himself more slowly.

[We will take no chance of offending Fr'n'ta'gur,]
the priest replied. Varduk had heard the priest's name but it slipped from his
mind like a chicken’s clucking. It was just a sound, not a real word in the
Megrenn sense. He counted himself lucky that the priest understood Megrenn.
Most of the goblins that learned a human tongue knew Kadrin.

"I smelled fine when I got here," Varduk
protested more to salve his own wounded dignity than to convince the goblins to
let him out.

Sometime later, Varduk was dry and clad in orange
supplicants' robes, seated amid a host of goblins lined up to have an audience
with the mighty dragon-god. Varduk had tried to wheedle his way to the front of
the line, but his honeyed tongue worked better when he spoke the language. He
hoped that the dragon could speak Megrenn as well as understand it.

* * * * * * *
*

Far across the Aliani Sea, in the insular kingdom of
Azzat, Narsicann Tenrok had fared somewhat better. His name was known to the
Azzat Elder Council—which was both useful and worrisome to the Megrenn
spymaster—and he had been allowed to meet with his counterpart, a man named
Tydon Graychain.

"Yes, we know much about the Kadrin warlock's
predations," Tydon admitted.

"Then you understand the threat. This demon
that was once Rashan Solaran seems far stronger than the histories indicate. He
waged a three-winter campaign to conquer Megrenn long ago; now even with allies
at our side and the initiative to our advantage, he has driven us from our own
cities inside a single season," Narsicann explained.

"We find this an excellent reason to remain
neutral in the conflict. Your allies in Safschan are likely regretting throwing
in their lot with yours by now," Tydon reasoned. "Unlike Megrenn, we
have not been conquered in recorded history and I don’t expect that to
change."

Narsicann kept his outward calm, though mental teeth
gritted. He worked another tack.

"They have another sorcerer as well, with a
Source unlike any I have seen. These Kadrins have bred themselves above the
world in magic. These are not builders or philosophers wielding this power;
they are conquerors by blood."

"Again, you argue against your point. Why involve
ourselves in such a war, against such monstrous foes as you describe? We are in
no danger here and there is no reason for us to draw attention to
ourselves," Tydon stated.

"There is a farmwife's story," Narsicann
began, changing tactics, "that you are ruled by a demon yourselves. I
think I would like to meet with him. I think I could convince him of the
threat."

"Do not tell me you believe that old
fable," Tydon said with a chuckle. "It lends us mystique, and causes
folk to second-guess themselves when opposing us, but I would not have thought
a man such as you would fall for it."

"Oh, I no longer find such a notion too
farfetched. Perhaps a summer ago I would have agreed with you, but not now. Now
I have seen the carnage; I have seen the ghost in the aether that kills with a
smile on its face, and I have fled from it, barely escaping with my life. The
strongest sorcerer I have met was driven to flight by it, despite possessing
the Staff of Gehlen," Narsicann said.

"I am sorry, I have not heard of the 'Staff of
Gehlen.' Should I be impressed?"

"You should. It is an ancient Kadrin weapon
with a draw like a dragon's, which it imparts to its wielder," Narsicann
explained. A sudden thought occurred to him, bringing a sly smile to his
features. "I would wager your demon king knows who Gehlen was."

Tydon sat back in his chair tapping the fingers of
one hand against those of the other, lost in thought. Narsicann could envision
the ciphering going on in the man's head.

"I can promise nothing. I will have someone find
you lodgings for the night, and have an answer for you tomorrow. Mind you, the
answer will almost certainly be 'no.'"

Narsicann smiled.

"Tomorrow, then."

* * * * * * *
*

Two things came as no surprise to Jinzan when they
led him to the final resting place of the knowledge of Loramar. The first was
that it was buried beneath a crypt in the heart of the Ghelkan capitol of Lon
Mai; it seemed that the whole of the graveyard, as well as the crypt, were
built atop one of Loramar's strongholds. The second was that the crypt was
round. It seemed that every structure in the whole of Ghelk was built round,
from the smallest wooden home to the myriad squat towers that comprised the
palace.

"You are not the first to try yourself against
the wards, Councilor Fehr," Chioju said. Like his younger female
colleague, he wore a grimy brown cloth wrapped about his eyes and plain-spun
woolen clothing. He either knew the way to the crypt by memory or he guided the
way by aether-sight; Jinzan suspected the latter, based on the strength of the
man's Source.

"No one has been killed in a score of winters
though," his other guide, Aolyn, assured him. She was comely beneath the
homely garments, if perhaps a bit too thin. Even in his state of exhaustion, a
glance at her Source was enough to give him thoughts of adding a fourth wife.

"I intend to succeed. I have to discover the
means to Loramar's power," Jinzan said. He kept pace close behind his
guides over the rocky, uneven spaces between the graves.

"It will be interesting, pitting the great
aethersmith Gehlen's masterpiece against the master's wards. Grand Necromancer
Loramar's strength was not his rune-carving, I will admit," Chioju said.

"Well, Gehlen's was."

They reached the crypt at the center of the
graveyard. It was built less than a hundred winters ago, but looked ten times
that old. The stone was pitted with decay, weather-stained and crumbling in
places. To Jinzan's surprise, the door opened easily at Chioju's push. The
hinges had apparently been oiled. There was no light within. As the door closed
behind them, Jinzan cast a quick light spell to banish the darkness, fixing the
glow to the top of the Staff of Gehlen to bring along with him.

Closed within the crypt, his guides each began
unwinding the cloths that bound their eyes. When Jinzan saw what lay beneath, a
chill ran through him. Where eyes ought to have been, there were hollowed,
empty sockets. They were not pits of blackness, the way demons and other evils
were depicted in illuminations, but alcoves carved into the skull, lined with
graying dead flesh.