Aethersmith (Book 2) (56 page)

“Stuck? Are you saying that you are here unwillingly?”
Denrik thought that sounded promising.

A discontented ambassador? Could Kyrus have been such a
fool as that?

“Well, it was a hasty plan that got me sent here. Lots of
moving parts to it, I guess, and I was the misfit piece that got packed off
with Captain Stalyart,” Tanner said with a shrug. “I know spit about being an
ambassador. I think in this case, though, I’m more of a go-between. I am with
Kyrus in Kadrin, and with you here. If Brannis and Jinzan Fehr want to talk …
here I am to bridge the two worlds. Just consider me a messenger pigeon, or a
bottle to float notes across the aether in.”

“So you have no initial greeting from Kyrus to start us off
with?” Denrik asked, amused with the prospects that a careless, bored twinborn
might pose.

“Way I figure, I’m mostly just going to hang about drinking
your best rotgut until you give the word that Megrenn’s had enough,” Tanner
said, his offhanded manner about something Denrik cared deeply about
immediately souring his mood.

“You seem to have missed an essential briefing: Kadrin is
losing this war. We are winning on every front, and more nations join us as we
speak. They see our success, and believe in the downfall of the once mighty
bully of Veydrus. Your warlock might have won you one battle a season ago, but
he has hidden away ever since,” Denrik boasted.

“Hey, he never told me
not
to tell you, so just to
clear things up, we just crowned a new emperor last night. First thing he did?
Ordered Rashan to go out and start killing your folks off, using that nasty
piece of work of a sword of his. Plus I think if you ever got anywhere near
Kadris, Kyrus would try to figure out which end of a hellfire spell is which,
and set half the continent ablaze. Politics, Cap’n, politics has been keeping
Megrenn in one piece. Once we get our heads out of our backsides and fight
back, it’ll be messy.”

“I see,” Denrik said, his dry tone contradicting the spoken
words. “Well, enjoy your stay here, and if I find myself needing to surrender,
I will alert you without delay.”

“Thanks. Nice to see we’re seeing things the same way,”
Tanner said with a smile.

Oh, he is not so foolish as he acts, I see
.

Tanner opened the door to leave, turning back to leave a
final thought. “Oh, and if you find a missing warlock, please have him sent
back. He isn’t quite big enough to keep if you catch him.”

* * * * * * * *

Rakashi strode through the small taproom on board the
Sand
Piper
. His soft boots made muffled thumps on the carpeted floor, drawing
Brannis’s attention from his ale.

“I had not expected to see you without an entourage until we
set foot in Acardia,” Brannis called out to him.

The Takalish warrior smiled, but did not say anything until
he had poured himself into a chair next to Brannis. “I told them that I was
traveling with friends, and was neglecting them badly. It will not end the
attentions they lavish upon me, but it buys me a small respite,” Rakashi
replied. “I had expected to find Soria with you. Have the two of you
quarreled?”

“Far from it,” Brannis answered, lifting his eyebrows
suggestively as he lifted his tankard to his lips. “But I have no energy to
keep pace with her. She found a game of Pak Chu in the social galley; it seems
Kheshi parlor games are a fancy among rich Takalish women these days. I left
her to it. She could not resist the lure to play, said she had not seen anyone
play it in years.”

“Good. I worry about her at times, especially in Kadrin,
where I cannot look out for her. There I worry about her life, inhabiting a
nest of dragons as she does. A misplaced word could bring down swift death if
she treads wrongly. Here, I worry for her heart. Soria is always so full of
anger. There is a Safschan expression that translates to ‘hornets in the
blood,’ and it describes her aptly. She prefers to strike out at the target of
her anger before considering alternatives. Since finding you, her mood has
lightened like the sky after the passing of a storm. She laughs more in a day
than I have seen in a year from her before.”

Brannis studied Rakashi’s expression, which he kept so
carefully neutral most of the time. He could see something there that he had
not expected.
He is in love with Soria,
Brannis realized. It might not
have been the passionate love that Brannis felt for her, but he saw that
Rakashi cared more for her than he had realized.

“She does not need a lot of looking after, even in Kadrin.
Still, I am not blind to the treachery that has seeped into the streets of
Kadris like weeds between the cobblestones. I cannot pull every weed—not
quickly at least—but until they are cleared, I found a way to get her clear of
the danger. I will let no harm come to her,” Brannis assured Rakashi.

