Firehurler (Twinborn Trilogy) (33 page)

“I mean, I went up there to retrieve some of my old
things, and I found something missing. Someone besides me has been in there.”

“You got into Rashan’s chambers?” Gravis asked in a
hushed tone. “That lock has thwarted all attempts at entry since he died.”

“
My
chambers … and of course I got in. I hardly
have to think about it to disarm the wards. But someone has gotten in. You do
not know who that might have been, by any chance? Oh, and while we are being
incredulous, I worked on the wards in the dungeon. Getting out of there was
simple as well.” Rashan felt he had Gravis convinced now.

“As I said, no one has gotten in to the best of my
knowledge. We have tried here and there, but it is a puzzle. There is a
standing offer of immediate graduation for any student of the Academy who can
get in there. Can you prove you actually got in?” Gravis asked.

Iridan had quietly made his way within earshot of the
conversation, and he was very curious to hear the answer to that one as well.

“First of all, this costume is actually the genuine
article. Look at the aether, and you will see it.” He paused briefly as Gravis
Archon concentrated. “And while you are noticing that the garments are
unaltered, please note that I am immortal,” he added casually.

Gravis frowned slightly, and his eyes unfocused. “You
are
a demon!” Gravis gasped, taking a quick half step backward. His coiled sword
bounced comically in response.

“How else would I still be alive? I am two hundred and
forty-seven summers old, unless I lost track somewhere along the way. You are
less than half my age and showing your winters,” Rashan said. Despite the vast
difference in age, Rashan indeed looked barely past adolescence, and Gravis appeared
at least thrice his age.

“Oh, I might add that I figured out where you had
hidden this.” He patted Heavens Cry at his hip.

Gravis’s eyes widened as he realized what weapon the
demon was carrying.

“You really should not have given it to poor Brannis to
drag around. With no aether to control it, it must have been as dangerous to
his men as it was to his enemies.”

“You have broken Heavens Cry loose of its bindings?
Why?”

Gravis seemed perplexed. Several of the Inner Circle
were hovering nearby now, listening in and ready to intervene if necessary.
Iridan noticed them and kept back just a little farther than the subtle circle
they had formed a short way from the two senior sorcerers.

“First of all, because it is mine. Secondly, because I
think it helps bolster my case for my identity. Thirdly, because there is the
small chance that some fool one of you is going to try to attack me and
embolden others to do likewise,” Rashan answered simply. “While I think I would
be able to defend myself even without it, I prefer to have more weaponry than I
need rather than less.”

“So you expect us to take you back? Just like that?
You make a strong case. You certainly know things that Rashan Solaran should
know, but you still may have come by this knowledge by other means, demon.”

Gravis tried to hold his ground in an argument he was
clearly losing. Whispered conversations were taking place behind him among the
Inner Circle and many of the other guests who had been drawn away from the
music, food, and dancing by the high sorcerer’s meeting with one of the
Empire’s ghosts.

“A draw, then,” Rashan said. “I challenge you here and
now, for leadership of the Circle. By rights, I should not even have to, but I
shall prove my point. There should be water enough in the fountains out front
to soak up your spent aether at the end.” Rashan smiled, baiting the high
sorcerer.

*
* * * * * * *

Iridan’s eyes widened and a smile grew on his face,
unbidden. Now
that
would be a sight to remember: a draw between Rashan
and Gravis Archon.

Cut that pompous old fool’s ego to shreds, Rashan,
Iridan wished.

Iridan had always loved a good draw, even as a young
student at the Academy …

It had been late morning on that day not so many
autumns ago, and the fog had just lifted on Dragon Lake and the surrounding
countryside. The Academy lay just on the north side of the lake. That day, on
the grounds overlooking the water, the faculty and student body of the Academy
were gathered, along with many curious onlookers from the palace and the army.

It was Ranking Day. Students below the age of fourteen
were ranked solely on their academic success, but thereafter, each springtime
the students would compete in a draw to see who would be first among them, and
second, third, and so forth down to the bottom of the class. They would compete
both against students their own age, and against the whole student body. It had
long been considered essential to bringing out the best in the top students, to
force them to compete against one another.

It was to be the last day Brannis spent at the
Imperial Academy, as it was the first time he had been eligible for Ranking Day
and took part in his first and only draw. It was the day he had had to make the
painful admission before everyone that he was not only incapable of competing,
but of even properly witnessing the event. He was no better than the knights
and courtiers who came just for the excitement and to see who were the
up-and-comers among the young sorcerers. After a single bout, he accepted a
disqualification and the bottom rank in the Academy, rather than be trotted out
to be defeated repeatedly by the weakest students in the class until it was
certain he was worst. That same evening, High Sorcerer Gravis Archon would take
Brannis aside to test him for any sign at all of hope for his magical
abilities, and finally give up on him.

For Iridan, however, it was a day of glory. He had
been a modest student, competent but unexceptional, solidly lodged in the
middle of his class. He was a nobody, from a family with no history of magical
aptitude, and despite showing promise, he had never been taken terribly
seriously. He was the sort of student that Ranking Day was created for.

The draw was a civilized sorcerer’s alternative to
dueling. Two sorcerers stood a short distance apart in an area of sufficient
and reasonably balanced aether. A number of other sorcerers stood in
attendance, and either one sorcerer or a small group of them would stand in
judgment. At the command to begin, each combatant would draw as much aether as
he, or she, could. As the two drew aether in, the judges would watch for a
current to form in the aether, showing who had the more powerful draw. If one
was clearly the stronger, the flow of aether would be noticeably stronger
toward that sorcerer. If the two were closely matched, small interferences from
outside the competition would make it too close to determine a winner by flow
alone. If such was the case, as the aether in the immediate area began to be
used up, one judge would declare a “hold.” At that point, each sorcerer stopped
gathering in aether and tried to contain what they had drawn for as long as
possible. The first one to need to release aether, either during the hold or
anytime before, was declared the loser. Large quantities of water were always on
hand in case the sorcerers were unable to use the aether productively in a
spell.

