Sourcethief (Book 3) (4 page)

"After what? I lost my crew in battle. I
survived and escaped with the ship. Merciful One, even without lying I can
claim that. Besides, I think you underestimate my alliances in Kadris. There
are a half dozen or so who I could flatly tell what I've done and who wouldn't
think worse of me for it," Juliana said. She noticed that Tiiba was
looking her over with an amused smirk on his face. "What?" she
demanded.

"You. Look at you! It is as if Soria played
dress-up instead of becoming a warrior. Soria claims to hate long hair,
preferring illusions when her disguises call for it, yet yours falls halfway to
your backside. You are thinner too, obviously not as used to real work as
Soria, and you've plumped yourself up a bit as well," Tiiba said, cupping
his hands below his own chest. Juliana felt her cheeks flush.

"Just a bit," she admitted. "I never
had to worry about them getting in the way fighting until rather recently, and
I had no armor to worry about fitting." It occurred to her that Rakashi's
wanderers' oath might not apply in Veydrus. In Tellurak he was honor-bound not
to father any children while away from home, so Soria felt at ease around him.
She had always suspected that might be all that held him back from pursuing her
romantically, but it
had
held him back, and that was enough.

"Well, your Source certainly looks stronger
than hers, so maybe the extra armor is not so necessary."

"Really? That much stronger? I had always
thought maybe a little ..."

Tiiba laughed.

"Listen to you ... you know no one in both
worlds as qualified to make such a judgment. It is nothing like the difference
between mine and Rakashi's, but the difference is notable.

"If I might delve into another difference
between you and Soria, you seem to be more erudite," Tiiba said, gesturing
to the book on Juliana's desk, whose title proclaimed it to be
The Peace of
Tallax
.

"It was left for me, I think to give to Kyrus.
There were two books, this one and a book of amateur prophecies that Rashan
Solaran wrote. I gave Kyrus the other one, and he's studied it half to death.
This one ..."

"I have read it," Tiiba said. "It is
a very old story and traveled far beyond the borders of the Kadrin Empire, if
indeed it even originated within what would become its borders. I know the
story."

"Then you know why I hesitate to give it to
him."

"Yes," Tiiba said. "If he is as
strong as you claim, then I can see why."

* * * * * * *
*

Kyrus had a standing invitation to the emperor's
table each night for dinner. Initially he had indulged Emperor Sommick and
attended the pretentious, crowded, drawn-out feast that was offered in the main
dining hall. Once he discovered that he could get his dinner from the same
cooks, delivered to any room in the palace he chose, he rarely bothered with
the emperor and his sycophantic courtiers. The palace servants were deferential
to the emperor and his guests, but they feared "Brannis" enough that
they would not deny his request to be served separately. Once they accepted the
duty though, they found that Sir Brannis was far more forgiving, personable,
and patient than Emperor Sommick, and he paid the staff a bit extra for the
convenience of personal service.

While he would occasionally work through his
dinnertime—his plates of rare delicacies surrounded by notes, books and
reports—this night he shared his dinner with Sorceress Celia. The emperor's
comment earlier in the day about their relationship made him feel the need to
be more diligent about the attention he paid her. Rumors of the two of them
being anything other than shy lovers wending their way down the road toward
betrothal would work against him.

Ever since the death of his friend Iridan—Rashan
Solaran's son and heir apparent as warlock—Kyrus had been playing the long
game, working toward the day where he saw a weakness he could use to throw down
the demon warlock and end the destruction his mere presence in the empire
seemed to cause. His uncle, Caladris Solaran, had warned him that Celia was
being used to ensure his restraint when Rashan was around. His uncle and the
warlock had gone to some length to trick Kyrus into believing that Celia was
twinborn and Kyrus's object of affection from Tellurak. Kyrus's belief in that
lie was Rashan's protection. The warlock trusted that Kyrus would keep his
careless use of magic in check if his beloved was nearby—or her twin.

Kyrus could not be sure what would happen if the
warlock discovered that his ruse had failed. The warlock was brilliant,
devious, and manipulative. He was also a madman, a view shared by a growing
number of people in the empire as more of them got to know him.  Kyrus had
learned both by experience and by reading about him in history books that
Rashan had long struggled to rein in his bloodlust. He also abided by a
personal tenet to never allow an enemy who had shown him violence to live.
Kyrus was not sure how he would react to being deceived. There was the chance
that the moment Rashan discovered that Kyrus knew of the ruse, he would attempt
to kill Kyrus on the spot.

