Eric Flint's Blog, page 236

Changeling’s Island – Snippet 01

Changeling’s Island – Snippet 01

Changeling’s Island

Dave Freer

CHAPTER 1

It had been the most terrifying, miserable day of Tim Ryan’s whole miserable life.

He’d just done it to show Hailey. Because…because she said he was too scared. He was. Every time he tried anything it always went wrong. Horribly wrong. And he wasn’t a thief. Well, he didn’t want to be. It was one of the few things his dad had ever really got angry with him about. And then he’d only been a little five-year-old kid helping himself to a chocolate bar in a store.

But Hailey…she said…and he’d do anything to get her.

He’d been just short of the door of the store when a big hand had closed around his upper arm. He’d looked up into the face of the store security officer. “Come along with me, you,” said the man, his hand like a steel band around Tim’s arm. The security officer had looked at Hailey. “He with you, Miss?”

“Him?” Hailey had said. “As if I’d hang out with that little creep. He’s a loser. I think he’s stalking me.”

The security officer looked at her with slightly narrowed eyes, and Tim’s mouth had been suddenly too dry to say anything. “Off you go, then,” he had said, and he’d marched Tim along back through the store to the security office. Every cringing step Tim had been aware of the eyes of the other shoppers on him, on his school uniform. The office door had been slightly ajar, and they’d pushed through it, into a plain windowless room, with filing cabinets, two big CCTV screens showing the shoppers, and a desk, at which sat another security officer, who was talking on the telephone.

“Hand it over,” the big security man with designer stubble who had dragged him there had said. “You might as well know our policy is to prosecute.”

“I haven’t done anything!” Tim had protested, his voice going shrill as it did sometimes, still, when he was scared or upset. The weight of the DVD hidden in his inside pocket felt like half a ton of lead. If only he could have dropped it or something…

The store security guy, his big hand still tight around Tim’s upper arm, had looked down at him. “It’d be a lot easier on you if you just come clean. And I must tell you the store is covered by closed-circuit TV.” He pointed at the black-and-white screens, showing the shoppers. “Even in here — the camera is in the corner. When the police get here, you’ll be searched and charged.”

“And then things will be really rough for you, sonny,” the guy at the desk, who had a long nose almost like a beak, had said, while staring down that nose at him. He’d sounded viciously pleased about that, as he’d put down the phone. Actually he’d sounded just like Brute Meldrum at school, when he told you he was going to beat the stuffing out of you after class. Tim had half expected the guy to get up and start hitting him. Instead he’d said to his fellow officer, “The cops say they should have someone here in about ten minutes.”

In the corner, a large filing cabinet had suddenly flung itself open with a loud clang, and vomited a fountain of paper onto the floor.

“Blast it!” big stubble-face had said, as he’d looked crossly at the mess. “What made that happen? It’s going to take me an hour to sort out those files.”

“Must have been something jammed in it when you closed it,” long-nose had said with a sigh, as he’d started to get up. “Hello. Whoa, Nellie! You’re a quick little thief, boy,” he’d exclaimed, pointing to the DVD now lying on the desk.

“Won’t help you,” designer-stubble had said, derisively. “Your prints are on it, and…” He stopped and sniffed. “Have you been smoking in here again, Johnny Belsen?” he’d snapped at his fellow security man.

“No. I told you, I’ve quit,” the other store security officer had answered.

Tim — at a different angle to both of them — had seen it first. Numb with terror, he’d watched it crawl like some live thing out of the gridded duct behind them. It was, he realized, smoke. Heavy, oily smoke, and it was cascading out of the duct and down the wall. Tim swallowed. “Uh…” he’d pointed at it with a wavering hand.

“Good try, brat,” the stubble-faced one had said, his eyes narrow, his gaze locked on Tim, not following the pointing hand for an instant.

But his long-nosed companion had looked. “Marx! Smoke!” he’d yelled, pointing too.

Abruptly, the wall-duct had spat a gout of crimson flames.

Its plastic cover had suddenly melted and dribbled in burning tears, spitting and bubbling black smoke, as they oozed down the wall. A piece of the burning plastic had exploded, sending a sticky trail of flaming goo across the desk, onto the scatter of papers there. The pointy-nosed one had slapped at it and screamed, clutched his hand. Then a siren began to yowl. On the black-and-white CCTV screen, people had looked up from their shopping in alarm.

“Fire! Fire! Everybody out of the building!” someone, out in the store, had shouted.

Then, finally, the store-security man had let go of Tim’s arm, and Tim had done what seemed obvious right then, just stupid later. He’d run and snatched a fire extinguisher from the bracket in the corner. Pulled the pin, like he’d been shown in the fire-safety lecture at school. He’d let loose a blast from it at the burning duct.

It had hissed, gushed steam and a shower of crackling sparks…and the partition wall had collapsed, showing burning struts, and the store beyond, full of yelling running people. More flames blossomed instantly, and Tim had winced as the savage heat of it hit his face.

The grimacing long-nosed security officer, still clutching his burned hand, had staggered to his companion and pushed his arm down with an elbow. “Electrical fire, kid. Wrong extinguisher! Come on! We gotta get out.”

Tim had just stood there, frozen, in the middle of the room.

The big guy had rushed for the door…and then turned and grabbed Tim’s arm in the same viselike grip. “Come on, kid!”

His long-nosed friend had fumbled at the lock, and they’d spilled together out into the store, full of smoke and sirens. “Run!” the security officer had yelled in his ear. And, half-dragged, Tim stumbled along with them, out to the pavement, still carrying the little fire extinguisher.

It had not ended there, either. They had not let him go until the two police officers had arrived. That part on the pavement was now all a big confusing terrifying blur in his memory. Tim could still remember the police woman’s words, though. He’d never forget them, or the shame and the relief. “Did you see him take the DVD?” she’d asked the security officer.

“Not actually,” the store security man had admitted. “I picked the behavior, asked him to come with me to the control room. Marx and I were there, but the kid’s a quick one. He took advantage of the filing cabinet flying open to dump it on the desk as we looked away, I reckon. Clever, but not clever enough. His prints will be all over it, as I said to him, and the CCTV record…

The other police officer had looked at the store security man. At the firemen working. “You might be lucky. It’s a pretty hot fire. Did he start it?”

The store security guy had shaken his head. “I’d like to say yes, but Marx and I are professionals. We had him on CCTV, told him so, and we were both with him. He didn’t try and run away or anything when the fire alarms went off. He actually tried to use the extinguisher, which I hadn’t thought of. No, he didn’t start it. It was just his lucky day. But you can still prosecute on a witness statement.”

The female officer pulled a face. Shook her head in turn. “We could. If you had seen him take the DVD, or found it in his possession. As it is…St. Dominic’s kid.” It was said with obvious dislike. “His parents will hire a lawyer that’ll probably get the spoiled brat off. We’ll just take him back home.”

 

Shadow’s Blade – Snippet 01

Shadow’s Blade – Snippet 01

Shadow’s Blade

David B. Coe

CHAPTER 1

They’re close, and getting closer by the minute. She’s made a mistake by coming inside. The drive-through; that would have been safest, the best way to get food in the kids and return to the interstate before any of the powers pursuing them took notice.

Gracie scans the restaurant, her gaze skipping over garish plastic fixtures of red and yellow, seeking out faces, searching for the tell-tale blur of features. Not here yet. They may be near, but there’s still time.

“Mommy, I have t’go potty.”

“Me, too.”

Panic rises in her heart, and her hands start to shake. Emmy stares back at her, dark eyes framed by dark hair in a face that is warm brown and oval like Gracie’s. Her burger is mostly gone, but she’s taken only a sip or two of her cola. Smart girl.

Zach’s eyes, hazel like his father’s, roam the restaurant, his mouth full of fried, processed chicken. His Sprite is gone. A trip to the bathroom now won’t forestall the need for another thirty minutes down the road.

She wants to scream, to sob. But she stands and holds out her hands, a mom to the very end.

“Come on, then,” she says. “But when we’re done we have to get back in the car, understand?”

Emmy nods, wide-eyed and solemn. She does understand. Too well.

“I want d’sert,” Zach says.

Emmy shakes her head. “Not now, Zach.”

His expression darkens, brows gathering like storm clouds. So much like his father.

“We’ll have to stop for gas in a while,” Gracie says. “We’ll get you candy then.”

She leads them to the ladies’ room — two stalls, and one is taken. She waits while they go, and then, begrudging the time, but hoping against hope they can somehow escape another stop for an hour or two, takes a turn herself. She can hear Emmy coaching her brother on how to wash his hands. They giggle at something, and tears well in her eyes.

It shouldn’t be like this.

