Firehurler (Twinborn Trilogy)

by J. S. Morin

  I suppose they would not do much good taking custody of it anyway, Brannis reflected, consciously removing his hand from the hilt of Massacre and assuming a normal gait.

  The stairs led up into the Sanctum proper. They emerged at the lower circle, a great, ornate chamber with a floor inlaid with runes of protection, both from physical harm and from more subtle invasions against the privacy of the proceedings. Around the walls of the chamber were portraits and busts showing past high sorcerers, set into shallow alcoves in the stone. Iridan could feel the faint hum of harnessed aether, both from the room’s wards as well as from the members of the Inner Circle and the various protections they carried.

  The Sanctum had a mezzanine level all around. A complete circle was formed of twelve seats behind a chest-high wall, with stone desks hidden from view below. Those seats held the twelve members of the Inner Circle itself. Each had a commanding and imposing view of those stranded below in the lower circle, who by their lack of a seat above were already deemed to be lower in rank to the Inner Circle—only the emperor could command them, and the emperor did not petition at the Sanctum but would hold audience in the palace itself.

  There were faint noises of surprise as Rashan entered ahead of Iridan, with Brannis following in lastly. The assembled sorcerers had not been prepared for their guests to have arrived already.

  “Markham, what is this? You had not leave to bring them in yet! Markham?” called Gravis Archon, High Sorcerer of the Kadrin Empire, seated directly opposite the entrance, looking down at them.

  Even seated, it was clear he was a tall man, gaunt, with intense green eyes. His hair was streaked through with grey, but his narrow face was only slightly wrinkled. He appeared to be a man in his late fifties, though really he was more than double that age. Like all the rest of the Inner Circle, he wore black robes trimmed with red and gold; neither insignia nor regalia marked him as the leader.

  When there was no response, and after a somewhat uncomfortable pause, Iridan spoke up: “High Sorcerer, the herald remained below. He gave no reason but did not follow on the lifting disc,” his voice quiet and meek.

  “I shall deal with that later,” Gravis harrumphed. “So, Iridan Korian, you have returned to us safely and reported on troubling goblin activity in the vicinity of Kelvie Forest. Caladris has passed along the information you have shared with him already.” Gravis nodded in acknowledgment of Caladris Solaran, seated three seats to his left. “We will, of course, be interested in further details, especially on two subjects. Firstly, we would like to hear Sir Brannis’s account of the events you described. By your own admission, you were incapacitated in battle and did not recover for some days thereafter.

  “Secondly, the matter of this vagrant you have brought back with you. Caladris told me of his claim, though there seemed not to be much evidence to support it,” Gravis said.

  Iridan carefully kept his attention on the high sorcerer, but something was amiss. He had gone to great lengths detailing the things he had seen Rashan do in their short time traveling with him, and relayed at least the gist of the stories he’d told. Clearly either Caladris was withholding information from the high sorcerer, or Gravis Archon was disdainful of the evidence Iridan had given.

  “I would not have been troubled had you taken it upon yourself to slay him for his temerity, young Iridan.”

  Rashan smiled. “That certainly would have been entertaining.”

  “Silence!” shouted Gravis. “In this chamber, you will speak only when answering a question posed by one of the Circle.”

  “What is your name, then?” Rashan asked innocently. “I am sorry, but I did not even think to inquire as to who was high sorcerer these days.”

  The high sorcerer’s face flushed. “How dare you! I am Gravis Archon, and I just—”

  “Little Gravis? You grew up to be high sorcerer. I can scarcely believe it.” Rashan laughed a little.

  Had the wards in the Sanctum not prevented nearly any form of magical violence, likely Gravis would have struck him down where he stood.

  “Guards! Remove this vagabond! Place him in one of the warded cells.” Gravis was nearly apoplectic. “If he wants to pretend he is a warlock, let us see him figure a way out of there.”

  “Pretending to be a warlock? Hmm,” Rashan mused.

