by J. S. Morin
[You see this time. I no see all time for you.] Jinzan’s voice was already growing hoarse from speaking goblin.
The one he had instructed quickly relayed his commands to the rest, and they began trying to heft the cannon back into position. They had wheels, but in the soft dirt, the blast had driven them into the ground a little, meaning they were pushing uphill, if only slightly.
“Haru bedaessi leoki kwatuan gelora.”
Jinzan set the cannon back roughly where they had started as the startled goblins—who could not hear his spell—scrambled to get back to work loading.
The loading process was amusing to watch. What would have taken a couple humans just muscle power, the goblins had developed a whole process for. There were stepladders, small carts, and a two-goblin cradle for carrying the shot. Jinzan was not any sort of physical specimen, but he could still lift one of the cannonballs in one hand, with some difficulty.
The second volley was less chaotic than the first. The commanders and sorcerers who remained on the hill knew to plug their ears as the command was given to fire. The crews kept out of the way from the recoil. Goblin sorcerers were ready to lift the cannon back into position as soon as they fired. And nine of the twelve hit the wall, and the ones who had not made adjustments of their own.
A third volley was much the same, and the town wall was breached in several spots. A cheer went up from the goblins on the hilltop, as the first of the infantry reached the wall and found passage through. Arrows and grapeshot rained down among the swarming masses of the goblin invaders, but so great were their numbers that they hardly slowed.
The cannoneers began to stow their equipment and prepared to move down to the town. It would be in goblin hands long before they arrived.
* * * * * * * *
Small footfalls echoed in the vast cavern. Gkt’Lr could have moved more quietly, but it would have been irreverent to attempt stealth, given the circumstances. The only other sounds were the faint crackling of the torches along the walls and a steady sound like a bellows.
Gkt’Lr approached the center of the cavern, where there was a promontory overlooking the shadowy depths of the lower portion of the great chamber. The torches had been placed such that their light did not reach down below. As he reached the edge, he glanced down. Seeing nothing, he let his vision delve into the aetherial realm. He saw a wash of aether flowing from a single, vast Source.
[Great Ni’Hash’Tk, I bring important news.]
Gkt’Lr carefully pronounced the difficult name so as not to cause offense. He swallowed hard, nervous as he had been only once before in the last several winters, which happened to be the reason for his audience. He waited for a response.
There was a great stirring below. A great creaking of leather and sinew gave way to a scratching of massive claws on stone, and the Source closed the distance to Gkt’Lr. As it grew very near, he brought his vision back to reality and saw the face of his goddess.
The enormous reptilian head of the dragon was covered in steel-hard greenish-brown scales, framing a pair of glowing yellowed eyes with slits like a cat’s and a parted jaw filled with teeth longer than Gkt’Lr was tall. A tongue darted out quickly, tasting the air near the assassin.
[Your name is known to me. You are Master of Eternal Night; you have the esteem of my attendants. I do not think you are one who would dare waste my time on a petty matter. Speak,] Ni’Hash’Tk ordered, her deep voice rumbling throughout the cavern.
Gkt’Lr could smell the carrion on her breath. The assassin was no expert on meats, but he knew it was probably caribou meat he was smelling, from the herds raised just to satiate the dragon’s appetite for her favorite meal.
[The plan to secure your whelp’s lair is in jeopardy. The humans have allied themselves with a demon.] Gkt’Lr did not want to waste the dragon’s time by dancing around the real reason for his urgency.
The dragon’s eyes narrowed. [Explain.]
[Your Holiness, the scouting parties ran into an unusually strong resistance from a small force of humans. One strike force was lost almost entirely, and the humans were nearly wiped out as well. The few survivors fled, and I was sent to make sure they were not able to reach help and raise an alarm against us. I found them easily but was ambushed by the demon, who claimed the humans were under his protection. The demon toyed with me and let me flee. I came here to warn you.] Gkt’Lr hoped that would be sufficient but suspected not.
[So you have failed?] the dragon asked.
