by J. S. Morin
A short while later, they were piled into a hired carriage, bound for The Little Manor. Soria paid for their transportation from her seemingly bottomless supply of coin.
“Where do you all make so much coin?” Brannis asked, baffled that Soria seemed to squander money at every opportunity without worry. “Have you taken my arrival as a special occasion, or is it typical for you to throw gold at every nicety that comes along?”
Soria laughed. “What brings this up all of a sudden? It isn’t as if this carriage cost all that much,” Soria replied. She wore a warmer woolen dress, trimmed in ermine, keeping up the appearance of being a highborn lady.
“Well, I knew you were spending a lot, but I know how much carriages cost in Scar Harbor. The other splurges passed quietly when I hardly knew what was going on. And hey now, when did you decide to take on a Kheshi accent?” Brannis switched trails, distracted by Soria’s transition to another persona, one he had not seen yet, or more precisely, had not heard yet. This time, it was Rakashi who chuckled.
“She sounds like that most of the time,” the Takalish warrior explained.
“Brannis,” Soria said, “I grew up in Khesh. Until I started traveling more widely, I hardly remembered the Acardian I learned when I was a little girl. It was so bad for a while there that I could hardly get Zell to understand me. We spoke Kadrin together for the first year and more that we traveled together until I picked up enough Acardian. Of the three of them, only Rakashi could speak Kheshi worth spit.”
“So what is this Little Manor like? I know of it, but I have never needed to take a room in the city before.”
“It’s nice but stop being so … so ‘Brannis’ for a moment while we sort a few important things first.” Soria’s curt tone reminded him that Kyrus was a wanted fugitive in Scar Harbor, and that he bore an uncanny resemblance to the scrawny scrivener. “We need a name and a background for you while you’re in Acardia.”
“How about we just keep going with ‘Brannis Hinterdale’?” Brannis said with a shrug.
“Doesn’t that sound just a bit too Kadrin to you?” Soria asked, shaking her head.
“What if it does, a bit? Who is the wiser; my parents chose an odd name, perhaps? Do you go about wondering where odd names come from?”
“Yes,” Soria and Rakashi answered in unison. Brannis was taken aback.
“Brannis,” Soria said, “you’re still so new at this. We are on guard constantly for twinborn. Whether they turn out to be potential allies, casual acquaintances, or deadly enemies, it all comes down to figuring out their connection before they figure out yours. There are signs to look for. If you get good at spotting them, you have a huge advantage.”
“What if the carriage driver is one? If that is the case, you have just given all of us away,” Brannis said.
“Well, since I plan on killing the carriage driver, I don’t think he will be telling anyone else,” Soria answered casually, not so much as lowering her voice. She paused, cocking her head. The carriage continued along uninterrupted. “Nothing. Carriage driver isn’t listening to us or he has nerves like a dragon. Anyway, if we run across anyone from Veydrus here, that name will be a flag flying over your head with ‘twinborn’ written on it. Thanks to my oathfather, that name is known rather widely across Koriah, on both sides of the war.”
“What about the Hinterdale part?” Brannis said. “Someone is bound to note the resemblance, and perhaps being a relative would be a suitable excuse.”
“Yes,” Soria said, “that works. We need a better name than Brannis, though. Got any ideas, Rakashi?”
“Do you speak any other Telluraki languages, Brannis? Perhaps you could have been raised abroad, much like Soria. She is as Acardian as you, but can pass for Kheshi easily with a bit of disguise. The language is key,” Rakashi said.
“Well, that would be nice, but aside from picking up a bit of the Denku tongue, I have little to go on,” Brannis said. “I left here with Denrik Zayne, stopped in Marker’s Point, got stranded on Denku Appa for three months or so, then a tempest’s swirl through Takalia with you two, and now I am home again.”
“Well, how about we just say he grew up in Marker’s Point? Hard to argue against that, unless anyone talks to him long enough to realize how naive he is. No one as knightly as Brannis comes out of the Point,” Soria said with a smirk. “How about ‘Erund’? Erund Hinterdale … you can plead ignorance of any relation if it comes up. Don’t give the surname out unless asked, though; save the excuse for when you need it or it will be suspicious.”
