Aethersmith (Book 2)

by J. S. Morin

  “Give me that,” Jinzan said testily. He reached to the center of the table, and grabbed the helm, armoring himself with anger against the rising bile in his throat. He jammed the helm down onto his head before he could have second thoughts, keeping the Staff of Gehlen in hand, despite the fact that the helm could not harm him.

  “So which of you is it this time?” a disembodied voice came through clearly in Jinzan’s mind. Devoid of timbre, it was less fearsome than he had expected. It sounded … flippant?

  “I am High Councilor Jinzan Fehr,” Jinzan replied. “Am I addressing Rashan Solaran?”

  “Why yes, you are, Councilor. I just wanted to try this thing out. It is like our speaking stones but portable. The voices sound awful, I must say, but it is a fair price to pay for the convenience.”

  “What do you want?” Jinzan asked. He had no time for idle banter. He knew that time passed strangely while conversing in the aether. He trusted that Narsicann or one of the others would prevent him being in the thrall of the helm for more than a few hours, but he did not want to waste that time, however much he had.

  “Why … a great many things. I have the patience to get them all, I think. I want Ghelk. I want the ogrelands. I want Safschan and Narrack, the Painu Islands … and I want Megrenn. I want the Staff of Gehlen. I want your skull for a trophy.”

  “Oh, is that all? Well, demon, I have the Staff of Gehlen, and I think I have the power to destroy you with it,” Jinzan boasted. It was all he could think to do besides tear the helm off his head, and throw it across the room.

  “Oh, maybe you do, maybe you do not. What you do have, though, is a need to sleep. I could wait, find you defenseless in your own bed. I can slip past whatever wards you think to set up to prevent me. Or else … perhaps I could come to where you go when you sleep. What would you think of that, Captain Zayne?”

  Jinzan felt his breathing coming quick and shallow. What sort of monster was he talking to? He could think of no response. He heard a chuckling laughter through the helm, stripped of all humanity by the magic. It sounded demonic.

  “Sleep well, Captain. We will meet … soon enough.”

  * * * * * * * *

  Rashan removed the magical helm from his head, still smiling and chuckling. He crushed it between his thin, delicate-looking hands, and tossed it into the Thadagar River.

  Chapter 35 - Unlocking Secrets

  Kadrin was a vivid map beneath them … or perhaps it was Megrenn. For an aspiring ship’s captain, Juliana’s knowledge of geography translated poorly from old paper and ink maps to real trees, rivers, and mountains. There were no dotted lines denoting borders, no names scrawled in giant letters above cities and forests. From what little she had ever paid attention to maps, she was surprised by the number of tiny communities that existed where no map took the trouble to denote them.

  Juliana had kept the Daggerstrike heading north by keeping the Cloud Wall to their left. Her ship was an airship, and her crew were soldiers, not sailors. She would be gutted before she had them all waste time learning what starboard, port, and all the other nautical nonsense meant. Left was called left, right was called right, and since they all spoke Kadrin, everyone knew what everyone else was talking about.

  It was lonely on deck. Despite the two spotters on each side of the ship, tethered to the railings for safety, conversation needed to take place at a shout, and preferably from close range. Soria had spent enough time alone with her thoughts for the both of them, and now that Soria was ensconced with Brannis in Tellurak, Juliana hoped that the two of them had not exchanged roles; she did not wish to become the stoic one.

  One of the spotters on the right side of the Daggerstrike shouted something that could not be made out over the rush of air. Juliana slowed the ship from “gale” to “breeze” speed.

  “Horses, heading north,” the spotter repeated, pointing down to the ground.

  Juliana fiddled with the ship’s wheel, trying to activate the proper runes to convince the illusory display to show her where her spotter was pointing. The scene shifted wildly at each touch. Finally she got it facing roughly forward and below them, and turned the ship instead, rotating it in the air until the viewer displayed the aforementioned horses.

  There were five of the animals in all, pushing hard. Three bore humans, the other two went riderless. Juliana and her crew had found a battle farther south along the Thadagar and steered well clear of it. It seemed likely that these were either runners racing to Megrenn with news of their battle—which would account for the spare horses—or survivors fleeing for their lives—which would account for the missing riders.