That was the topic he had sincerely hoped the dragon would overlook.
[Yes, Your Holiness.] Gkt’Lr bowed his head in contrition. [If I had persisted despite the demon’s warning, I still would have failed, and none would have known of the demon’s presence with the humans. I wished to relay a warning.]
[How are you sure that it is a demon? What did it look like?] Ni’Hash’Tk asked.
Gkt’Lr was not sure if the dragon believed him, and offered a silent prayer to Ni’Hash’Tk that he be spared. It was a brief moment, but Gkt’Lr almost laughed when he realized his logical error.
[It looks human, though small for one of their kind, with white hair. It looks young, but not child-like. I knew it was a demon because of my aether-sight. The demon sheds no aether,] the assassin explained.
[Perhaps it is a fault in your aether-vision, then?]
[Your pardon, Holiness, but I do not believe so. In my aether-vision, you are a vast shining beacon of life, and all lesser creatures are smaller lights. I use my aether-sight to help track my prey, and I assure you, this demon was the farthest opposite of you. In the aether-sight, he is a ghost. I can see his body with my eyes, but there is no Source to be seen. He is not alive, but he is powerful. Is that not the definition of a demon?]
[In my lifetime, I have not seen a demon, but all you say of this one strikes true to the tales of them. There are sorcerers among the army gone to claim my Ruuk’Pt’Kaan his lair, but none that I would trust to stand against a demon.
[I will go, and I will see that this demon does not spoil the conquest of the human settlement that Ruuk’Pt’Kaan will take for his new home,] Ni’Hash’Tk said. [Attendants!] the mighty dragon bellowed, shaking the walls and causing the torches to flicker.
A maelstrom of activity ensued, with scores of goblins in brown robes flocking to their goddess’s call. They swarmed the promontory and filled the area behind Gkt’Lr, barring his path out, though that consideration was far from their thoughts.
[Prepare me for battle. I will go to war,] Ni’Hash’Tk growled. [And lore-keeper, let it show that Gkt’Lr has performed admirably. There will be no mark of failure upon his record.]
The dragon-priests in attendance sprang into action, for there was much to be done before the vainglorious dragon-goddess would deem herself fit to fight. There were oils to be rubbed into her leathery wings. Teeth and claws to be filed and sharpened. Scales would be checked for cracks and chips, and cleaned of debris. The headdress of gold and silks that Ni’Hash’Tk wore when venturing out from her lair would be cleaned and refitted to the dragon’s ever-growing head—she had not worn it in ages. Then there was an entourage to assemble; no infantry to slow Ni’Hash’Tk’s passage, but swift-mounted riders from among her loyal attendants. Ni’Hash’Tk would not fly to battle, but walk among her retainers—a swift pace to be sure, but it would not do for her to outdistance her servants by taking to the air.
There was much to be done but little work for Ni’Hash’Tk herself. She settled down to enjoy the pampering of her priests. She had planning to do, though, and hoped that it would all sort itself out before she arrived. If they had a demon among them, she would prefer it show its powers against her worshipers first, before she had to deal with it.
Chapter 16 - Some Explaining to Do
Towers rose in the distance, seen above the rooftops of the small building that had been built outside the city walls. Kadris had outgrown its wall long ago, and the Empire was secure enough that the populace felt safe j
ust being within sight of it. The buildings outside were a diverse assortment of small shops, inns, and dwellings. As the city expanded as a trading hub, the need for more places to put the vast number of visitors outstripped the ability of the old city to provide.
Brannis could make out the Imperial Academy, various noble houses, the largest among the watchtowers, and the Tower of Contemplation, attached to the Imperial Palace. Iridan had told them they needed to report there first, the morning after returning to the inn where the rest of their small band had actually gotten a night’s sleep. Brannis was a little worried about what he had been up all night discussing with the sorcerers back home but trusted that Iridan had not cast him in too bad a light.