  The ill-fitted leathers he wore began to melt and flow. Before the guards could make it up the stairs, Rashan wore a black tunic and loose pants, trimmed in red and gold not unlike the Inner Circle’s garb. However, he’d added a cape as well, with plate-armored epaulettes of gold. It was a warlock’s traditional uniform.

  Rashan smiled and cocked his head to the side. “Is that better?”

  At that point, the guards made their way in, and the reason for the unique weapons they carried became clear. They dropped the trident heads to either side of Rashan’s neck, and the long side tines of the weapons curled around like collars, leaving the short points nearly impaling him. Several of the Inner Circle seemed lost in concentration. Iridan supposed that Rashan’s little trick had given them cause to look into the aether. He wondered if in the aether-rich chamber, they would be able to notice his lack of a mortal Source. Seeing that Rashan’s emitted no aether might be too much to ask with so much else to see.

  “I would like to speak with the Emperor Dharus,” Rashan stated, unfazed by the weapons that had captured him.

  “Remove him,” Gravis ordered the guards, pointedly ignoring Rashan’s request.

  While Gravis’s attention was elsewhere, Iridan caught Caladris’s gaze. The older sorcerer—Brannis’s uncle, who was a stout man, not nearly so tall as most of the Solarans—gave a subtle half wink, acknowledgment enough for Iridan to know that Gravis was not acting in full knowledge of what he was dealing with.

  Brannis watched everything transpire and hoped that he would be overlooked. This had gone nearly as badly as he could have imagined without resorting to open warfare, though it remained a possibility. He had seen the aftermath at Tibrik. Whether or not Rashan was truly the ancient warlock returned, as he claimed to be, he was dangerous.

  Surprising both Brannis, and to a lesser extent Iridan, Rashan allowed himself to be led from the chamber by the guards. As he was walked down the stairway, his garments faded back to their original shape. Without turning back, he called out, “Third Law of Aether, recite!”

  “A sorcerer must always—” Gravis caught himself mid-sentence.

  His flush of anger had begun to fade only to be replaced by an even deeper flush of embarrassment. He remained silent until the prisoner was removed entirely from within earshot. None of the Inner Circle knew about his difficulties as a young student at the Academy. They did not know how many times he had been kept after class, memorizing the Laws of Aether and reciting them back to the instructors. They had kept him at it for hours on occasion, the talented but unfocused son of one of the Inner Circle members of those days. They did not allow him to fail and hammered every lesson into his head before they would let him go to his supper. They were times he would have preferred to bury somewhere where they would stay buried.

  As the chamber fell back into a semblance of order, Gravis swept his gaze across the room, surveying the faces of his fellows. To his chagrin, he noted that several were rather amused and took little care to hide it. Two of the members of the Inner Circle, though, seemed concerned. The outburst had worried them.

  “Now that that is resolved, let us—” Gravis began, but was cut short.

  “No, I do not think that was resolved,” interjected Dolvaen Lurien, one of the ones who had appeared concerned at both Rashan’s actions and Gravis’s reaction. A powerful sorcerer despite coming from an undistinguished bloodline, Dolvaen was the likely successor to Gravis Archon. Hard faced and hard eyed, he seemed always to have his brow furrowed in concentration and had a direct, almost rude manner that put him often at odds with the rest of the Circle. “I know what I saw just then. Who else bothered to look? That was a demon.”


  “How would you even tell in here? There is aether upon aether in the Sanctum. Can you pick one fish from a school and say it is not moving? Pick out one bird in a flock that is not flying quite right? In here, he could easily have been faking,” claimed Maruk Solaran, Brannis’s father.

  The old man is ever the ornery skeptic, but this is the first time I can remember agreeing with him, Brannis thought. He kept his thoughts to himself this time but could not help feeling an unfamiliar swell of pride in his father.

  “Faking? You cannot be serious,” Dolvaen said.

  “Did you not play at being demons when you were a boy at the Academy?” Caladris asked, drawing a scowl from Gravis Archon, who would have preferred to be off the topic of the Academy entirely. “Draw just as much as you give off, or as close as you can. You look a bit like a demon in aether-sight. Children cannot keep it up long, but I would wager any of us could have managed for as long as that fellow was in here.”