The Takalish warrior put a hand on Brannis’s shoulder. The
smile on his face relaxed with genuine warmth.

“With the troubles I hear of from Kadrin, I find your
assurance a great comfort. Soria would never admit the need for help, or
perhaps even notice such a need. I am glad she has you now.” Rakashi stood. “I
think I will go see how Soria’s game of Pak Chu is proceeding.”

Chapter 31 - Tangling Knots

Kyrus could hear the shouting as he approached Emperor
Sommick’s chambers. He was on his way to meet with the emperor and Warlock (no
longer regent) Rashan, but it seemed that there was already a meeting in
progress—a contentious one. The emperor’s voice carried down the halls as Kyrus
approached.

“… as of last night!” were the first words Kyrus made out.

“I am not some lackey to be ordered about. I do your bidding
for the glory of the Empire, and the safety of her people. I am not a
chamber-servant.”

“I will not be made a puppet of. When I give a command, I
expect—”

Suppressing an instinct of self-preservation that told him
to wait outside, Kyrus approached the door. The two palace guards who flanked
it stood too stiffly, as if afraid to move—no magic held them thus. Neither
guard made a move to hinder him as he opened the door.

“I thought I saw the sunrise coming down the hall at us,”
Rashan greeted him, smiling as he turned his attention away from Emperor
Sommick.

The emperor was clawing at Rashan’s arm, trying futilely to
remove the demon’s hand from over his mouth. Muffled protests sounded from
behind that hand. The emperor’s face was bright red with rage.

“Please close the door behind you. Emperor Sommick and I
were just hashing out the boundaries of power between the two of us.”

The emperor went to his knees, using his weight as leverage
to try to pry free from the warlock’s grip.

“Oh, just let him go. This is no way to treat an emperor,”
Kyrus chided Rashan.

The warlock shrugged, and released Sommick, who fell forward
onto his hands, gasping for breath after his exertions. Kyrus noticed that
Celia was present, sitting at a desk in the corner of the room with quill and
ink at the ready.

“Let me know if you change your mind about that,” Rashan
said. “He was getting rather tiresome, and I consider myself the model of
patience.”

“Sir Brannis,” Emperor Sommick managed between sucking in
lungfuls of air. “Arrest Warlock Rashan, and … throw him in the dungeons. I
understand that … we have cells for sorcerers.”

Kyrus looked over one shoulder, then the other. “I seem to
have come alone. Had I known I was to be arresting warlocks, I ought to have
brought a few from the Inner Circle along with me. Besides, those cells do not
hold much of anything, in my experience. Warlock Rashan can break out of them any
time he wishes,” Kyrus replied. He had initially had every intention of
politeness, but could not help his reply sounding sarcastic even to his own
ears.

“Is this how it is to be?” Sommick asked. “Defied by my
advisors and subjects at every turn?”

“It is not defiance, as such. I was merely pointing out that
your orders were not going to have the effect you intended,” Kyrus explained.
“You no doubt envisioned me marching off to the dungeons with Rashan by the
scruff of his neck, throwing him in a cell, then releasing him days later, much
chastened and properly subservient. What was more likely to have happened would
have been a magical struggle that would have left most of us dead, and Rashan
once more in charge of an empire with no emperor.”

“Emperor Sommick, you need to understand that we are neither
wooden play-soldiers nor your personal handmaidens,” Rashan explained, speaking
as if to a small child. He helped the emperor to his feet, and brushed his
royal robes off where they had touched the floor. “And you also need to
understand that you are the offshoot of a wet little mistake a good friend of
mine made a hundred and fourteen winters ago, when he was far from home and the
company of his empress.”

“None of that matters now. I am emperor. My word is law!”

“Celia, my dear, did you happen to write any of that down?”
Rashan asked across the room, keeping his eyes fixed on the emperor as he did
so.

“No, Warlock,” came Celia’s reply.

Rashan smiled. “You see? None of what was said or done
actually happened. An emperor needs supporters, loyalists, obedient subjects.
Without those, you are just a young man in expensive clothing, who happens to
have some very noteworthy blood in his veins. Please understand that
we
are your supporters, your loyalists. If we are not the obedient servants you
crave, then see for yourself how many of
those
you have if our
support—my support—were withdrawn.”