On horseback, they had little trouble making their way down the main thoroughfare of the outer city, as folks generally had the good sense to clear a path for a dozen horses to pass. Had they been on foot, the crowds would have made it difficult for them all to remain together. Men and women of various kingdoms were in abundance, though still outnumbered tenfold by local Kadrins. While much of the Empire was segregated by choice to either native-born Kadrins or conquered peoples—with a fair number of loyal Kadrin soldiers garrisoned among them—in a given city, the capital itself was quite metropolitan by comparison. The architecture of the outer city was especially worldly, with much of the more modern expansion coming via the developing trade with lands across the seas—folk who had little historical reason to distrust Kadrin, unlike many of their continental neighbors, most of whom either warred with Kadrin or had been conquered by them sometime in the past few hundred winters.
Brannis rode at the head of the group, followed by Iridan and Sir Lugren. Rashan rode in the middle of the conscripts, not wanting to draw undue attention to himself quite yet. The city gates stood wide open and, as a sign of Kadrin power, were never closed, so certain was the city of its defenses. There was, however, a token force of guards at the gate and, on this particular occasion, a herald.
“Hold and be recognized!” came the herald’s shout as they approached.
Brannis drew up just short of the guards and their brandished halberds. This is apparently going to be a formal affair, Brannis mused. The herald was dressed in white finery, with a pinched face and sporting long blond hair and tiny spectacles, giving the impression of a white mouse that had learned to read. He carried a scroll, held open before him.
“I am Sir Brannis Solaran, commander of the Eighth Battalion, returning from investigating Kelvie Forest,” Brannis replied.
“I am Sir Lugren Malchea, serving under Sir Brannis.” Lugren’s reply was the most he had spoken in a week.
“I am Iridan Korian, Fourth Circle,” Iridan said.
“I am Tod Hellet—” Tod began, but the herald cut him off with a dismissive wave of his hand.
“Sir Brannis, Sorcerer Iridan, you are hereby ordered to accompany me to the Tower of Contemplation and answer the questions of the Inner Circle. Sir Lugren, and the rest of you, please dismount and accompany these guards to Imperial Army command,” the herald said matter-of-factly and then closed the scroll.
“No.”
“What was that?” the herald demanded. He carried orders directly from the Inner Circle and no doubt was aghast at having been contradicted.
“I am Rashan Solaran,” a voice from the middle of the pack said evenly, and a horse rode to the front, “Warlock of the Empire, High Sorcerer, and the blood-stained right hand of the emperor. I will see the Inner Circle, and I will take orders from none but the emperor himself.”
Rashan stopped his horse just short of the herald. The tidy, fussy man who had initially been outraged was now petrified with fear. Unarmed and dressed in poorly made clothes, Rashan’s presence was still unnerving.
“Do you understand?”
“Yes,” came the meek reply.
Brannis wondered whether some magic was at work to so cow the man, or if he was just familiar enough with the busts decorating the Academy and the Tower of Contemplation that he was familiar with the face of the warlock.
Am I the only one who is not convinced? Brannis wondered.
* * * * * * * *
Rashan had left orders, and made the herald confirm them with the Circle’s borrowed authority, that the soldiers and Sir Lugren be taken instead to The Harp and Lute, a rather pricey inn that had been in business since his own time. The herald had a horse tied nearby, and the four of them—Rashan, Brannis, Iridan, and the herald himself—rode across the city in silence; three of them seemed worried.
The streets were crowded, but the path before them always seemed open. Slightly suspicious, Iridan focused on the aether for a moment and saw why: Rashan was using magic to gently push aside anyone who came near to getting in their way.
“Kemu nantalo chanisi quega,” Iridan muttered, and touched the index finger of each hand to the palm of the other.
“What are you doing?” Iridan spoke telepathically to Rashan.
“Making this into a procession,” came the reply.
“You are going to start trouble. Please stop.”
“I am drawing attention, but there will be no trouble. I want people to know I have returned. When the rumors begin, I want plenty to have borne witness,” and with that, the communication was cut short. Iridan was not sure how Rashan had managed that, but if he wanted to contact the old demon again, he would have to work the spell a second time.