“Maybe grow a beard,” Rakashi suggested.
Brannis shook his head. “Kyrus used to wear a beard, if it could be rightly called one. It would do little as a disguise. Fewer folk might know me without one.”
“Well,” Soria said, “I heard no objection—”
“Hey, wait!” Brannis tried to enter his opinion before the matter was deemed closed.
“—so Erund it is,” Soria finished.
“I am not sure I care for that one,” Brannis said.
“Sorry, what was that, Erund? I didn’t quite hear you,” Soria said.
Rakashi smiled.
* * * * * * * *
Sleight of hand with coins. Silks from his sleeves. Conjured fire. Juggling doves. Everyone cheers. Hat fills with coins. Same as every day since they have been in Naia, a different street corner each time. Sooner or later, everyone who cared to would have seen the act, then the coin would dry up like a creek bed once the thaw has passed.
Zell stood off to the far side of the crowd, keeping a hand on Jadon lest the boy wander off. Discovering that tendency had led to a panicked search their first night in the city, but with more dutiful supervision, it had been limited to the single incident. As for the boy, he seemed better than when they had found him at the sanctuary. He spoke sometimes—only in Megrenn still—but it was more promising than just staring straight ahead with nary a blink as he so often had on the wagon ride.
Zell looked down at the boy, seeing if he was having any more reaction to this show than any of the others. It looked strange, seeing him dressed up like a Takalish boy. He was clearly Acardian in heritage—possibly mixed with a touch of Feru, if Zell had to hazard a guess—and seeing him in local garb seemed out of place. He ought to have been wearing trousers and a plain grey or brown woolen tunic, running around barefoot. Wendell had purchased him a proper Takalish wardrobe: wide-legged pants of shin length, tied at the waist with a cord; a two-layer pullover jacket, the outer, deep-blue layer parting in a large V in the center to reveal the white layer beneath; a pair of doeskin boots; and a puffy cap that kept falling off for Zell to retrieve.
As the show ended, Zell hooted and applauded, trying to work up the sentiments of the crowd. They needed little prodding, however. The show was still new and impressive; it ought to have been, what with Wendell working in real magic. Zell had watched it once with the magic-seeing helm, and it lost a lot of its appeal when you could see how it was being done. He looked down at Jadon in his Takalish clothes, and gave him a gentle shake to get his attention. It was gratifying when the boy actually turned and looked up at him.
“Do like everyone else. It's what to do at a show,” Zell told him, using Megrenn, which was not his strongest language. He clapped to demonstrate, filling in the gap in his vocabulary.
To his surprise, Jadon complied, clapping awkwardly but enthusiastically.
Wendell came over to them as soon as the crowd began to disperse. “Did I see what I think I saw?” Wendell asked, addressing Zell but looking at Jadon.
The boy looked back but his expression was blank.
“Aye, you did indeed,” Zell said. “Not sure what got into him, but whatever it was, it got in somehow. Not sure whether he finally understood the show or just got caught up, and copied what I showed him,” Zellisan replied, using Acardian, as Wendell had when speaking to him.
“Well, either way, that is wonderful, Jadon. Keep this up, and you will be better in no t
ime. I went through the same thing. I know you can do it,” Wendell told the boy, persisting in using Acardian when he did not urgently need the boy to understand him. The sooner they weaned him off of Veydran languages, the better.
* * * * * * * *
Evening was setting in by the time they had settled into their rooms at The Little Manor. A turkey-and-capers dinner in the inn’s renowned common room filled Brannis’s stomach with familiar foods, even if they tasted somewhat different from how Kyrus had remembered them. Kyrus had been so long in Kadris that the differences between his tastes and Brannis’s had been thoroughly explored. Brannis had been regularly exposed to foods that Kyrus found unfamiliar—even the fare on Denku Appa to an extent—and the return to Kyrus’s hometown was turning over that packed soil.