She finishes, joins them at the sink. Zach has drops of water on his nose and chin and forehead. They both wear impish grins.

“All right, you two,” Gracie says with mock severity. “Time to get going.”

Emmy’s smile slips, and all color drains from her cheeks. “Mommy . . .”

“They’re here?”

“Who is?” Zach asks, looking from his sister to Gracie. “Daddy?”

God, no. Don’t let Neil be with them. That would be too much for the kids, not to mention what it would do to her.

“Where are they, sweetie?”

Emmy chews her lip before pointing toward the back wall of the restroom. It takes Gracie a moment to orient herself, but when she does, she sags. Of course. Precisely where the van is parked.

The van, which has all their belongings, and which, to those tracking them, probably lights up the desert sky with magic.

“I wanna see Daddy.”

“Daddy’s not with them, goober.”

“I am not a goober!”

“Are you sure, Emmy? You don’t feel Daddy at all?”

She shakes her head.

“Mommy, tell her I’m not a goober!”

“Don’t call him that, okay?”

Gracie stares at the tiled wall, ignores Zach when he sticks his tongue out at his sister.

All their things. But aside from the booster seats, how much do they really need? And after all, can’t they drive some distance without the boosters?

“Okay, here’s what we’re going to do,” she says. “We’ll go out the door that’s right by the potty, and then . . . then we’re going to drive a different car out of here.”

Emmy’s eyes widen. “We’re going to steal a car?”

“We’re going to borrow one.”

“What about Zeeber?” Zach asks. “And my blankie?”

“You don’t have Zeeber?” Gracie asks, voice rising.

He shakes his head. “You always tell me not to bring him to rest’rants, ’cause I’ll get food on him.”

Gracie exhales through her teeth and rakes a rigid hand through her hair. Zeeber and that stupid blankie. She knows he’s right: She hates it when he brings that stuffed zebra into restaurants. But she wants to shake him and ask why he chose this time to listen. The blanket she might be able to replace, but Zeeber . . . Zach’s had it since his infancy, and even if this one could be replaced, she wouldn’t know where to find another. She’s never seen a stuffed zebra like it. It’s a damn miracle that he didn’t drag it into the restaurant with them. A miracle that could get them all killed. Or worse.

A transporting spell might work, but the men who are after them will feel the magic. They would only have one chance at this.

“We can find you another blankie –”

“No!” His voice echoes off the bathroom walls. “No, no, no, no!”

She puts her hands on his shoulders. “All right, all right. Quiet down.” Too late she realizes that there is still someone in the other stall. Stealing the car would have been a bad choice anyway, but that leaves them with few options.

“Okay.” She straightens, squares her shoulders. “Stay close to me. Do exactly as I say.”

“What are we going to do?” Emmy asks.

“We’re going to get in the van and drive away.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Emmy gives her best “whatever you say, Mom” eye roll, but she keeps her mouth shut, which Gracie appreciates.

 

Phoenix Ascendant – Chapter 22

Phoenix Ascendant – Chapter 22

Chapter 22

“This is going to look so stupid, Poplock,” Tobimar said, settling his swords back into place. “We–”

“I’ll take all the blame if it looks stupid. I know that it seemed like we pretty much settled it just now, but there’s still that chance left, and can we afford it if you’re wrong? We can take a little embarrassment, even getting Kyri mad at us, but…”

“Fine, fine. You’re right. You generally have been. I just hope we’re all wasting our time on this one and that you’re going to have to do the apologies.”

The brown Toad bobbed his body. “Oh, believe me, I’d much rather end up doing abject apologies.”

It had been about fifteen minutes; they’d agreed that was the right amount. Of course, if they were misjudging…

“They’re not in the dining room anymore.”

“That much is obvious, now that we’re looking into the dining room.” Poplock nodded towards the front door. “If he went back towards the town…”

“Right. She’d go with him, of course.”

“Meaning they’re alone.”

Tobimar strode to the front door and opened it. Another warm night, some ragged, drifting clouds obscuring stars in patches of pure black edged with faint silver, but mostly clear. With a moment to adjust, he could see fairly well. But the pathway down towards the village seemed empty. “You see anything?”

Poplock wobbled side to side, his equivalent of a headshake. “Nothing. So they didn’t go this way–I’m sure they’d still be in sight. Around the side?”

“We can do a full circuit. If they’re not out here…then they probably went upstairs, and that’s okay.”

The toad grunted. “Yeah, if I’m right nothing’s going to happen indoors. Too close. Too much chance of someone stumbling on you.”

“All this because of her reactions?”

“Don’t tell me you didn’t notice.” They started a careful circle around Vantage Fortress.

Tobimar sighed. “Yes,” he admitted, speaking in a whisper. “Subtle at first, and perfectly reasonable I guess, but…she’s just a little too loyal, too accepting, too defensive of Rion.”

“Right,” Poplock said, matching his quiet tones. “Now, like you say, it could be natural–she practically idolized her brother, from everything I’ve heard–but I dunno; the woman who got tricked once by Thornfalcon, then got faced like the rest of us with the truth about Miri and Shae…I don’t see her taking him at face value or losing her caution–or her control–that easily.”

“Thus your plan to give him an obvious chance to move, now that our five guests are gone, and before we have a chance to get new suspicions.”

“Exactly. If he’s got anything planned, now’s the time to do it, when our suspicions should be at their lowest and our forces weakened.”

Tobimar was silent. He liked Rion. He didn’t like trying to set a trap for him, when he was about nine-tenths sure that Rion was being as straight with them as he could. But Poplock’s caution had saved them all more than once; he wasn’t going to disregard it.

He almost missed it; the movement was small, in shadow, barely visible, the motion of velvet across ebony. But he belatedly caught it out of the corner of his eye and turned, focusing on that spot.

What the…?

For one incredibly confusing moment, he thought he was seeing a lover’s embrace, Rion and Kyri together in a pose too close and intimate for even brother and sister. Then he saw how limply Kyri was standing, and betrayed fury flared up in him. Without even thinking of it, his vya-shadu were in his hands and he was sprinting like lightning across the grass. “RION!”

The taller figure’s head snapped up, and fury now became certainty, for the eerie yellow glow of those eyes was like nothing human. But instead of just dropping Kyri and fleeing, the figure lowered her gently to the ground, coming on guard just barely before Tobimar’s swords blazed a silver-green path through the air.

Rion, or whatever it was, parried both blades almost casually, then simply flicked a glance sideways. Tobimar only just managed to dodge as a tree branch three inches thick hurtled at him. The longsword tried to bite through Tobimar’s armor, and even as he parried that, two rocks the size of his fist hammered into his side, sending him staggering. A spray of gravel and sand flew up from the ground behind the false Rion, and Poplock went tumbling away, spitting out dirt and wiping his eyes.

In that instant, Tobimar was startled to see that the impostor chose to run. He had a perfect opening; I’m sure he could have run me through there.

Instead of taking the opportunity to finish him and Poplock off, Rion sprinted away, heading towards the road, at a speed that astounded Tobimar. Even in High Center with full strength and speed enhancement I’m going to have a hell of a time catching him!

But in that moment, five figures simply materialized in front of Rion. “You are going nowhere, jerk,” Xavier said.

“Out of my way!” A fountain of stones and gravel roared towards them–

–and stopped dead in midair. Aurora lowered her hand, and the rocks dropped straight to the ground. “Oh, not that easy.” Her voice was low and furious; not waiting for her comrades, Aurora lunged forward, leaping up and slamming an axe-kick down.

Rion barely evaded it, but the concussion blew him off his feet and staggered Tobimar, who hadn’t yet caught up; a crater ten feet wide and three deep surrounded Aurora, radiating from her foot. Great Light, she’s strong.

The false Rion did not look intimidated, though; strangely, he looked sad. “Then I must fight.”

The figure blurred into motion, so fast that Tobimar actually lost track of him. Aurora was suddenly toppling, wincing, and Xavier tumbling backward, one of his swords actually flying from his grasp. Gabriel had barely managed to get his own huge blade up in time, and the false Rion was again visible, driving Gabriel Dante back with sheer strength. He disappeared again, speed incarnate, as Nike and Toshi took aim, and Toshi was abruptly defending against strikes that came from every direction.

Concentrate. The power of Terian lies within me now. Call it up. Channel it with the meditation of High Center.

He could see his power within, now, a spark of blue-white energy that surged into a flame as he touched it.

Speed blazed through him, and he accelerated forward. His adversary was fast, but now Tobimar could follow his moves, track his strategy. Even as his shield smash sent Toshi’s bow spinning aside, Rion stiffened and whirled, just in time to catch Tobimar’s swords, one with his own weapon, one with his shield, and Tobimar saw him wince as the blue-white aura touched him; a wisp of white smoke rose from the unshielded hand.