Kyrus looked across the small, intimate table, into
the eyes of Celia, who smiled at him.
There are worse ways to protect
myself, I suppose
. Despite knowing that she thought she was deceiving him,
Kyrus managed to put the thought behind him well enough to enjoy her company
for stretches. She had a sharp wit and a mischievous sense of humor, traits she
shared with Juliana—a secret he preferred to keep from the latter. She was a
survivor, he reminded himself, a victim of circumstances thrust upon her by his
uncle and the warlock. Had they met under other circumstances, he might have fallen
in love with her. As it was, he had to keep the conversation away from
Tellurak, dreams, and the name "Abbiley," lest he forget himself in
anger.

"You seem distant tonight. I mean, more than
usual," Celia said. "Normally there are whole little work-crews of
tiny gremlins working in that head of yours all day, but they seem to have the
monopoly on your attention tonight."

"More conspiracies. The better the war seems to
go, the more attention folks around here seem to shift to their own
advancement," Kyrus said. He picked at his pheasant. It had been cooked in
a sauce made from exotic fruits that had been plundered from Megrenn trade
cities. But pheasant-au-plunder was not to his liking. The cooks had tried
their best with it, but did not know quite what to do with the unfamiliar
ingredients. Celia seemed to have enjoyed hers though, so Kyrus suspected his
mood was to blame.

"Who this time?" Celia asked. She treated
it as court gossip, of no more or less import than who was courting whom among
the nobles. It was an odd preoccupation, but Kyrus had come to realize that it
was a pastime not relegated entirely to the courtiers and servants.

"Do you
really
want to know, or are you
just making conversation?" Kyrus asked. It would not be the first time she
had gotten more information than she had bargained for when Kyrus had opted for
candor in his responses with her.

"Really," Celia confirmed. Kyrus shrugged,
figuring that it was harmless enough if either Caladris or Rashan found out—his
uncle was the more likely, as the warlock returned infrequently. If the
information came back to him, he would at least get a better idea how far he
could trust her.

"Emperor Sommick, this time. He is thinking
that he might prefer to choose his empress from the sorcerous bloodlines,"
Kyrus told her.

"Ooh, does he have a sorceress in mind?"
Celia asked, eyes wide. Kyrus usually had poor luck at determining what would
be deemed salacious enough to garner her interest, but he had suspected that
this particular tidbit would be like a jewel to a magpie.

"A few. I let him know there were limits
though," Kyrus said over his glass as he brought it to his lips. He raised
his eyebrows to make her think that he had forbidden the emperor from
considering her.

"Oh? You are in the business of telling
emperors who they can marry?" Celia teased.

"Yes. If you thought to find yourself a better
suitor, I am afraid you will have to look elsewhere," Kyrus joked.

"Brannis ... I mean, you cannot
tell
him
so, but I would not consider empress an improvement in station," Celia
said, a dreamy, sappy look in her eyes. Kyrus took another drink, lest his
expression betray his skepticism.

As Kyrus drifted off to sleep that night, Celia's
head pillowed on his chest, all he could think was that his ruse was still effective.
It crossed his sleep-heavy mind briefly, just before he lost consciousness.

"Better you than me," Lord Harwick said.
He picked up Brannis's bishop and set his knight down in its place, accepting
the trade Brannis had left open to him. "The emperor bothers me enough
with that nonsense. I would teach him the game, but I fear he does not have the
wits for it."

"I would not be so certain of that,"
Brannis replied. He took Lord Harwick's knight with one of his pawns. The move
required no thought; Brannis had his response planned out well in advance of
his opponent's play. "He used it as a pretense to talk to me in private
about his choice for empress."

"Ah, so that explains what your little
disagreement was about," Lord Harwick said, not looking up from the board.
Brannis could tell by the movement of the lord's pipe that he smiled beneath
the contemplative hand that obscured his mouth.

"What do you mean? Who says we disagreed?"
Brannis asked. His eyes sprang wider for a moment and his breath caught in his
throat. He had counted on the throne room's wards to keep his conversation with
Sommick private.

"Oh, someone just happened to mention to me
that the emperor's collar seemed to be a bit ripped after his talk with your
twin. How many else took note of it, I know not. But I keep good eyes in my
pay. They are well rewarded for noticing such details." Lord Harwick's
hand moved for a pawn, but he withdrew it, choosing another in its place.

"It was a misunderstanding,” Brannis explained.
“There were no hard feelings by the end of our conversation."

"Oh, on your side perhaps, but if the emperor
is any sort of nobleman, he will hold a grudge. They've all got little ledgers
tucked away in their heads of who crossed them," Lord Harwick warned.
"Puppet or not, Rashan is propping him up. Sommick's father was too infirm
to make a trip to Kadris, or he might have been crowned instead. I do not
relish the thought of a crusty old thing like him being next in line for
succession."

"He is eight winters younger than you,
uncle," Brannis said, smiling.

"Sorcerer years, my boy. My body is half the
age of his," Lord Harwick replied, bristling. He looked somewhat older
than his twin Caladris, but nothing close to his seventy-two years. His own
unnatural youth he could at least attribute to clean living and good pedigree,
but Caladris looked little more than half his winters, clearly not a work of
nature.