  “Hmm, interesting observation, Caladris,” Gravis said. “And I was certainly unimpressed with his transmutation of his clothing. Surely most of us could manage a mentally cast spell in an aether-rich spot such as this, with no distractions about.”

  “What of his parting barb? A lucky guess? I would surmise not,” suggested Stalia Gardarus, her light, high-pitched soprano a stark contrast to the deeper, more hard-edged voices from the male members of the Inner Circle. She was the second most junior of the twelve, with all the look of youth about her, belying her nearly three-score springtimes.

  “A fine point. Would that have worked had I said it, Gravis?” Caladris jested, though his comment was meant also to support Stalia. “I cannot say I have ever had you sputtering Academy drivel before—”

  “Can demons read minds?” Brannis dared to ask, and all eyes momentarily turned downward to where he and Iridan stood, half forgotten. Brannis’s natural curiosity had just bested him, and it was too late to suggest “best two out of three.” Curiosity had drawn blood and already been awarded the point.

  “It is certainly possible in the general sense, but not here. The wards would not allow such a thing,” Dolvaen responded, and to Brannis’s relief had taken the question seriously. “But I just realized we are overlooking an obvious source of information. Sir Brannis, Iridan, what can you tell us about that person?”

  Brannis noted that none used Rashan’s name. He was hopeful that the skeptical Inner Circle might yet relieve him of the sinking feeling that Iridan was right about the “hermit.”

  “We found him in Kelvie Forest, growing lotus flowers,” Brannis said. “Or should I say, he found us. As we retreated from our battle with the goblins, we wandered near his dwelling, and he took us in and tended to Iridan. None of us knew how to treat aether-burn, and he did. He traveled with us while Iridan recovered, and afterward for reasons he did not share. When we were ambushed at Tibrik, he destroyed the Megrenn soldiers who had occupied it. He went in alone, so we only saw the aftermath, but he was unharmed and they were …” Brannis searched for an appropriate and tactful way to describe the horrific sight. “… thoroughly dead.

  “I have seen him work magic, but never cast a spell. He also told us a version of the Battle of the Dead Earth that does not quite match the histories. In his version, Rashan Solaran walks away from the battle as the only survivor, leaving behind a sword he had named Heavens Cry.” The Inner Circle looked a little uncomfortably at each other. Brannis was not sure what part had caused the disquiet, or whether it was just the whole thing in general. “I must say, though, that I am skeptical of his claims but have been able to find no definitive proof either way.”

  “Iridan, what have you to add?” asked Gravis, resuming his place as questioner among the Inner Circle and thankful to be on to a different topic. The high sorcerer relaxed back in his chair a bit.

  “Well, I am certain that he is indeed a demon. I have observed him enough in the wilds where the aether is easier to read. He neither sleeps nor eats, though he briefly kept up a charade before he revealed his nature to us. His magic comes easily to him. As Brannis said, we never saw him use his magic in any manner but silently. I have no recollection of him using any spell of particular power, just a great number of lesser magics.

  “He also very clearly wiped out the occupiers in Tibrik, but he rushed ahead of us, crossing the chasm before the bridge was down. I saw nothing of how he managed the feat, nor whether it was an exception to his subtle spellcasting,” Iridan said, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. The eyes of the Empire’s greatest sorcerers pierced him on all sides, and he could not get that thought out of his head as he recounted. “His tale of the Battle of the Dead Earth—which he referred to as the Battle of Ferren’s Plain—differed from what I was taught but seemed internally consistent.”

  “Well, that’s one strike against his claims for certain. There were no survivors of that battle. The investigators that found the battlefield searched thoroughly; no survivors, no one fled. It was a complete annihilation of both sides, the only such incident in recorded history,” Stalia said. “I might add that it is unlikely that Rashan Solaran would have left behind such a weapon as Heavens Cry. That dreadful thing was too valuable for him to leave, and too dangerous. He would not have risked who might have taken custody of it.”