His adversary sprang into the air, impossibly high, twenty-five, thirty feet, running through the sky now, heading for the shelter and cover of the trees.

Without warning, the earth heaved skyward, stone and soil forming a barrier that was three hundred feet tall in an instant. Rion was unable to completely halt, smacked into the solid obstacle, and then was dashing down as bolts of fire, accompanied by sharp, ear-shattering reports, chased barely inches behind him; out of the corner of his eye, Tobimar could see these came from Nike, who was holding a weapon that must be one of the “rifles” that Xavier had told him about once; but the rifle was spitting what looked like solidified flame, cutting holes in the rocky bulwark as though it were a hay-bale.

Tobimar wasn’t sure whether it was wise for him to reenter the combat. He definitely didn’t want to get in the way of either Nike or Toshi, who was now firing arrows at an impossible rate, arrows that shone like the stars and hit like bludgeons. These five know what they are doing. They’re coordinating as well as we do!

“Don’t kill him!” Kyri’s shout echoed across the battlefield. “Keep him alive!”

Rion threw a vial into the air that detonated and sent uncountable metal spikes spearing down. “Easier said than done,” Poplock retorted. “He’s not worried about us!”

At first Tobimar was inclined to agree, but…High Center. Find the danger, the menace. What is the shape of the battle, the outline of possibility and peril?

The vision finally began to flow for real, Tobimar now at one with himself, and he could see, not just what was now but in a sense what might be a few split seconds later, link that with action, and move.

And as Rion sent Nike sprawling–yet with a blow that stunned, not the easier strike that could have killed–Tobimar was already there, twin swords passing his opponent’s defenses, coming to rest on his throat. “Stop.”

For just an instant he thought that Rion wouldn’t stop–that he’d fight on, let himself be killed, a near-perfect way to maintain his silence. The impostor’s eyes flickered to the one direction he might escape in, saw Xavier there, and his shoulders slumped. He let his weapon fall and dropped to his knees. “Then finish me.”

“No,” Kyri said, anger, confusion, and obvious shock warring for dominance on her sharp features. Blood smeared her face and Tobimar couldn’t tell if it was hers or Rion’s. “No. You knew so much. You spent so much time with us. You were so much him. You’ll tell us the truth.”

“Or…what?”

Even through the blood, Tobimar saw the teeth flash in a tired, uncertain grin. “A good question. I won’t torture you. A part of me wants to. Maybe I should. But…”

“No,” said Toshi, studying the false Rion with an analytical gaze that if anything was sharper even than Poplock’s own. “No, he could have killed several of us. Instead I don’t think any of us are even seriously injured.”

Poplock bounced over and looked up. “Why not show your real face? It’s not like there’s any point in continuing the lie.”

The impostor gazed down, and then he gave a low, tragic sigh. “Yes. The matrix is shredded beyond recovery now. I’ve failed completely.”

With a shimmer, Rion Vantage faded away, replaced by a more slender youth. Long white hair, with perhaps a faint touch of lavender, cascaded down straight and true. The new features were definitely more delicate and defined, almost as pretty as those of Toshi, but in the straightness of the hair and something about the shape of the face there was something that echoed Xavier far more closely.

The eyes were the only inhuman feature, glowing yellow, dark-irised. But the glow was fading, less a lambent threat and now a faint flicker.

“Who are you?”

“My name is Tashriel,” he answered.

“Tashriel? Why is that…Oh!” Kyri nodded, even as Tobimar remembered where he had heard that name before too. “You were Wieran’s assistant. Miri mentioned you, but we never met you.”

“So what in the world got you stuck into a bottle pretending to be Rion? That doesn’t seem anything like what that crazy old man would be doing,” Poplock said.

Tashriel hesitated, then shrugged. “You’re not going to kill me?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” Kyri said; her voice was not steady, and Tobimar stepped to her side, put a hand on her shoulder; she reached over and gripped his fingers tightly. “Personally I would like to cut you apart for what you’ve done–this false hope you’ve given me and taken away. But…you must know something about our enemy. If you can tell us something…” Her sword slid back into its sheath. “We’ll decide…I’ll decide…afterward.” She wiped her face, looking even shakier, and sat down on a nearby stone.

Tashriel looked around at the whole group, and suddenly gave a low, rueful laugh. “It was all a trap. A trick.”

“Hey, we’d always planned on us coming back after apparently leaving,” Xavier said. “Or, to be honest, Toshi always planned on that, he’s the brains in this outfit. Stood to reason that if their enemies were going to do something, they’d do it when Kyri, Tobimar, and Poplock were basically on their own. Poplock just orchestrated the timing. He figured you’d move as soon as a couple hours had gone by, because most people would be expecting you to wait a little longer, maybe a day or two.”

Kyri shook her head. “And…And you had guessed he had some influence over me. I can feel it fading away now.”

“Not much influence,” Tashriel said. “Just…increasing your own reactions, mostly. Exaggerating them.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t have any choice. But…I’ll tell you everything I can about everything I know…what I did with Wieran…what my mission was…and especially what I know about your enemy…about Viedraverion.”

 

 

The Seer – Snippet 55

The Seer – Snippet 55

When he and his brother had been boys, during a particularly foolish game in the woods, Innel had grazed Pohut’s leg with an arrow. While Pohut pressed his hand against his leg where blood seeped out around his fingers, he had explained to the younger Innel that injuring your allies is a poor practice. As an apology Innel had broken the arrow, then broken the bow as well. Pohut had called him a fool, mocking him for wasting a valuable weapon, so Innel was surprised to find the arrowhead from that broken arrow among Pohut’s few possessions all these years later.

Holding the bit of metal now, he ran his finger lightly over the still-sharp edge and considered the former Lord Commander and what do with him. Innel had every right to pressure the man as hard as he wanted now — he could push Lason past his temper, if he chose. It was an extraordinarily tempting idea.

But it would be a short-term satisfaction. He did not need to push yet. He would give Lason a few days first to spend some rage and digest the meal of having been replaced.

Then go in with all you have.

#

At times it was difficult to believe Cern had been training to be queen her entire life. As Innel sat at the table of ministers, she was silent, tense, barely answering.

It was almost as if she expected her father to show up at any moment and tell her it had all been a mistake, or a poor joke. He supposed she, too, would need some time to absorb what had happened to her.

But if she appeared weak, then so did Innel.

When in the meeting, her answers proved truly inadequate, a few questioning looks came Innel’s way. He returned them ambiguously. He would contact the ministers later, make sure they knew this was temporary.

Much later, when he was alone with Cern, she said, “It’s too much, Innel. No one could keep track of all this.”

“That’s why you have ministers and advisers, Your Grace.”

And me. Which he did not say. She had spent a lifetime being told what to think. He had distinguished himself, in part, by refraining from being one of the many who did so.

She wouldn’t admit it, but he could see it in her body, and hear it in her tone, that she was scared.

“One step at a time,” he told her, gently. “That’s how we got here. That’s how we will go forward.”

“They expect me to be Niala,” she said bitterly.

That was true. Many were looking at her for signs of her famous great-grandmother. Another thing he couldn’t say to her.

“You will make your own mark. Together we will show them who you are.” He put as much warmth and conviction into his voice as he dared, knowing she was used to being told all manner of flattering lies.

At this she laughed a little, but there was no pleasure in it. “Whatever that is,” she whispered.

He looked into her dark green eyes. She turned away and went to the chest where she kept her rods and hooks, flats, and now the set of bells that Innel had given her as a wedding present. Eyeing the ceiling from which descended a small chain, she began to put rods between the links, starting another of her in-air creations.

Best to go now and let her comfort herself with this thing she did. But he could not bring himself to let the barely mouthed words go by without comment. Not after all he had done to get them to this moment.

“The queen, Cern,” he said softly. “You are the queen.”

Almost imperceptibly, she shrugged.

#

“That was fast work,” Innel said of his reflection in the mirror while Srel adjusted the buttons and collars, cuffs and seams of the red and black uniform. Especially remarkable given that it had come from both Houses Murice and Sartor, working together, in under a tenday.

Innel found his eyes locked on the reflection, especially the gold trim of neckline and arms that marked him as the queen’s high command. He touched it wonderingly. “Did you give them my measurements?”

“No, ser,” answered Srel.

Well, so, even more impressive: the two Houses had gone to some lengths to tailor a new uniform for Innel. They wanted him pleased and well aware of their support.

And he was. “What do you think?” he asked Nalas.

Nalas gave an approving nod. “You look very much the part, ser.”

“The part?” He frowned at his second.