  Juliana looked over the runes on the many handles of the wheel. They were not labeled with their function, which meant she either had to look over the rune structures to figure out what they did, or she had to remember Kyrus’s whirlwind tour of the ship and what he had told her of their purposes. It would be some time before she knew them all to use the ship without consciously thinking through every action.

  “Now, one of these shouts inside the ship, the other to the outside …” she muttered to herself as she examined the handle that bore communication runes. She touched one, sneaking just a bit of aether into it as a test.

  “Hello. Hello. Can you hear me?” she said, keeping her voice low. She heard her voice coming from over the side of the ship. She swore beneath her breath, heard that coming from over the side of the ship as well. She heard laughter from belowdecks, so they were at least hearing her, even if her words were being shouted into the sky. She tried the other rune.

  “Fine. Laugh all you like, but we are going to be taking on our first enemy target, so I want straight faces and sharp eyes by the time we reach ground level. Bows to the ready, arrows nocked. Wait for my signal to fire unless you see a sorcerer begin casting,” Captain Juliana ordered. There was a loose brotherhood at best among sorcerers, even within the Empire. If anything, knowledge of how their own kind thought made them less likely to be lenient, rather than more.

  Juliana brought the Daggerstrike into a shallow, spiraling dive, still wary of repeating her initial mistake about flipping the ship on a whim. Her archers would be far more accurate if they were not busily retching out their dawn feast all about the hold. At least she was getting the hang of steering the ship, even if many of the other controls left her baffled.

  It was near enough to noontime for the shadow of the Daggerstrike to alert the Megrenn to their presence overhead. They were caught, however. The flatland between the river and the surrounding forest was the only terrain suitable for horses. The flood banks of the Thadagar were chest height to a horse and, even if leapt, would only put them in dense forest, too thick for their mounts to navigate quickly. The Megrenn pressed on, hurrying their horses in a desperate hope of finding a breakaway to the east, some trail or road that led into navigable forest.

  The Daggerstrike swooped low, coming alongside the frightened horses. Juliana banked them in gently, giving herself enough of an angle such that she could see them for herself without having to rely on the magical viewer and its convoluted workings. Two wore armor—bearing markings of Megrenn and Safschan between them, though helms hid their faces from easy view. The third was Ghelkan by both skin and dress, wearing the tan colors of his people’s sorcerers beneath a Megrenn-blue cloak.

  “SURRENDER!” Juliana called out in Megrenn, her voice echoing from the sides of the ship as she remembered the correct rune to touch.

  Though she assumed the Megrenn had understood her, despite her Kadrin accent, and the distortion from the magical amplification, they nonetheless galloped away. Juliana fought with the viewer’s controls to try to get the horsemen into the picture, rocking the ship side to side to give herself intermittent looks at them to keep apace.

  At length, more through chance than practice, she was able to realign the view to her liking. She steadied the ship alongside the riders again. Even if they were to find an eastern escape route now, it was blocked off by the bulk
of the Daggerstrike, flying too low to the ground for the horses to cross beneath, even were the riders to duck.

  “LAST CHANCE! SURRENDER OR WE WILL FIRE!” Juliana warned. Had she anyone at hand to wager with, she would have bet against them complying. Still, it hardly seemed sporting not to offer.

  The Ghelkan let go his reins, and attempted to cast a spell. Juliana never got a chance to figure out what it ought to have been, as a dozen arrows streaked out from the left side of the ship, three finding their mark. The sorcerer’s shielding spell held, but his concentration was ruined. In the blink of an eye, the Ghelkan burst into flames, not even surviving long enough to scream, though his horse did enough to account for the dead man’s share as the panicked beast threw its flaming rider, losing ground on its companions before falling into pace behind them.

  Realizing that their attempt at escape was merely testing the ship’s archers rather than saving themselves, the two survivors slowed their horses to a trot and surrendered. Juliana slowed the Daggerstrike to match them. The frightened steed whose rider had burned, seemingly the wisest among them, continued to run, leaving the rest to their fates as Juliana did not bother with pursuit.