Back in their rooms after their meal, signed under the names of Erund and Soria Hinterdale, Brannis and Soria relaxed, and began to plan their tasks for Brannis’s homecoming trip. He had deftly avoided managing to commit to specifics during their passage from Takalia. Soria, as it turned out, could easily be distracted from boring conversations when need be.
“So what do we need to take care of while we are here? Once we take care of the business, I intend to have you show me around the city. I want to see where Kyrus grew up. See? I even remembered your name from here,” Soria proclaimed proudly, clasping her hands behind her back, and rising up on her tiptoes. Brannis could not help wondering where she got all her energy, whether from some aspect of her Tezuan training or just a quirk of her nature.
“Well, I shall want to collect any personal effects from the shop that I can. That might involve sneaking around the place—actually it almost certainly will—and it may involve finding where the sheriff and magistrates keep evidence,” Brannis said, sitting down on the edge of the bed. It squished with the telltale softness of down stuffing.
“If you let me know of any particulars you are interested in, it might be best for me to go off, and take care of that. After nightfall, I am far less conspicuous than you. What else?”
“I would like to check in on the well-being of some friends of mine. I do not know whether any of them may have taken partial blame in my escape. There was some … unpleasantness involved,” Brannis said, choosing his words with care.
“We know. How do you think we found you? We tracked you from the point you escaped. They put you in cahoots with Denrik Zayne. His involvement overshadowed any thought that locals might have been done up in the whole affair,” Soria explained.
“Oh,” Brannis replied. Soria watched him, waiting for him to continue. “Well, I should still like to check, all the same.”
“Anyone in particular?” Soria asked, raising her eyebrows expectantly. A tiny smile curled the corner of her lip.
“Well, there is my friend Greuder—”
“The baker? Good sort. Seemed inclined to think you were innocent, from what Zell told us. Didn’t hear a bad word about his bakery, so it doesn’t seem he was in any difficulty due to your ordeal. By all means, though, check up on him. Who else?” Soria smiled as she waited for an answer. Brannis felt like a calf being led to slaughter. He began to see where she was goading him.
“Then there is …”—Brannis cleared his throat—“… Expert Davin, my old employer. He lives—”
“Over in Golis. We can head there once we are done in Scar Harbor. I rather look forward to meeting him. Who else?”
“I suppose I should also go see—”
“Abbiley Tillman?” Soria asked, folding her arms across her chest, and watching with a smug look as Brannis felt his face flush.
“I … um … well, you know when … you see it was not me …”
Soria began chuckling, saving Brannis from further embarrassing himself.
“You are so new at this. And that’s why I don’t mind,” Soria said. Brannis cocked his head to the side, not sure he had heard her correctly. It certainly seemed like the sort of thing he would have expected her to mind. “Go see her tomorrow, if you feel like you need to. She was Kyrus’s first love, wasn’t she … before you realized Kyrus was even real?”
“Yes.”
“Well then, what should it matter to me? You can check in for Kyrus’s sake, then later on, I can remind you how much better you have it now.” Soria’s eyes gleamed lasciviously. “Now, is there any other business you have here in Scar Harbor that needs attending to?”
“Well, I do not know quite how to get into this, but since the part I was worried about appears to have gone well, I may as well venture it: I think there is a possibility that there is a conspiracy at work here,” Brannis said. He found his heart still thumping in his chest, and suspected that his face was still pink, but he was beginning to feel his guts unclenching from the knot he had tied them in.
“Brannis, you already explained that one. Kadrin has been rife with conspiracies since long before either of us was born.”
“No, here.”
“Here in Tellurak?” Soria asked.
“Here! Scar Harbor,” Brannis said. “I think there may be twinborn at work that we do not know about.”
“Who do you suspect?”
“I am not certain, but I think Rashan may be at the heart of it. He hinted that he once led a cabal of spies who passed information between worlds. I do not know who he has running this side of it, but I suspect Abbiley may be a pawn in this.”
“Why her? It seems to be a bit of a convoluted plan, don’t you think? I mean, what are the odds you would even head back here to find out about her? Coming back here—without backup like me and Rakashi at least—would be foolhardy. And how would they even know about her?”