As for Iridan, he had spent the morning embarrassing
his classmates and had carved a swath through the older students as well. The
ability to draw aether could be improved over time with practice and
techniques, but much of it was raw natural ability, which, as it turned out,
Iridan possessed by the wagonload.

The first matches had been uncompetitive, with the
judges quickly awarding victories from a clear dominance of the flow of aether
shortly after the matches had begun. The students his age fell by the wayside,
with only a couple putting up much resistance. He was glad that one of the
other students had eliminated Brannis, because that was a match he had not
relished having to win.

Once he got paired with the older students, he found
the going a little more difficult, but not difficult enough to actually cause
him to lose. Iridan was still drawing aether faster than any of them, and he
had yet to have a hold called. There was a satisfaction that few could
understand, when a boy of no family worth noting defeated an Archon, or a
Gardarus, or a Solaran, or any boy or girl who had grown up with every
advantage granted by a sorcerous bloodline. It felt
good
putting a few
of them in their place.

Iridan’s last opponent now stood across from him. It
was Garrelos Gardarus, a lad of seventeen whom Iridan hardly knew. Three
summers older, Garrelos was hardly one to socialize with a young boy with no
social connections. He was a bookish sort, solidly built but not what one would
ever confuse with muscular, with intense brown eyes and a round face. He had
been having just as easy a time of it as Iridan, except he’d had fewer age
groups to advance through, starting as he was in the eldest rank of the
Academy.

“Begin,” High Sorcerer Gravis had announced.

Both boys drew aether as fast as they were able.
Iridan noticed immediately that he was being outdrawn, and he redoubled his
efforts. The older boy probably held a small advantage over him, but the judges
were always careful not to call a bout too early if it was close. The hold was
a much more reliable method of determining a winner. When Iridan got the sense
that a hold was coming, he eased off just a little, hoping to have to contain
less aether than his opponent. It was a sound strategy, and more often used by
the one winning, but Iridan found that as he backed off, so did Garrelos.

“Hold,” came the call, as both had expected.

Iridan quickly stopped drawing aether. It was more
than he had ever held. He knew it was more than was safe to hold. He trusted
that all the senior members of the Imperial Circle were there and would rush to
the aid of either participant if there was an accident, but he did not want to
lose like that. He calmed himself and tried to hold in the aether that rushed
around within his Source, a throbbing, pulsating, burning sensation; it felt
like taking a mouthful of stew that was too hot and only grew hotter.

Iridan tried to focus on just his own predicament, but
he could not help but keep an eye on his opponent. Garrelos was clearly
straining, and Iridan watched to see when he would fail. Built up with
confidence from a dozen and more bouts already, it did not occur to Iridan that
he might go down first.

Suddenly Garrelos lurched forward. Plumes of steam
jetted up from the large basins that stood behind him. Iridan was declared
victorious, and a cheer rang up from the audience. The Academy’s top-ranked
student had been determined.

But Iridan was not done yet. He had been practicing
something special all on his own. The students of his rank had been taught the
basic concepts of silent casting, but no more. Iridan had taken that lesson
well to heart, however, and practiced a few spells until he was rather good
with them silently. Ever since he began winning earlier in the morning, he had
started planning what he would do if he won.

Iridan calmed himself as best he could and bled a
little aether out into the basins where Garrelos had just dumped all the aether
he had held. It was just enough to regain control from the edge of feeling like
he was about to explode, and he had used Garrelos’s basins instead of his own,
just to keep up appearances a bit.

 
Kanethio mandraxae
, he thought, but did not
say aloud.

He felt his palms crossed in front of him but did not
move them. He felt the spell about to take hold and thrust his fist into the
air.

The crowd gasped as an impressive aether bolt sundered
the sky, leaving a hole in the clouds above and letting in a small ray of
sunshine on the overcast morning. The cheering erupted anew, and his best
friend Brannis rushed out to crush him in a hug, then lifted him up on his
shoulder. People crowded in to congratulate him.

It had been the best day of his life.

*
* * * * * * *

Iridan found himself very much hoping the high
sorcerer would accept Rashan’s challenge. Iridan loved the spectacle of a draw
and even went back to the Academy each Ranking Day to watch. He often made some
spare coin betting on the contests. A contest between Rashan and Gravis was one
he would pay a month’s wage for the privilege of watching.

“I think not,” Gravis replied, and more than just
Iridan were within earshot and disappointed by the news. “We can discuss the
matter further tomorrow in the Sanctum. If you can offer further evidence to
back your claim, we will hear it then.”

“Would you not rather settle the matter right now and
be done with it?” Rashan said.

There was a hungry look in Rashan’s eyes that betrayed
how much he wanted to confront the high sorcerer.

I wonder how many men have died with their last sight
being that look on his face
, Iridan
mused.

“No, and since you seem to prefer such responses, I
shall list why. Firstly, I have nothing to gain in victory; I would only
achieve a stalemate. Secondly, I am aware of the history of how you came to be
warlock, and will not repeat that mistake,” to which Rashan averted his gaze
and looked sincerely chastened. “And thirdly, it is Bygones Night, which is
anathema to the draw. Now, if you will pardon me, my wife would much enjoy my
company for the rest of the evening.”