“Um, Warlock Rashan … does this mean you have not gotten to
the point of discussing the arrangements for your … absence?” Kyrus asked.

“No, but I suppose we ought to. My sword hand itches to hold
a blade, and I am not sure I trust myself with one in hand while our new
emperor persists in vexing me. The sooner I am off to war, the better.”

“What arrangements are you referring to?” Emperor Sommick
demanded, having recovered enough of his dignity and ill-won egotism to resume
demanding things.

“Sir Brannis will be running the Empire in my absence,”
Rashan began, holding up a hand to forestall the emperor’s nascent
interjection. “I know, I know, you had thought yourself clever in ordering me
away. I let you grow that idea from seeds I planted in your head. You are not
qualified to oversee the Empire’s flower gardens, however.”

“But it is my empire now. I rule it, not you, and certainly
not Sir Brannis!”

“And you will continue to rule it. You will just not run it.
You will sit a horse in parades, wave from balconies, throw feasts. But do not
attempt to meddle in the affairs of the Circle or the army, and do not get
involved in the wranglings among the nobles. Bring in jesters and musicians to
amuse yourself, if you like. Get roaring drunk every day, and no man can
gainsay you. Take the company of any—”

“But I would lose the respect of the people!” Emperor
Sommick protested.

“No worse than you would by trying to control something you
do not understand. Emperor Dharus did not even exist, and he was looked upon well
enough by the commoners.”

Kyrus was distracted from the exchange by a sound he was
more sensitive to than most: the scratching of a quill. He looked over from the
corner of his eye, and saw that Celia was writing something. He judged from the
pacing, and lack of stops when the conversation broke, that she was not taking
down the current, highly subversive, discussion between emperor and warlock.

“Think about whom you might wish for an empress, as well.
You may as well aim high; no unwed girl in the Empire could refuse you,” Rashan
told Sommick.

Kyrus noticed that the warlock glanced sidelong at him as he
said it, though. Brannis had heard a similar speech from Rashan, and had still
not heeded the advice.

The scratching noises from the corner stopped, replaced by
the sound of chair legs scraping on stone. Kyrus looked over to see Celia
rising from her task. She sprinkled a bit of sand over the wet ink as an
afterthought.

“I have finished, Warlock,” Celia called over to Rashan.

“Ahh, excellent. Let us proceed with the formalities then.
Emperor Sommick, if you would come this way.”

Rashan put a hand to Sommick’s back, and guided him over to
the desk that Celia had just vacated. The emperor looked confused, but there
was likely so much buzzing about in his head that he could mount no objection.

Kyrus followed just behind them, close enough that he could
read over the emperor’s shoulder—seeing over the diminutive warlock was no
trouble at all.

I, Sommick the First, Emperor of the Kadrin Empire, do
declare as follows:

I appoint, in all matters, Sir Brannis Solaran, as
overseer of the Kadrin Empire and such decisions as require imperial consent …

Kyrus skimmed the rest of the single-page document, and
found that it would be his official appointment. Celia’s penmanship was
labored. He could see it in the lack of fluidity in the looping letters, where
she had moved her wrist in the formation of the curve rather than managing it
strictly in the fingers. He realized a vague annoyance at not being able to
write the document on his own behalf. With how long she had worked at it, he
was amazed at how short it was in the end.

He watched the emperor take his seat, and peruse the
document. Rashan stood over him like a disapproving tutor, waiting for some
mistake to give him reason to berate his pupil. Emperor Sommick looked up at
Rashan, saying nothing, but conveying a protest by eyes alone. He took up the
quill, and signed his name to the document, his signature an atrocity of ink.

“If anyone requires me, I will be holding court in the
throne room with a barrel of wine,” Sommick informed the three who had just
wrested his imperial authority from him. He pushed back away from the desk, and
rose, shouldering his way between Kyrus and Rashan when they were not quick
enough to clear a path for him. No one said a further word until the door had
closed behind him.

“My, but did that not go well?” Rashan commented. To Celia,
he said, “Take this over to the Sanctum. Oh … Sir Brannis still needs to sign
it.”

