Firehurler (Twinborn Trilogy) (29 page)

“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.