"Anyway, I suppose I might as well tell you, he
has designs on marrying into the family."

"What?" Lord Harwick asked, incredulous.
His attention was now fully removed from the chessboard. "You cannot mean
our
family. Setting aside for a moment the fool notion that he could arrange his
way into having aether-strong heirs, there is no one to be had. You have a ...
second cousin I believe, on your mother's side. Cannot recall the girl's name,
but I think she is at the Academy right—"

"He means Aloisha."

Lord Harwick burst out laughing. He had to take the
pipe from his mouth before it fell out.

"It may be ill-conceived, but I fail to find it
funny," Brannis said, confused by his uncle's mirth.

"That is because you still have damned fool
romantic notions about love. You got betrothed to your little sweetheart and it
all seemed roses and honey—later complications aside," Lord Harwick added
to forestall Brannis's objections about how well his betrothal had gone.
"Not Aloisha. She and Juran Destrier hated each other when they were
children. You were probably a bit too young to recall the tantrum she had when
she discovered they were arranged to be married. We made them go through with
it. They got past the point of staring daggers at one another, but never warmed
to married life together."

"It almost sounds as if she might welcome a
change," Brannis said, trying to sound optimistic. He had never before
been privy to his sister's marital problems. "Not that I plan to do
anything of the sort, but Sommick asked for my help in arranging it. He ...
seemed to think I had done something similar for my own benefit."

"Oh he has these great, ominous plans in his
head, but our Sommick is still an axe-handed idiot. Even a fair number of his
supporters within the Circle might prefer him dead rather than see a dynasty of
sorcerers from a single bloodline. If he thinks you would have gotten Iridan
killed for your own ends, he must not have seen the pyre at the memorial,"
Lord Harwick said. "And since he was standing not a spit's distance from
me, I suspect he saw it and just thinks you faked that anger. If you did, I
shall eat my pipe." He took the pipe from his mouth and waved it about for
emphasis.

"Aloisha was always ambitious. Do you not think
she might like the title of empress?"

"Maybe if there were no emperor ..."

"Are you planning something?" Brannis
asked.

"Hah, no, I am still content to wait until you
have learned enough real magic to stand better than a kitten's chance in a
stripecat cage against Rashan. Once he is out of the way, we can worry about
taming the emperor."

"Spit," Brannis said, looking down at the
chessboard. "You have me again." Brannis tipped his king over.

"Got to get that mind of yours clear. I can
carry on talking and still play with all my wits. How do you expect to learn to
fight a warlock if you cannot keep a chess game separate in your thoughts?"
Lord Harwick began setting up the pieces again, using magic rather than his own
aging fingers. The black and white armies arrayed themselves in perfect rows
once more.

"All right. But if I win this time, I want you
to write out that lightning spell you have been promising me all week,"
Brannis said. He took the white set and opened with his king's pawn. "It
had best be worth the effort learning it when I already know the one from
Powers
of the Sky
."

"Brannis my boy, you never learn the best ones
from books. You might use them as a start, but there are always improvements to
be made. No sorcerer with any wits puts the best ones between bindings. Private
journals perhaps, but not those pedantic old tomes. The one I will show you
will be much easier to use silently. I almost hesitate to even let you practice
these aloud in Veydrus. Mutter and waggle fingers in the safety of your own
home for this one, but let slip nothing in Kadrin. Kyrus needs to skip to the
end."

"Does anyone ever manage to do that?"
Brannis asked.

"Roughly as many sorcerers as manage a
transference spell between worlds, would be my guess."

* * * * * * *
*

Even with the afternoon sunshine, it was still cold
enough for breath to steam lightly as the two opponents circled one another.
The grass beneath their bare feet was still green, but was strewn with brown
leaves that crunched unheeded underfoot. One of the fighters was black-skinned,
glistening with sweat and stripped to the waist, revealing a lean build. His
hair hung in two long braids than fell halfway down his back, dark as his skin.
He watched his opponent with one good eye, his other covered by a patch. His
opponent was a hair taller, thinner, fair-skinned and female, wearing nothing
but loose black pants and a cloth wrap about her chest. Her jaw-length hair
hung loose, blowing auburn with the breeze. She had not broken a sweat in the
sparring match.

"Oh to be twenty-three again," Rakashi
opined, huffing for breath as he watched his opponent circling him.

"Hey, sparring was your idea," Soria
replied. "Don't blame me if you can't keep up." She closed the gap
between them, launching a series of easily-dodged punches. She only hit him
when he made mistakes, keeping the match as "friendly" as her Tezuan
training allowed. "I only agreed because I have nothing better to occupy
my time with while Brannis spends every day with Lord Harwick."