  “Who are you?” the Megrenn survivor shouted up. By his face, he appeared native Megrenn, a blank palette if ever a people were one, with skin not quite so pale as common in the Kadrin southlands, mid-brown eyes and hair, and a face neither flat nor particularly angular.

  Juliana set the Daggerstrike down, the deck pitching a bit left as it settled on the uneven ground, and opened the side hatches. Then she unbuckled herself from the captain’s harness, and made her way over to the railing to introduce herself in person.

  “I am Captain Juliana of the Daggerstrike,” she called down to him. “What are your names? If I find you cooperative, you may yet live through this day.”

  “I am Colonel Jaimes Arbret of the Free Megrenn Army. My companion is Puuna Tsaki, Third Highblade in the Safschan Army. What do you intend to do with us?”

  Several of Juliana’s crew, with swords drawn, made their way down the ramps that the hatches became when opened. They encircled the four horses, taking the reins both of the ones that were mounted and those saddled but riderless. From within the ship, archers still manned the arrow slits, ready to provide covering fire.

  “For starters, to find out whether you speak any Kadrin. I would prefer my men be able to understand what you are saying,” Juliana said over the railing.

  “I do,” Colonel Arbret conceded, demonstrating by replying in Kadrin. “I grew up in an occupied Megrenn. Puuna only speaks a few words, best as I know.”

  The dark-skinned Safschan shrugged, nodding.

  Neither of the two looked to Juliana to be a great warrior. Colonel Arbret was thin of build, Puuna’s hair was shot through with enough grey to suggest his best summers were long past. She gave no order to have them disarmed, so each of them sat their horse with a sheathed blade at hand.

  “Good,” Juliana said, switching to the language her crew understood best. “First things first, were you a part of that battle we saw, farther down the Thadagar?”

  “Battle?” Arbret scoffed. “There was no ‘battle.’ That was a slaughter. We three were the only ones I am aware of who escaped, and your archers just killed Vaeldak.”

  “Warlock Rashan?” Juliana guessed.

  “Who the bloody gravelands knows? One moment, we are getting ready to launch our assault on your forces, dug in betwixt the river and the forest; the next, your infantry is advancing. It got a bit hazy after that, what with the monohorns being flung in amongst us, and half our forces bursting into flame. I turned and fled before being properly introduced.”

  “Well, it certainly sounds like him,” Juliana replied, trying to keep an even tone as she heard about the horrific destruction her oathfather had wrought. She knew he was powerful. History had told that he had swung the balance in every battle he had fought. But the succession of wars against Loramar and his undead legions had hinted at limits to his power, of a foe nearly his equal, a force that he had to strike at and retreat. “Where would you go now, if you had a choice?”

  “Hah, to Azzat, if I could. As far away from here as I can imagine. I used to think the myths about a demon that secretly ruled there were just meant to keep outsiders from attacking, and give them an air of mystery. Now? I would go there, and hope that a few thousand years of never being conquered were more than a coincidence.”

  “Well, Azzat is a bit out of our way, but we could drop you at the next Megrenn settlement or force we find, for the cost of your weapons and a promise of good conduct,” Juliana offered.

  “Why would you?”

  “Why not? You think it works against Kadrin to report what happened to one of your armies when it crossed paths with our warlock? If you ask me, history has not done him justice. It would be good for your people to hear about it firsthand from a survivor.”

  Colonel Arbret studied her a moment, weighing her offer. Having apparently made his decision, he unbuckled his sword belt. Third Highblade Puuna took his lead, and did likewise, handing down his weapon to the crewman nearest to him. The two officers then dismounted.

  “What of the horses? If we are to set them wild, we should unsaddle them first,” Arbret asked. Juliana frowned, not having considered the fate of the animals.

  “Bring them aboard,” she said. “But if they foul the hold, you two are cleaning it up.”