“I only meant, Lord Commander, that –”

Innel waved the explanation away. “Yes, yes. What do they say about me today, Srel?”

“That you are young and inexperienced. That you should give the position to someone else.”

Innel snorted. “My age and credentials would never matter. It’s my bloodline they object to. Would they rather keep Lason?”

“Some would,” he said.

Innel suppressed annoyance at this undecorated answer. That Srel didn’t dissemble, his loyalty manifesting in such directness, was one of the reasons Innel kept him close.

Nalas he kept close for his cleverness and speed, though his tongue did sometimes stumble. At least he knew when to keep his mouth shut. Mostly.

Lason had still not shown any indication of being aware that he had been replaced. What, Innel wondered, would the old king have done now, had Lason not been his brother?

There was no question in his mind, and Innel had seen it countless times. Restarn would say a few words, and Lason would vanish. Lason’s wife and children would hastily relocate, far from the capital city. Lason would not return. If anyone went looking for him, they would not return either.

A lifetime of watching Restarn’s ways had long ago resolved him to do things differently when Cern took the throne.

Nalas handed him his sword belt and sword. It was the first time in his life he’d carried a weapon openly in the palace, let alone a sword. To do otherwise was an implicit questioning of the king’s power in his own house, an insult and offense. But now Cern was queen and Innel was Lord Commander. He buckled the weapon on.

They stepped outside his small office, where a tencount of Innel’s new guard waited. Nalas and Srel had selected the set of them together. Innel was pleased with the men and women who looked back at him now.

Who looked back at him. Under Lason, direct eye contact was discouraged.

“Look at me,” he had told them when he first met with them. “If you’re going to protect me, you have to know what I look like, where I am, and what I’m doing. Yes?”

Nods all around. A few grins.

Now he made a gesture, telling them to stay where they were, and only took Srel and Nalas with him.

“Is Lason still in my offices?” he asked as he walked.

“Yes, ser,” Srel answered.

“Are you certain you don’t want a few more than only the two of us, ser?” Nalas asked.

To go with force was to expect to need it. Something his brother used to say.

“I’m certain.”

When Innel rounded the corner, Lason’s guards, two on each side of the Lord Commander’s office doors, shrank a little, looking away. That Innel had only Srel and Nalas with him made this even more remarkable. Innel would later have Srel and Nalas determine whether this cringing was driven by fear or prudence, to see if these four would keep their posts after today.

As he opened the door to the offices, none of them moved to intercept him. Once inside, Nalas and Srel left beyond, he shut the door and dropped the bolt behind him.

Maps covered the walls, hung between a scattering of swords, spears, and slings.

The gray-haired Lason looked up from his desk, his face twisting in fury. Under his hands was an old map Innel recognized. Pre-expansion. Lason was reliving an old victory.

“These are my offices,” Innel said, cutting off whatever the man might have been about to say. “It’s well past time for you to leave.”

Lason slammed the flat of his hand hard on the desk. “You are nowhere near ready to take over this office. You haven’t any idea what it means. You are nothing like qualified.”

“The queen disagrees.”

Lason drew himself upright. “She’s barely twenty-five. A child. When the king returns –”

“There was a coronation. Did no one tell you?”

A look of loathing. “The king will recover.”

 

Phoenix Ascendant – Chapter 21

Phoenix Ascendant – Chapter 21

Chapter 21

“A vampire?” Kyri repeated in shock. There hadn’t been a vampire of any type in Evanwyl for years, maybe decades, at least as far as she knew.

“And it might be Rion,” Poplock said.

She found herself half out of her chair, hammering her fist down on the table. “Rion is NOT…!” Then she realized how ridiculous her reaction was. These are my friends and best companions. They wouldn’t say things like this to me idly. She sat back down slowly, not looking at either of them as she took a drink of water from the glass nearby. Then she looked up at them, deliberately meeting both Poplock and Tobimar’s gazes. “I’m sorry. Please, tell me what you know and why you think…think Rion might be involved.”

“Well…” Tobimar looked hesitant. Poplock took over.

“We’ve been keeping tabs on him all along. You guys decided to let him walk around if he kept himself out of the public eye, but–sorry!–we don’t trust him all the way yet. So me and Tobimar have been watching him. We were also thinking of having Xavier in on it, but him and Rion have gotten to be pretty tight.” She noticed a small furrow in Tobimar’s brow at that. I don’t think he’s aware of how he’s a little jealous of that; he and Xavier spent a long time together and got to be good friends, too.

The realization her friends had decided to follow her brother around–and not tell her–was a bit of a jolt, but she didn’t need to be told the logic. And since Xavier’s group was leaving this afternoon, they couldn’t hold off on telling her any longer, either. “Go on.”

“Well, most of the time we didn’t see something too suspicious. But then a few days ago there was that attack on Helina…”

“Helina? What does she–”

“If you’d let me finish you wouldn’t need to ask!” Poplock said acidly. “Like I said, there was that attack on Helina, but the details of what we know weren’t in what went around the village.” He detailed what had happened the night that he’d lost Rion temporarily, then continued, “Arbiter Kelsley kept it quiet while we looked into things, but he’s about ninety percent sure that it was a vampire that attacked her.”

“What type of vampire? There’s at least three I know of.”

“Five, as far as I know,” Tobimar said. “We think it’s the sort called, more formally, the Curseborn.”

“Balance. They’re almost universally monsters, aren’t they?”

“Yup,” Poplock said, no trace of humor in his voice. “Transfer the curse by blood exchange, feed off of both blood and soul, usually go insane from the transformation, and even if they recover they’re usually pretty much monsters from then on. Tough to kill because they’re fast, strong, and invulnerable except for a few difficult-to-exploit weaknesses. Helina’s description of what she saw could match one that was very powerful–a very old one–and that’d be even harder to kill.”

“How does Kelsley know it’s a vampire?”

“The first and strongest indicator,” Tobimar said, “is the signature bite–twin punctures. Kelsley said he found them, er, lower down, where ordinary circumstances would never lead them to be discovered. Then there was her weakness, which Kelsley determined was due to her spiritual energy–her soul–being severely drained of energy, as well as to a significant though not dangerous loss of blood.”

“With that as a clue,” Poplock said, “I did a little poking around and found that there were at least two other people in Evanwyl–both women–who showed similar symptoms over the last few weeks, before Helina. Though they just claimed they were sick–no one mentioned an attack or anything. They just suddenly got ill, no warning.”

Kyri tried to think about this rationally. “So your theory is that Rion is the vampire in question, and that normally he would complete his…feeding and then use whatever mental magic or powers he has to make the person forget they were attacked, but you interrupted him. Right?”

“I am not entirely convinced,” Tobimar said, with a glance at Poplock. “Helina’s story has a couple of inconsistencies if I assume it was Rion who attacked her, the most important being that she claims she heard a shout, and then felt herself falling to the ground as her last memory before blacking out. But she was already on the ground, and had been for at least a couple of minutes, when we came running up to Rion. If her memory is even close to accurate, then whoever shouted as she lost consciousness wasn’t us–and would seem likely to have been Rion, as his story would have it.”

“Of course, if he can mess with minds, he could’ve already started, and her story isn’t accurate,” Poplock said.

Kyri found the idea that Rion might actually be a monster incredibly painful. It had been so hard not to believe in him at first, and now…”Do we have any way of proving this?”

Tobimar frowned. Both he and Poplock were silent for a few minutes.

“I honestly don’t know,” Tobimar said after a while. “We already knew he was made from something dark, at least in part. We’ve seen what happens when Xavier’s blade touches him. But all that means is that his essence isn’t entirely human and holy, which tells us nothing we didn’t know. He’s walked plenty in sunlight, but if he’s really one of the ancients then walking the sunlight is something he can do pretty well, even though it probably weakens him. And as Khoros once pointed out to me, the fact that a wooden stake kills a man doesn’t say much as to whether he is in fact a vampire, so to speak.”

“About the only think I can think of that might work is if you directly interrogate him about it using that powerful truth-sense you can get from Myrionar. If you’re willing to do it.”

A part of her wanted to refuse, but with great difficulty she did not even permit that part of her to voice an objection. I need to remove this doubt–or reveal the truth–and this is for our good, not just mine. If it truly is Rion, this will do him no harm, and if he is not, it may save us all. “I will see if he is willing.” She stood. “Now.”

Poplock and Tobimar both looked relieved, which at least confirmed that she was making the right decision. Our general truth-senses have claimed he was genuine, but this will be something more detailed…and confrontational. Very, very few things could carry off a deception under those conditions.