  “Hmm, agreed. That is true,” Maruk said then nodded in agreement, and much of the Inner Circle followed suit. “For his faults, he was a responsible protector of the Empire. He gave his life to save us all from Loramar. Let us not forget that, when we complain about the troubles with the enemies he forged for Kadrin.”

  Brannis expected as much; his father was always willing to push the family legacy when he had the chance.

  “I believe him,” Iridan said softly. In the echoing Sanctum, though, few voices went unheard, and he might as easily have shouted his statement. “I cannot say quite why, aside from all the evidence I have given. I just felt a connection with him. He seems unlike what I would have thought a demon would be like.”

  “Someday you will learn wisdom, young Iridan. You show much promise,” Gravis said. “But be wary of the easy answer: it may lead you past the harder questions.”

  “Indeed, he shows much promise,” Dolvaen said. “I hear that he is among the strongest of the Fourth Circle, and with his performance on this assignment, I shall sponsor his petition to advance to the Third.” Dolvaen was often a champion for the advancement of sorcerers who were not a part of the selectively bred sorcerous bloodlines. He felt it served the Empire well to foster new blood where talent was to be found.

  “That is neither urgent nor germane, Dolvaen. Let us consider the options before us,” Gravis said. “This creature is either a demon or not. He is either Rashan Solaran or he is not. He claims he is both. What does he gain from each, were he to be lying?”

  There was a general agreement among the Inner Circle. Among other traits, Gravis was a scholar and no fool. His leadership of the Inner Circle was more than just a feat of magical power.

  “Well, it would seem reasonable to assume he is a demon. I mean, what advantage is there in that lie?” asked Fenris Destrier, who had been silent until that point. He spoke little at council, until the more talkative sorcerers had cut to the heart of an argument. “If he means to pass as one, surely he would be found out eventually.”

  “Perhaps his plans for the ruse are short term, and he feels he could maintain the deception long enough to pull it off. He was certainly convincing enough in front of the twelve of us, and we are no peasant farmers to be fooled by cheap tricks,” Maruk reasoned.

  “But to what advantage? If nothing else, we are more suspicious of him now. If he meant to sneak among us, he has failed already,” Fenris said.

  “If he wants everyone to believe he is Rashan Solaran, he needs to explain how he is still alive. Being immortal certainly covers that.” Brannis could not help but point out what he considered to be the obvious answer, rather than wait for the Circle to shake it out via
debate. He hoped he was not overstepping his bounds.

  “Aha! Now that would seem sensible,” Gravis said. “If we acknowledged him as Rashan Solaran, and thus as warlock, he would outrank us all. Certainly there must be inherent value in that. Whatever other scheme he may be working, access to everything in the Tower and palace, command of the Circle and the army.

  “He must have studied up on the warlock, perhaps having infiltrated the Academy, or even House Solaran for details that he could use to make himself convincing. I am practically the only one in the Empire old enough to remember him firsthand, and I was a mere boy. My recollections are poor at best.”

  “It seems you have a rather compelling narrative, Gravis,” Stalia said. “I feel inclined to agree. This charlatan, whether he is a demon or not, seems intent on gaining power over us. Whether the details of your conjecture bear out, I believe that you have caught this one by the tail.”

  Pouring a glass from a decanter under his desk, Caladris added, “Or we are all witnessing a return of the meanest, cruelest warlock the Empire ever knew. One or the other.”

  There was a long pause where no one spoke, and Caladris drained his wineglass. More than a handful of his fellows wished they kept spirits hidden away in the Sanctum as well, at that thought.

  “Well, enough for now. We all have much to consider. The prisoner will remain sealed in a warded cell until we determine a course of action,” Gravis stated, trying to reclaim the mood of order and efficiency in the Sanctum that he preferred. “Sir Brannis, I regret having detained you so long. You surely have a report to give to your commander. You and Iridan are dismissed,” and he waved them away.

  There was little ceremony among the sorcerers, so Brannis and Iridan merely turned and left the way they came in, unescorted.