"Yes, why is Brannis so interested in this
Acardian lord?" Rakashi asked.

"I guess you'd figure it out eventually anyway;
he's one of us. It's Brannis's uncle. I'm keeping well clear of it, since I
want him inquiring about my affairs as much as I'm sure he wants me knowing of
his. Brannis's uncle is fine, I suppose, but he's a devious one. I want to get
dragged in as little as possible, without leaving Brannis."

"Is he covered in our bargain?" Rakashi
asked.

"Probably not, but I still wouldn't try
it," Soria replied. "He's as much of a sorcerer as I've seen around
Tellurak. He's got real wards, and knows shields, and gods only know what kinds
of killing spells. He's Inner Circle on the other side. I've kept
you
out of the conversation for all this time; don't go drawing his attention
yourself."

"Very well, I will keep clear of him
then."

"You ready to get knocked around a bit
more?" Soria asked.

"This is certainly reminding me why we kept
Tanner around all these years, despite his faults," Rakashi replied.
"He is as good a match as I can recall finding. At least with a half-spear
in my hand I could make a good accounting of myself against you." Rakashi
blocked a quick punch by Soria and hopped back out of the range of a kick.

"Sure, until I actually hurt you. You and
Tanner may have worked out some sword masters' pact, but I have a hard time
pulling punches against real weapons," Soria said. Rakashi made a counterattack,
leading with a punch, which Soria sidestepped, and following with a kick. Soria
stepped just out of the reach of the kick, caught hold of Rakashi's ankle, and
dropped down to kick his plant foot out from under him. The Takalish warrior
landed heavily on his back.

"I think I have had enough for one day."

"Fine," Soria said, retrieving her tunic
from one of the stone railings. The low terrace of the villa she had purchased
for herself and Brannis overlooked the hedged garden where she and Rakashi practiced.
"By the way, not that I mind the rescue, or even the loss of those
miserable crewmen I was yoked with, but what were you doing out in those woods
anyway?"

Rakashi stood staring a moment. Soria could only
wonder at the thoughts roiling behind the calm expression that so rarely
changed.

"It may surprise you, but a blade-priest's oath
does not bind him to hopeless fights. Facing a single, great adversary is a
matter for honor, but standing against an army is a foolish death,"
Rakashi explained, pushing himself up to his elbows.

"Fair point, but you were in Munne, weren't
you? You fled when the Kadrin army retook the city."

"Yes."

"Iridan was killed in Munne," Soria said.
She watched Rakashi for signs of a reaction. "Do you know anything about
that?"

"He died a warlock's death," Rakashi said.
"His body was treated with respect, sent to his homeland for a proper
mourning. You said nothing, but I presume it arrived."

"Did you have anything to do with it?"
Soria asked.

"I was the one who made the arrangements
..."

"Did you kill him?" Her look promised that
she would have hauled him up by his collar if he had been wearing one.

"Yes. I was the strongest warrior, chosen by
fate and circumstance to face a formidable opponent who had already slain three
of my comrades," Rakashi looked her in the eye as he spoke. Her breath
came quicker than it had from the exertion of the sparring. She stared down at
her friend, who had at times filled the role a brother, a father, a mentor. She
saw his muscles tensed, ready to defend himself if she became violent.

"Why?"

"As I said, I—"

"Why didn't you tell me?" Soria demanded.
Her hands were curled into tight fists, nails digging into her palms.

"To spare you this moment, if I could. It seems
I could not," Rakashi said. His expression was stoic, hard to read as
ever. Soria wished she saw shame, or regret, or anything but the same placid
Rakashi. Every muscle in his limbs and torso was poised for battle, but nothing
reflected in his face. "He is dead either way, why spread sorrow where it
need not go?"

"Maybe because you owed it to me? We're
friends, Rakashi. What did you think I would do, kill you for being the one
responsible?"

"I am still not certain that you will
not." Rakashi stared up at her. She noticed his gaze flick momentarily
over to the terrace, where his half-spear lay sheathed. Soria breathed a
frustrated sigh. She walked over to the terrace, took his weapon and the rest
of his clothing and threw them down next to him.

"Iridan didn't deserve to die, but you were
doing what you were born to do. I get it. They put you in his path ... you were
honor-bound to stand your ground, he was determined to prove he could take on
anything," Soria said. "I am more hurt that you hid it from me, like
pretending it didn't happen could make it go away. Did you think I would never
find out?"

"I had other concerns as well," Rakashi
admitted. Soria's eyes widened.

"Brannis ..." she whispered. "You
can't let him find out! He will kill you, in both worlds, if he knows you
killed Iridan."

"You confirm my suspicion as well. He already
mistrusts me. I fear he would not react as rationally as you have."
Rakashi climbed to his feet and began untangling his clothes from the pile
Soria had presented him.