They found Rion reluctantly handing Xavier’s LTP handheld game console back to its owner. She couldn’t quite repress a smile, even under these circumstances. Rion had been bitten hard by the fascination of the strange electronic game device, just as Tobimar had during his travels with Xavier. This was another reason that he and Xavier had bonded so much during their relatively short acquaintance. “Rion, could we talk to you?”

“Since when have you had to ask to talk to me?” he retorted with a smile. “I recall you sometimes starting a conversation in the middle of the night, when I was trying to sleep.”

That was so very Rion a response–and so very true–that she wanted to just stop right there. She was so sure this was Rion, in all the ways that really mattered. But she refused to allow herself to waver. “Rion, this is serious.” As Xavier and his friends started to leave, she held up her hand. “Actually, I would very much like it if you would stay. Just in case.”

Gabriel gave one of his courtly nods. “We are then entirely at your disposal, Lady Kyri.”

She waited for everyone to be seated. “Rion, you know there are a lot of questions about exactly what you are, and that Poplock and Tobimar caught you out under some very suspicious circumstances. I really, really hate to do this…but I must ask you to allow me to ask you some questions…as the living emissary of Myrionar, with Myrionar’s Truth manifest to give me the ability to sense any lies you may tell.”

“I…see.” He looked around, then shrugged and smiled. “And if I said ‘no’?”

She’d expected that; Rion would ask it. “Then we’d have to cut you out of any further discussions, keep you confined to the estate, and make sure you were secured here–imprison you, to be honest, until we’ve dealt with Viedraverion and the False Justiciars.”

Rion nodded. “Of course you would.” He folded his arms, as he sometimes did when preparing himself for a confrontation. “All right, then, Kyri; ask.”

She closed her eyes, shutting out the sight of all the others staring at her. Myrionar, I need your Truth once more. Let me see through lies and disguises, through deceit and misdirection, and come to the knowledge only of what is.

The golden power flowed up and around her. As she opened her eyes she could see that it bathed the room in an auric glow, and there was awe in the faces of those around her, awe from what they could feel within that power.

At the same time, she could tell that the power was weaker than it had been. Myrionar really is dying. We have to finish this soon, or…

She buried that thought. Focus on the present. “Rion, are you a vampire?”

Rion raised a brow. “I can’t say that I’m not a vampire. I don’t know exactly what I am.”

The first part could have been a neat evasion, but the second part was a pretty clear statement. Her sense of truth did not show a falsehood. Unless his power was sufficient to mislead Myrionar’s power even in direct confrontation, Rion actually did not know what he was. So if he is a vampire, he doesn’t know it. “Did you attack Helina?”

“I did not attack Helina,” he said flatly. She was startled to find herself not merely relieved, but surprised, when she sensed nothing of falsehood in his statement. A part of me really did suspect him.

Feeling lighter in her heart, she continued. “Rion, are you truly my brother?”

He looked directly at her. “I am.”

“Have you informed anyone of any of the plans we made here, or the discussions we have had on Viedraverion or the False Justiciars?”

“I have not.”

She let the power go, feeling the strain on herself and Myrionar, and allowed a huge smile of relief to spread. “Truth.”

“Truth,” agreed another voice; she saw Gabriel Dante nod. “I sensed nervousness, but no lies.”

“Not one hundred percent proof,” Toshi said bluntly. “We do not know the limits of our powers, yours, or those of our adversaries. This truth-sensing of yours might be very strong…but we know our adversaries are also very strong.”

She sighed, but smiled again. “True enough. But we have done what we can. I asked him questions that were direct, he answered them, I sense that they are true. Should I retain suspicion and allow it to destroy my hope?”

“No,” said Poplock. “Sure, he could be fooling us somehow, but…well, that turned out to be the case in Kaizatenzei, and somehow we came through it all right anyway. Let’s just say he’s Rion and not worry about it unless things go south.”

She suspected the little Toad would still keep a close eye on Rion, but she appreciated him at least making a public acceptance of her judgment.

Looking around the group, she saw backpacks, weapons, and other equipment assembled. “So…you’re all really leaving.”

“Now that we’ve settled–as much as we can–whether Rion’s a problem? We kind of have to,” Nike said. “Fact is, that war’s not stopped while we’re here, and even if your shortcut’s saving us time…well, we don’t know how much time we actually have, so…”

“You don’t need to explain,” Tobimar said. “Khoros brought us together, but he gave you a mission too. For all I know, you’ve already done whatever he expected you to do here. It’s not like we’ll all know for sure.”

“True enough,” Toshi said. “And we’re leaving in the evening because most people would expect us to leave in the daytime, if we left at all.”

“What about the possibility of spies?” Rion asked. “If you’re leaving and you’re followed–”

“Leave that to me, guys,” Xavier said. “Remember, I got us all out of a prison that your people thought was impossible to escape from. And got Tobimar and Poplock past guard posts, too.”

Kyri laughed, startled. “You can do that with your whole group?”

“If we all keep hold of each other, yeah, for a while at least. If I can do it for a mile or three, it’ll be almost impossible to track us. And I’ll do it a few more times along our route.”

Knowing how utterly impossible it seemed to be to detect Xavier when he used that strange Tor ability, she felt he was right. “Is this goodbye, then?”

The cheerful gray eyes were suddenly not so cheerful. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess so.” He looked at Tobimar and Poplock. “Um…Khoros said that this was the only way for us to get home.”

“I know,” Tobimar said quietly. “You told us that. All of you were stuck here unless somehow the Great Seal was broken.”

“But I guess once it’s broken we go home,” Xavier said. “I thought I’d be happy about that. Now…well, I am, but…”

“I know,” Aurora said, and put a hand on Xavier’s shoulder. “We felt the same about leaving Skysand. And I guess Toshi and Nike, leaving Artania.” She laughed suddenly, a great bell-like laugh that reminded Kyri poignantly of Lady Shae’s. “Boy, I was so pissed at Khoros when he brought us here, and I would never have thought I’d be sorry to go home.”

“We all will be,” Nike said. “But…we’ll all be happy to get home too. Xavier may have a real mission at home, but all of us have reasons to go back.”

“Then…” Tobimar stepped forward, and suddenly Xavier hugged him fiercely. The two held the embrace for a long moment, and then Xavier picked up Poplock and looked at him; the Toad looked only slightly bemused by the handling.

“Have I ever told you you’re kinda cute, Poplock? My sister would think you’re adorable.”

“Well…fine, thanks. I guess. It’s okay for this once, anyway.” Poplock’s voice was a little unsteady.

Xavier then went to her. “Kyri…you finish your job, okay? Kick that bastard’s ass for me. Promise?”

She laughed and swept him into a bear hug. “I promise, Xavier.”

Rion said nothing, just embraced the boy from Earth, and then shook his hand. But as Xavier turned back to his friends, he spoke. “Xavier?”

“Yeah, Rion?”

“I pray for you to get your vengeance. But…don’t leave your family alone.”

The smile was brilliant and the gray eyes, so like her own, were happy again. “I won’t, Rion. And when I go on the hunt again…well, I’ll say a little prayer to your Myrionar, just in case.”

Rion smiled back.

The other goodbyes didn’t take as long. While Kyri liked all of them–studious, sometimes oblivious Toshi with his razor-sharp mind, analytical, dangerous, yet cheerfully friendly Nike, the ever-charming and talented Gabriel, and strong, awkwardly loyal Aurora–they hadn’t shared adventure with Kyri and Tobimar, been part of giving her the first real chance to avenge her family. Finally, the five shouldered their packs, bowed to all of them, linked hands…and disappeared.

For a little while it was hard to accept that they’d left; no door had opened, they had simply vanished in the dining room. But as the much quieter evening began to lengthen, she accepted that the group from Zahralandar–Earth–was gone.

“Well…we’re on our own,” she said finally to Rion, Tobimar, and Poplock.

“We are,” Rion agreed. “But we knew we would be. There has to be some way to get to the Retreat.”

Tobimar grunted. “So far we haven’t had much luck.” He yawned. “Look at that. This early?”

“You stayed up late last night,” Poplock pointed out, “Hanging out with Xavier, as he’d put it.”

“Yeah. Well, I’m going to at least do a little sparring before I wash up and go to bed. Want to join me, Poplock?”

“Why not? You need someone to beat you once in a while.”

“How about you, Kyri, Rion?”

Kyri didn’t quite feel like sparring. “Not right now. Maybe tomorrow.”

“Okay. See you in a bit, then.”

She looked back at Rion as the two left. “Well, as they said, we haven’t had much luck. I can only think of one possibility, but unfortunately I don’t control that possibility.”

“What possibility is that?”

“If we could somehow get you back your…connection to Myrionar, maybe you could find your way there.”

Rion tilted his head, puzzled. “But…you are a Justiciar, and you can’t find the place.”