  * * * * * * * *

  “Not much of anything, really,” Dolvaen said. He sat in his study, same as Kyrus had seen him the last time the two men met privately. He seemed to prefer it to working from his office in the Tower of Contemplation. “There is scant evidence to be found.”

  “Since we are alone, and I can see that you have the room sufficiently warded, I would like to be frank,” Kyrus said, standing across the desk from Dolvaen with his arms crossed. He tried to keep a stern expression on his face, hoping it did not come across as comical. Kyrus had never been one to bully, so the posture was new to him. He hoped that bullying worked the same when it came to intimidating by magical might. There was a whole cultural rift that Brannis had been unable to prepare him for.

  “Go right ahead. Be forewarned about frankness in return, though,” Dolvaen both agreed and cautioned. He crossed his arms as well. Kyrus was not sure whether he was prepared for an arm-crossing contest. Dolvaen seemed more experienced at battles of will.

  “The three murdered sorcerers were known to be supporters of Rashan. You have admitted to me that you are, if not the leader, then at least chief among his opponents,” Kyrus said.

  “I am the leader,” Dolvaen interjected into a pause Kyrus had left open too long.

  “Have you begun killing off his supporters, starting at the lower echelons?”

  “Hmm, more frankness than I had even expected. You came right out and accused me of murder.” Dolvaen sounded mildly surprised.

  “I find that I am perhaps one of the few left the luxury of bluntness to the point of rudeness. It took me a while to realize, but I am growing to be widely feared,” Kyrus said. “But no, I ask, not accuse. If I had meant accusation, I would have hauled you down to the palace dungeons first.”

  “You might have tried …” Dolvaen left the rest of his statement to Kyrus’s imagination.

  “If you will allow me a simple demonstration, and please construe this as no actual threat,” Kyrus said, drawing a consternated look from Dolvaen. That look—lips pursed, brow knit—froze on the elder sorcerer’s face as Kyrus’s magic grabbed him, and held him from moving. Kyrus felt a thrashing at his aether construct, silent spells cast by Dolvaen to affect his release.

  “This is not even taxing me,” Kyrus said. “I have had little cause to test myself, but I have been putting little pieces together of late. The assassin who attempted to take the life of Emperor Sommick in the days leading up to his coronation—his Source was rather impressively strong. Yet on more than one occasion, I have seen evid
ence of others either claiming or being unable to secure hold of a strong-Sourced individual. I nearly crushed that assassin to death, nearly suffocated him from being unable to move his lungs. Before I release you, stop your fighting, or I will wait until you pass out from lack of air.” Kyrus noted that the attacks against his construct ceased.

  He took a moment to reinforce his own shielding spell, lest Dolvaen have taken things badly, and unraveled his own magic. Dolvaen collapsed back in his chair, gasping for breath. Kyrus allowed him a moment to gather himself.

  “How did you do that? What spell did that demon teach you? I saw you cast nothing,” Dolvaen blurted once he collected enough breath to do so.

  “That was telekinesis. I know few spells well enough to cast them silently. It was either that or a light spell, or simple firehurling. Anything else, you would have seen me perform.” Kyrus felt that his arm-crossing was perhaps carrying more weight than when he had first tried it.

  “I had nothing to do with those murders. It would have been patently idiotic to do so. By striking at his lowest loyal underlings, it merely alerted him to a conspiracy, if he did not already have full knowledge of one.”

  “He knew. He has known from the first, though more by instinct than fact,” Kyrus replied.

  “You have not told him of my involvement, have you?” Dolvaen sounded sure of the answer when he asked it.

  Kyrus humored the question anyway. “No. I have yet to decide what is best for the Empire. For the time being at least, the political sphere is free of his influence.”

  “Can you be so naive as to think so?” Dolvaen asked, raising his voice. “The emperor is his pet, he has agents throughout the Empire, and even you are appointed indirectly by his hand.”

  “The latter is his mistake, if he thinks to dominate politics via me. Let him play at war. I will see what I can do to sort out the rats’ nest of double-dealing within the Circle and among the nobles. As such, I need to know as much as you are able to provide about those murders.”