Kyrus leaned over the desk, and took up the quill in his own
hand. He was growing accustomed to the Kadrin goosefeather quills, though they
still felt too light to him. After a quick dip in the ink, he touched the tip
to the parchment.

Kyrus Hinterdale.
His hand froze. A dollop of ink
pooled where a “K” was poised to begin.

No.
Kyrus breathed, the sound filling the silence of
the room around him.

Sir Brannis Solaran
, he wrote instead, as if he were
signing a client’s name in script more elegant than they could manage for
themselves.

The ink was given a moment to dry before Rashan sealed it
with wax, and an impression from the emperor’s signet, which he then left on
the table.

“I shall get this to the Inner Circle straightaway,” Celia
said, taking her leave.

Rashan watched her go; Kyrus followed suit, wondering if her
walk was similar to Abbiley’s or if he was just imagining it.

“It is about time I take my leave as well. I had initially
thought to have you activate the
Daggerstrike
for my use, but I find
that I am half a day too late for that,” Rashan said once his attention was
turned back to Kyrus.

“Well, I—”

“Well played, Brannis,” Rashan interrupted him, smiling.
“This is the other reason I feel I can leave the Empire in your hands. You can
keep up with the game, ahead of it even, when you have a mind to. I have
gathered that Juliana Solaran is aboard …”

“Yes, I thought it was about time we used the ships for
other than transportation duty. Munne showed the hazard of bringing them into
battle against large forces, but I think that harrying tactics are ideally
suited to them. The
Daggerstrike
will outrun anything we have made thus
far.”

“And you picked Juliana as captain, despite her lack of any
naval experience, because…?”

“I like having more than one reason for something. The
other
reason is that in Tellurak she leads as good a group of coinblades as I
have seen. She knows ambush tactics better than any of the garrison commanders
we have running the army,” Kyrus explained, thinking the jab at the passive
army commanders would fit well with Rashan’s view of them.

“So the gallant reason is to get her out of harm’s way, and
the practical reason is that she is suited to this assignment you have created
just for her. Ahh, but there are at least two more that I can think of.” Rashan
grinned. It was the same grin he used when he taunted Gravis Archon upon his
return to Kadrin. Kyrus waited to hear how much of his plan was already laid
bare in the demon’s mind. “You are also worried for her reputation. As murders
pile up in the city, a select few wonder whether she might be involved. Rightly
or wrongly—and I think she had no part in these—she has bits of her past and
quirks of personality that make it seem plausible. The last reason is the
clever one though: you cannot investigate Celia’s link to Tellurak with her
around. If Celia is your girl Abbiley, you can take no action on that knowledge
with Juliana about. I truly hope for your sake that she is, for it will
disentangle you nicely from Iridan and Juliana, and keep peace between you
all—perhaps not between Celia and Juliana, though we can work on that over
time.”

“…”

Rashan smiled. “I have been at this a lot longer than you,
Brannis. You are off to an excellent start, mind you, but you have ages to
catch up on. I ran a network of spies from Acardia to Khesh, Kadrin to
Safschan, and back again. Unravel the conspiracy against the throne in my
absence, and see how it feels. You have it in you.”

“Do you know who heads the conspiracy?” Kyrus asked.

“Not yet. Work that out, and the rest ought to fall in
behind. Trust in Caladris for advice while I am gone. You can trust him and
Aloisha among the Inner Circle, and Iridan when he returns. The rest are all
suspect, either sitting on their hands or actively dirtying them against me.”

“Will you go to Munne to find Iridan?”

“Reports are that Munne is stalled. Megrenn has been unable
to remove forces from the garrison to continue an advance. That would indicate
that Iridan is proving his worth after all. I will not steal his glory from
him.”

* * * * * * * *

“He has held out admirably. I could spare you this,
possibly, with another day or two. He keeps asking for you, though, and I think
it best if you indulge him in this,” Narsicann told Jinzan.

They stood together in a level of the army headquarters that
dated back to the Kadrin occupation of Zorren. Rough-cut stone blocks lined the
walls and ceiling. Others of the same make—worn by the passages of a hundred
winters' worth of feet—comprised the floor. Wooden beams provided structural
support at intervals. Torches flickered and guttered in wrought-iron sconces
all down the corridor. There was no natural light as far down as they were, and
the air hung heavy with the burning scent of pitch-soaked wood.