“True, Rion…but I haven’t ever been there. As a Justiciar, you were there. And since Myrionar was the source of your strength, it wasn’t through our enemy’s power that you could find the Retreat, it was through Myrionar’s and the fact that you were already admitted to the Retreat.”

Rion’s mouth dropped slightly open and he stared at her. Then a slow grin spread across his face. “You know…that’s just about simple enough an idea that it might just work.” Then his face fell. “If it could work.”

“Rion…”

He stood suddenly, started to walk out. Then stopped. “I want to go for a walk. But you’re welcome to come and keep an eye on me, if you want.”

“I’m not suspicious of you.”

“Your Toad friend still is. And maybe he’s right.”

They stepped out into the deepening night. The sky was awash in brilliant stars, shimmering in soft colors and sharp, infinitely small and bright points, the great arc of dark-streaked light that the Sauran’s called the Dragon’s Path crossing the entire sky. She heard the faint trilling cry of a Least Dragon in the distance, the sussuration of insects much nearer at hand. Rion was a black outline on black in the darkness.

“If we aren’t going to suspect you, do you need to be so hard on yourself, Rion?”

“Kyri, I can’t even touch holy objects. I’m surprised I can touch your hand without being scorched.” He walked towards the rear of the estate–not towards the town; obviously he wasn’t taking any more risks. “Can you imagine what it would do to me if Myrionar was even willing to take me back? I’d explode in fire.”

“There has to be a way around that.” The idea that her brother–that Rion–was barred from the thing he had dreamed of, had worked for, had achieved–was maddening and tragic. “We’ll find one. Somehow.”

He stopped, the two of them in the deeper shadows beneath the trees that shaded the rear of the estate. Even in that darkness, she saw a phantom flicker of white teeth as he laughed. “And maybe I should just accept that you will,” he said quietly, laying a hand on her shoulder. “You’ve been beating the odds all along.”

“I try,” she said.

They stood that way for a moment. Then Kyri became aware she could see his eyes, a faint shade of a shimmer in the darkness. “Your eyes are–”

“Yes, I know. Subtle, but one sign that can remind me of what I am. Is it…scary?”

“No,” she said with a faint snort of laughter. “I’ve seen things that were actually scary.” She concentrated on the faint discs of light. “A little eerie, but I can just about make out the detail–not just a general glow of light for the whole eye. Faint touch of blue in the center.”

“Really? You can see that much?”

“Yes.” She found herself concentrating on the eyes again. Wait. Why am I paying so much attention to this?

But now the eyes were shimmering with yellow.

Oh, Myrionar, NO. “R-Rion…”

“I…I really don’t want to hurt you, Kyri. I’m…I’m sorry, but I just realized…I don’t have a choice now. I don’t know why…”

Desperately she fought to move, feeling the same helpless fury that she had when Thornfalcon had caught her–but made worse by it being Rion, by the genuine regret and self-loathing in that voice.

But she could only raise a hand slowly, weakly, as Rion–or whatever it was that wore his face–bent towards her throat.

 

The Seer – Snippet 54

The Seer – Snippet 54

Chapter Fourteen

“He wants his dogs, too, ser,” Naulen told Innel.

Easy enough, Innel thought, if that would get them the old king’s cooperation in the coronation ceremony.

“And to see his daughter,” she added.

That might be harder. Still, Restarn’s cooperation was worth a lot to the strength of Cern’s rule. It might be worth everything.

He gestured, inviting the small blond slave to sit at a table where a mug of hot wine and a plate of pastries waited. “Have all you like,” he said.

She sat where he directed, seeming bewildered, each movement somehow a graceful submission. She touched the cream-filled confections with her fingertips, as if she had never seen such a wondrous thing before.

Enchanting, he thought, wondering how much was pretense. All of it, he suspected, though it was nonetheless compelling. Beyond her value as entertainment, Naulen was proving her worth by regularly relating to him bits of conversation from the old king, who talked a great deal now that he had no one else but his blond slave to listen to him.

Naming names. Innel was gathering a very useful list.

As for Cern, that had turned out to be the work of nearly a tenday, starting with gentle suggestions, outlining his reasoning, gingerly turning her objections into his own supporting arguments. In the end he convinced her to see her father, to even try to be pleasant to him. To take to him the dogs she hated so much.

The king had always held the beasts with voice and will, but Cern had wanted nothing to do with them. Innel knew the king’s dichu dogs would fight harness and lead if Cern held the other end, so he had the kennelmaster give them something to make them more compliant.

The coronation, Innel had reminded Cern.

Outside the king’s room Cern took the leads of the muzzled dogs from the kennelmaster and went in. Innel waited in the hallway.

When Cern emerged a bell later, she vibrated with pent-up fury. Innel took her to her rooms, signaling Srel to fetch for him the previously arranged-for wines and twunta and infused oils. He spent the next hours in attentive application of the collection.

Day by day, as the coronation date inched closer, Cern became, if possible, even more tightly strung.

The seneschal continued beyond annoying, insisting on extravagant expenditures that would dwarf those of the royal wedding. Again, Innel objected.

“You can have it when you want it, ser Royal Consort, or you can have it for less coin, but you cannot have both. Trust me, ser.”

Innel bit down on his objections and again gave way.

If the ceremony happened — if Restarn did his part — if Cern was made queen — it would all be worth it.

#

It was high summer when the coronation finally began. It took the better part of five days, dawn to midnight, most of it loud and brightly colored, excessive and ostentatious. The spectacle would culminate with the single most important moment, the one in which the old king was to hand his daughter the Anandynar scepter, passed down through the generations, from monarch to monarch.

The object itself was a too-long, slightly dented stiletto encrusted with gems and worked through with various metals, so over-decorated and lightweight that Innel suspected it would break if one tried to use it for anything beyond ceremony.

At least it would not be too heavy for a sick old man. All Restarn would need to do would be to hand the scepter to his daughter. His heir and only progeny.

It seemed simple enough, so Innel worried.

During each day of ceremonies and all-night celebrations leading to the main event, Innel reviewed the seer’s words to him that night in Botaros, and the extensive resources he had now put into finding her. It was starting to seem to him as if he were dumping coins into the depths of the ocean for all that his various hires, Tayre most expensively among them, were providing him.

When Cern was queen, he would have more funds. But once he started tapping the royal purse, he would need to be even more discreet. He might even need to tell her, in case this all came to light. Another problem entirely, and for another time.

The final day of the coronation — then the final hour — arrived. The king was carried in his chair to the Great Hall, wrapped in red and black and gold.

It was the first time Restarn had been out of his sickbed in over six months, and he looked startled, eyes too wide, gaze flickering here and there as if not quite certain where he was. Innel felt an edge of alarm. Had the doctor given him too much of the various herbs intended to keep him calm and compliant?

Surely the man would be able, at the very least, to hand Cern the scepter. It was all he needed to do. Such a simple thing. But even after a lifetime of studying the man, trying to read his thoughts through his eyes and turn of mouth, Innel could not tell what was in his mind or what he would do.

“Get his dogs,” Innel hissed to Nalas and Srel. They hurried off, returning with the pair of brindled canines.

With one dog on each side of him, their heads in his lap, one licking his hand, the king seemed to calm, something like sense coming back into his eyes. Innel watched him intently.

When the moment finally came, the Great Hall packed with thousands of aristos and eparchs and royals, all falling utterly silent, the old king looked slowly around the room. His gaze settled on Innel. The moment lengthened. Innel looked back at the king, feeling sweat drip down his back.

Finally Restarn looked to his daughter, then handed the long, sharp scepter to her with a casual, almost disgusted look, as if it were an unwashed dinner knife that he was well rid of.

Innel could live with that. It didn’t matter now. Cern was queen.

#

The next morning Cern announced Innel as her new Lord Commander.

Innel sat in his small office as the day went on, receiving visitors, noting those who came — some to ask questions, some to explain past decisions at length, and some to lecture, as in the case of the seneschal — and those who stayed away.

Conspicuously absent was the now-former Lord Commander, whom Innel could well imagine seething as he paced the much larger offices Innel was now entitled to. While Innel thought a military rebellion highly unlikely, he didn’t want to inspire one by mishandling the king’s older and now more powerful brother, either.

Don’t push until you must.

Yes, but when must he?

Among his visitors were Cohort brothers and sisters, even those who had left years ago, all wanting to make sure he would not forget how passionate had been their support for him these many years.

“Put in a good word for me, when the time is right, hmm?” Taba had said, referring to the commander of the navy, who Innel had yet to speak with.

“No, really, Innel — congratulations. Truly.” This from Mulack, pushing toward him an excellent bottle of greened brandy, then eating the rest of the fruit plate Srel had brought, that Innel had barely touched.