When they arrived at the Tower, the herald led them around to the side entrance. There were two main entries to the Tower of Contemplation, one through the palace itself and the other was the way they were taking. The Tower was a masterpiece of magical architecture. Like the rest of the palace, it was built of Ghelkan marble, mostly black with highlights of green streaked through it. The whole of the palace was also accented with filigree and statuary, and silver-capped towers of smaller height. The Tower of Contemplation was carved with runes of old protective spells, shielding the sorcerers of the Imperial Circle from enemies of magical power both near and far; the runes could turn aside mighty spells and prevent spying.
As they dismounted and allowed stable boys to take the reins of their horses, Brannis could not help but wonder anew at its beauty. He was born and raised in Kadris, but he spent much time away. It was easy to forget how wondrous the capital could appear. Iridan also could not help but take in the sight of his order’s seat of power, having only been up close a few times and only inside even fewer. The Circle’s herald barely gave the Tower a second glance, having just come from it earlier in the day, and having been in and out of it a dozen times a week for many long summers. Rashan, however, stopped entirely. He looked up, and his gaze swept each balcony, each carved gargoyle, every rune, and all the greenish swirls of the exotic marble. Brannis thought he might be harboring second thoughts about bullying his way in to see the Inner Circle, but Iridan thought he seemed more wistful.
When they finally did enter, the guards did not budge to challenge them. Brannis suspected, though he had no way to look into the aether to tell, that their overly stiff posture was due to Rashan holding them at their posts by magical means. A sweeping set of stairs circled almost endlessly upward around the circumference of the main chamber of the Tower, the ceiling of which was obscured in shadow over a hundred feet above them. Rashan took the lead, marching straight for the middle of the room. Brannis and Iridan followed. The herald remained behind as the three of them began to rise on a platform that formed itself beneath them out of nothing but aether. While Rashan had been the one to activate it, it was not his magic that was at work. It was an accommodation for the many elders among the Circle, for whom the number of stairs was daunting if not entirely impossible. The levitation platforms let the older sorcerers attend Circle meetings without needing their own magic to ascend the stairs. It was in very poor taste for young, able-bodied sorcerers of the Third Circle and below to use them.
As they gently ascended, Iridan leaned close to Rashan. “Do you think you might have
changed clothes? You … You do not quite look the part at the moment,” he whispered to the purported warlock.
“I am just hoping he does not decide to kill them all,” Brannis muttered under his breath.
He panicked, though, as Rashan chuckled; he had not actually intended to speak that aloud. Rashan did not answer either of them, however, and kept to himself as they rose.
As the platform made its way up toward the topmost levels of the tower, they drew curious stares from those on the landings and on the stairs who were going about their daily business in service to the Circle. Clerks and scribes, messengers and sorcerers, all bustled about, entering and leaving the various chambers and corridors that branched off from the landings at each level. The sight of the three travelers was extraordinary enough that much work was interrupted to gossip about the unusual visitors.
Brannis had not really stopped to think about it at first, but Rashan’s shabby attire was probably low among their interests. Here Brannis was, still dusty from the road, armored and bearing a magical weapon. It was the last that he regretted. Had the herald not been so disconcerted by Rashan’s bullying, he likely would have disarmed Brannis, or at least required him to leave the sword below. Brannis fingered the dragon-sculpted hilt of Massacre and wondered if he might be able to leave it with the guards who would be stationed outside the Inner Circle’s Sanctum.
Brannis’s musings did not have long to fester and gnaw at him with worry. If the Inner Circle was going to feel threatened by his sword, so be it, because as soon as they reached the top of the inner chamber of the tower, Rashan strode off. There was naught else at the landing but a short corridor leading to the stairs up into the Sanctum. A pair of imperial guards flanked the bottom of the stairs. Each wielded a weapon like a trident, with the center tine greatly shorter than the outer two. Neither of them so much as flinched as the three approached, and even Brannis had caught on as to why.