“Rashan knows. We got to talking one night—he was in his cups, which seemed odd all to itself. He told me about his life in Acardia when he was young; we compared how Scar Harbor looked then and now. He told me about a girl he once loved, a long time ago—”
“And of course, you told him all about the artist girl,” Soria finished for him.
“Yes, but showed him, too. He taught me an illusion spell that night. We used them to put pictures to our stories. I even gave him her name,” Brannis said, shaking his head. “I could have accidentally put her in danger. There is this look Rashan gets in his eyes when he looks at me now, looks at Kyrus, that is. I think he is wary of me, and I think he might use Abbiley as a hostage to ensure his safety.”
“Seems a bit paranoid, even for a twinborn. You’re learning to think of this sort of thing at least. That’s a start. Ever consider that you wouldn’t know what became of her if you never checked, and that your ignorance would have protected her from becoming a hostage?”
“Oh, I did not need to come back here to find out about her, just to check on her, and possibly protect her. Abbiley seems to have been an even later bloom that I was.”
“Wait. Are you saying she is twinborn too?” Soria seemed incredulous. She came over and sat beside Brannis on the bed. “Do you know who else she is?” Brannis said nothing, but a look of dawning realization widened Soria’s eyes, quickly changing to a look of displeasure as she wrinkled her nose. “No. Not her!”
“You noticed the resemblance, too?” Brannis ventured, treading carefully.
“Oh, sure, cow’s teats, hips wide enough to birth a monohorn, peasant teeth that whistle in the wind when she smiles. At least the one in Veydrus has magic enough to fix her teeth and complexion,” Soria ranted, her speech accelerating and gaining momentum as she went. “It just figures that the little harlot was always sniffing after you like a hunting dog. No wonder! She was just following some leftover feeling from his artist girl. It’s not like she ever had a real chance of—”
“Hey!” Brannis cut her off before she could get far enough with her slanders to truly anger him. “I need to protect her. I might be the one responsible for putting her in danger. I was able to get Juliana out of Kadris before things got out of hand. I might have done something to protect Celia as well, but for two things. Firstly, she is
on a tight leash, working for Rashan, and now for Caladris. Secondly, I had only one airship to give that did not need a naval crew.”
“I doubt she would have known which end was up on a ship,” Soria said.
“That is not the point. Kyrus gave it to you, not her.”
“So you are saying Kyrus chose me? Not you?” Soria smiled, but without her eyes lighting up the way they normally did.
“By the winds, Juliana, I chose you nine summers ago!”
Soria breathed a long sigh, releasing pent-up tension. The lascivious look returned to her eyes as she turned toward Brannis.
* * * * * * * *
Their boarding-house room was small but clean. The dark wood floors shone with well-worn varnish. The lath and plaster walls were painted pale blue, giving the room an airy feel. A pair of bunk beds took up much of the available floor space, the rooms being rented primarily to laborers, migrants, and visitors to the city. It was not the sort of place to raise a family, cook meals, or sit around in playing cards and dice—though the latter had occurred far more often than the previous two activities.
Nevertheless, Wendell and Zellisan found themselves with a small family of sorts: a would-be master, his intended apprentice, and … Zell, who did not quite fit in anywhere yet.
Jadon wheezed slightly in his sleep, the only sign he breathed at all, his thin chest moved so little as he slept, occupying the top bunk, above where Wendell slept. It was early yet, and neither of the two adults had any intention of slumber for some time yet. Wendell took occasional pulls at a bottle of wine from the region they had just passed through. Zellisan sipped a Takalish whiskey with too refined a flavor to it to waste on gulping it down.
“Kid sleeps. I’ll credit him that much,” Zellisan remarked, seated on the edge of his bunk. The wooden frame creaked at his every movement, protesting the over-large Acardian’s heft.
“Just give him time. You cannot imagine what it ish like, living with two worlds before your eyes at the … at the same … at once. We need to help him sheparate the two in his mind. I think today was a good shign,” Wendell replied. He thumped his fist against his chest, trying to quell the burning feeling as the strong wine scorched its way down his throat. The Takalish called it “partially distilled,” but it was more a liquor than a wine to Faolen’s sensibilities.