“And the mage?” Tok had asked him.

“Under contract,” Innel replied. “When things settle, I’ll bring her.”

Quietly. Tempting as it was, it would be some time yet before he could parade a mage down the hallways without upsetting a significant number of influential aristos with whom he was not yet ready to lock horns.

The Great Houses seemed content to let Innel’s Cohort siblings represent their good wishes. Those Houses who had not been fortunate enough to have sons and daughters in the Cohort these last two decades instead sent notes. The pale red amardide envelopes were collecting in piles.

But a good many of the rest, generals and royals, eparchs and bloodlines, would be waiting to see how well Innel handled this powerful beast he had gotten on top of, over the next days. It was one thing to mount up, but another thing, entirely different, to ride.

They would be especially watching to see how he handled the former Lord Commander Lason.

He missed his brother’s advice keenly now. Opening a drawer, he pulled out a metal arrowhead. It was the only thing he had kept of his brother’s.

 

The Seer – Snippet 53

The Seer – Snippet 53

Gallelon had said something about this when they were last together, as he had been repairing a saddle. “Do something other than tend to the endless ocean of suffering Iliban, Maris,” he had said as his needle dipped through the hard leather. She suspected he was using magic to help make the holes, and, curious, she tasted the air around the needle, keeping her touch focused so he would not notice. He did anyway, grinning back at her. “Take an expensive contract. Get paid for your work for a change.”

And she needed the coin.

“You may,” she told the Sensitive. The waif slipped off the chair and sprinted out the door.

Maris drank down the rest of the ale in front of her, which was neither as bad as she had expected nor as good as she’d hoped, and wondered what the contract might be about.

A motion from the high window caught her eyes. A small gray kitten had found its way up onto the thin ledge and was walking toward the tomcat. He had stopped grooming himself as the kitten approached, coming rather closer than she thought prudent. The kitten then sat back on its haunches, intently watching the older male, who gazed out over the assembled humans as if he were alone.

Slowly, as if to test the idea, the kitten raised a paw, reaching toward the older cat.

Foolish creature, Maris thought, strangely absorbed by this drama. A sudden swipe from the big cat and the kitten would fly off the narrow ledge and fall some ten feet or so into the room of tables and chairs. It would probably survive. Perhaps with something broken. A painful lesson.

The elder cat turned a sudden, hard look on the kitten, and the tiny paw froze midair.

“Ser High One?” A whispered voice. A figure tentatively sat across from her.

Another Sensitive? Who had this much money — or desperation — to be so fervently seeking mages so far from the capital?

This one stank of poorly washed clothes, smoke, and cheap rotgut. Her face was thin, the cords in her neck raised. Maris was done being polite; a quick touch into her body told Maris that many substances swam in the woman’s blood, that she ate little food, that her kidneys would not serve her much longer.

It tugged at her, this suffering. Sensitives had no choice but to use every means they had to quiet what they could not control. Lacking a mage’s training, their lives would be cacophonous with the etherics of the world, that Iliban could not hear.

“Will you speak with my employers?” She spoke in a hoarse whisper. “They have a contract to offer you.”

Well, she had already said yes once. “I will.”

A quick duck of the head, and the woman slid off the chair and was gone.

Maris returned her attention to the high rafters, to the tomcat and impertinent kitten, to see where the drama stood. But they were both gone. With a disappointed exhale, she returned her attention to her stew, which tasted much better than it looked, and wondered who would show up next.

#

He arrived the next morning as she sat in the eating room, sipping at a dark and fermented bitter Arun tea, wishing for honey. His gaze swept the room, settled on her.

A tall man, broad shouldered, and wearing clothes nearly as anonymous as her own. She dipped her attention into him to find that he was strong, with a large number of scars. A trained soldier, then, though she could have told this from the way he strode across the room to her.

In Perripur the wealthy and powerful did not send soldiers to talk to mages. But here in Arun, the monarchy and military were tightly entwined, explaining the empire’s insatiable appetite for land.

What will Arunkin not eat? went the Perripin saying, expecting no answer.

He sat. “High One –” he began.

“Marisel,” she said sharply, tired of the game.

“Marisel, then. I won’t waste your time. The palace offers you a contract.”

“Does it indeed? The red, beating heart of Arunkel? Where your king outlaws our very existence?”

At this he tilted his head. “Times change. I intend to see them change further.”

Maris exhaled a short laugh, then sobered, considered this, and realized from his words and demeanor that she was talking to someone from the palace.

An intriguing notion, to see altered the near thousand-year tradition of loudly denouncing magic with one side of the mouth while hiring a mage with the other.

“What sort of contract?”

“To give the monarch the benefit of your excellent vision.”

The monarch? She sat back, surprised. That the Arun king quietly employed mages when he could persuade them to come close, she knew. Gallelon himself had played that game years ago. He had told her about the king’s library one warm night as they sat watching a storm of falling stars. His description had filled her with a kind of lust. She felt it now.

“The library is exquisite, but be careful of the Arunkel monarchy,” Gallelon had added. “The snake bites.”

Rumor held that the old king was ill. Maris had wondered whether his mages had abandoned him.

Was she being recruited to replace them?

“The old monarch or the new?” she asked.

A faint smile crossed his face. “The new.”

In Perripur, state parliaments discussed every issue at length, often until it was far past relevant, producing treaties that covered inches thick sheaves of papers. The Perripin government did not hesitate to hire elder mages to advise and remove deadlocks. Far less often for their magic, though to have a mage handy meant a show of power. A little like having a swordsman as a servant.

“You wish only my advice, Arunkin? I find that hard to believe.”

He spread his hands. “I would be a fool to try to bind you beyond your will. Come to the palace. Let us show you Arunkel hospitality. When we need more than advice, we will ask, and you decide.”

“You have a library.”

He smiled. “Histories going back to Arunkel’s founding and before. Poems from the masters. We have the most extensive collection in the empire. You would be most welcome there.”

Hot baths. Good meals.

Books.

A memory of Keyretura’s voice: What are you missing, Marisel?

“I will not wear the black for you,” she said, suddenly annoyed at him, at herself. “I will not be used to put fear into your enemies or set your monarch on the throne. We do no king-making.”

At least they weren’t supposed to. The council of mages had uncompromising penalties for such actions.

She tasted the quickening of the man’s heartbeat, though he hid it well.

“I don’t need your help in that regard, Marisel. The princess will be crowned midsummer, or sooner.”

Maris’s mind, fickle thing, was already in the fabled library, imagining running her fingers across the leather-clad spines of books, velum scrolls, stacks of amardide sheaves. The treasures that must be there. Unique across the world. A sublime opportunity.

The snake bites.

“After your queen is crowned,” she said, compromising with the warnings in her head.

He considered her for a moment. “Allow me to put you on retainer until then,” he said. “Enough that you can stay wherever you like…” With this, his eyes flickered quickly around the room. “And then I will send someone for you, after the coronation.”

Maris had already decided, she realized. To see the inside of the palace, the Jewel of the Empire, and browse its library… irresistible. The contract obligated her to little.

“So be it,” she said.

He held his hand out, palm up. On it was a gold Arunkel souver, king-side showing.

She hesitated. What was she missing?

Hot baths, she reminded herself. Good food.

The library.

She put her hand on top of his, palm down, the gold coin between them.

“Our contract is made,” she said. Their hands turned in place, the coin now hers.

After Samnt, she had despaired of caring about anything for some time to come. Now there was something she wanted, and she cherished the thought of it, pushing away the nagging sense that she was, indeed, missing something.

 

Phoenix Ascendant – Chapter 20

Phoenix Ascendant – Chapter 20

Chapter 20

“You lost him? You?” Tobimar couldn’t keep the incredulity from his voice. There was a part of him that felt almost betrayed, and he finally identified it as the same feeling he’d had the first time he realized his mother couldn’t fix everything. Poplock had always been the one who got things done when other people couldn’t.

The diminuitive Toad couldn’t meet his gaze. “Yeah. I lost him.”

“Where?”

“He’d taken a walk into town–stealthily, but that’s no surprise, since we’d all agreed he wasn’t supposed to be seen. Drought! I was sure he didn’t know I was following! But he turned down that same alley across from the Balanced Meal, and when I got there and looked down it, he was gone.”

Tobimar glanced around to make sure his door was closed. “Have any idea how he did it?”

Poplock sighed, then finally faced Tobimar and wrinkled his face. “It was only a few seconds; even if he’d been running I should have seen him going the other way. Hm. Well, he could have gone up, to one roof or the other.”

Tobimar frowned, thinking. “You’re assuming he was limited to ordinary speed. If I use my Tor meditation, or Kyri used her Justiciar power…”

“You’re right.” Poplock smacked his own head with a small hand. “If he’s actually not who he appears to be, he’s probably got a lot of power he hasn’t shown us yet. Stupid.”

Tobimar pushed open the window. “Come on. We have to see if we can locate him.”

“Tell Xavier or Kyri?”

“We haven’t got anything to prove our suspicions, yet,” Tobimar said, and jumped lightly to the ground ten feet below. Poplock followed, landing with a thud on Tobimar’s shoulder. “Oof! You’re heavier than you look. Anyway, without proof we’d be getting into an argument that wouldn’t go anywhere.”

At least we don’t have to be subtle, Tobimar thought. Everyone knows we’re back. Poplock was silent on his shoulder, and the walk to Evanwyl proper was ten minutes of quiet worry.

It wasn’t just Rion, either. Searching the temple’s records–which hadn’t been fast or easy–had turned up just enough to confirm that Justiciar’s Retreat was located to the west, several hours’ travel at least, and a vague description of the Retreat itself. But nothing about the defenses or the diversion wards.

Kyri and the others hadn’t had any better luck with the Watchland; if the location of the Retreat was somewhere in his mind, it was buried deep. Toshi was of the opinion that only the right conditions would trigger the memory, and of course they had no idea of what those conditions would be.

And they were running out of time. The research, interrogation, and experimentation had used up two weeks. The five natives of Earth would be leaving soon. Neither Tobimar nor Kyri could argue that their friends’ mission was less urgently vital than their own, not when said mission would be a direct assault on one of the most ancient achievements of the King of All Hells. No, the five would have to leave, and soon.

The familiar sign of the Balanced Meal was visible ahead. “Okay, where do you want to start?” asked Poplock.

He nodded towards the nearer building across from the inn. “Up top. We’ll get a good vantage point of a lot of the city that way.”

“Okay. But what if he’s running off to the Retreat?”

“Then we’ve totally lost him. But I’m pretty sure he hasn’t.”

Poplock’s grip tightened as Tobimar–after a quick glance around to make sure no one was watching–sprinted up the side of the small warehouse. “Not saying you’re wrong, but why?”

The roof was flat and solid, one of the few stone structures in a town made mostly of wood. It was a perfect observing platform, and Tobimar began a swift circle of the perimeter, looking out over Evanwyl in its somewhat disordered tangle of roads and houses and buildings, shading out into farms in the distance.

“He hasn’t been caught yet,” he said, answering the Toad’s question. “The Retreat’s hours away; he’d never get back in reasonable time. So if he’s headed for the Retreat, he’s throwing away all his work in staying with us, for what? A report that we’re still in the area but haven’t found anything? I can’t see that being enough to justify the loss.”

“Can’t argue that, I guess.” Poplock gazed out, large eyes seeming wider in the darkness. Tobimar knew that the Toad’s natural sight was better in the dark than a human’s, but he had his own trick; after so much practice in the last few months, it was just a matter of closing his eyes and focusing for a moment to bring up the High Center.

There was a clarity to the world now; it was dark, but at the same time it was as bright as day to the senses that High Center gave him. The shadows beneath trees were luminous with possibility, with the vectors of what was and what could be, and even what had been.

Almost instantly he saw something he had not before: a tall shape, kneeling in an alleyway over another figure, with a sense of danger lingering above it. Even if it’s not Rion, that’s something we’d better look at. “There!”

Poplock squinted. “Got it. Yeah, let’s move.”

With High Center already up, he could channel the strength and speed of his soul, leaping from the roof to the ground in a single motion and hitting the street at a sprint, ignoring the mist of rain and fog.

“Rion!” he said as they came up.

The figure, that he could now definitely recognize, jumped at his name, but as he turned Tobimar saw to his surprise an expression of relief, not guilt or anger. “Tobimar? Thank the Balance. Help me, would you?”

He was kneeling over an unconscious young woman.

Good actor? Or what? “What happened?”

Rion stared out into the darkness. “I was just looking around the town–hiding, as we agreed, since we’re not announcing that I exist yet. And then just as I was heading up the cross-alley towards Mizuni’s, I heard a sound like a faint scream or gasp. I got up there,” he pointed back, to the very roof that Tobimar had just been on, “and I saw Helina struggling with…something. Dark and shadowy. Couldn’t make it out exactly. But I figured that my secret wasn’t worth risking her life, so I charged toward them. The thing…” He suddenly shuddered. “It looked sort of human, but the eyes…yellow, hungry, and the hair was pale white. Dark clung to it, like it was covered with shadow, but it looked almost white under the shadow.

“Still, I had my sword out and took a cut at it. It was dead silent, didn’t even hiss or anything, but it fought back and I don’t know how long I was dueling it. Finally…I drove it off, and it disappeared into the darkness. Helina had collapsed. I don’t know why, though, and she won’t wake up, and I couldn’t figure out what to do.”

Poplock was scuttling around the area that Rion had indicated the duel took place; Tobimar knew what he was looking for. But in the meantime…”All right, Rion, we’ll take care of it from here. You go back to the estate–and I mean straight back.”

Rion paused, then his gaze dropped. “Of course. You’re wise not to trust me. I just hope…hope we can find a way to get rid of that doubt. Somehow.” He got up, sheathed his sword (which had been on the ground near him) and headed up the deserted streets towards the Vantage estate.

Tobimar waited until Rion was well out of sight. “Well?”

The little Toad made a wrinkled face. “Mostly his own bootprints all over…but they do look like a fighting pattern. Like he was fighting something that wasn’t leaving prints. Right there,” he pointed to the wall, “there’s a cut that’s pretty much certainly from his sword, like he cut at something and it ducked. What about her?”

“She’s…cold. Not dead, though. Unconscious. Don’t know why.”

Poplock hopped back to the girl Rion had called Helina. “She’s not much older than you.”

“I don’t think she’s as old as me. Maybe younger than Kyri.” He looked at her hair, which was as black as the night but otherwise similar to Kyri’s. Not surprising. I would guess that if you go back generations enough, everyone’s related to everyone in this small a country. “I think I’d better get her to the Temple. You go after Rion and make sure he’s headed back.”

As Tobimar picked her up, though, the girl stirred, and suddenly pushed away with a weak scream. It was all Tobimar could do to keep her from dropping straight to the pavement. “Get away! Get a…”

Helina’s eyes focused, and widened. “…oh! Oh, Lord Silverun!”

Tobimar found himself being almost strangled by a desperate embrace, and could feel Helina shaking. “Ugh! Um, it’s all right, Helina. I’m going to take you to the Temple.”

She nodded, but only fractionally released her grip.

“What happened? Do you remember?”

For a few moments she was silent, still gripping him tightly, then slowly, slowly, she released him. “I…I was walking home from the Balanced Meal,” she said, and swallowed. That gave Tobimar time to place why she looked somewhat familiar; she was one of the servers at the inn, he’d seen her several times before.

“And…?” he asked quietly.

“And…” she drew a long, shuddering breath, “and…suddenly someone stepped out in front of me, at the end of this alley. I thought it was maybe Mizuni out for a walk, but then I saw the eyes.” She swallowed again, and almost collapsed. Tobimar could tell she was still terribly weak–far weaker than a mere fright would explain. He helped her put an arm over his shoulder and started walking with her to the Temple of Myrionar. “Yellow, glowing eyes. I wanted to run as soon as I saw them, but my legs wouldn’t move!”

So far this fits with Rion’s story. Part of him was disappointed, another part cautiously optimistic. “Anything else?”

“Oh, Balance, yes. There were…shadows crawling over it, darkness stuck to it like cobwebs when you push through them, and it came closer and I…” she bit her lip. “I…found myself almost relaxing, like it was all right, all the fear fading to the back, and it reached out and everything went all hazy.” She frowned. “The last thing I remember is a shout, a distant shout, and falling.”

“I’ll go look and see if I can find this thing,” he said. “But here we are at the Temple. Seeker Reed!” he said, seeing the young priest-trainee. “Take Helina in; she’s been attacked by something which seems to have drained her in some way. She’s terribly weak.”

“Myrionar’s Justice! Here, Helina, sit down.” Reed drew out one of the benches. “I will call the Arbiter immediately.”

“Good. I’ll be looking for whatever did this.”

He returned to the alley, but pretty soon came to the conclusion Poplock had. Rion’s bootprints were scuffed all over the end of the alley in a way that could indicate a combat, but there wasn’t any trace of another combatant except a few marks that showed sword blows gone astray, presumably aimed at this enemy.

That sort of argued against Rion’s story, but not entirely. There were quite a few monsters, ranging from hungry spirits to vampires to things from beyond other veils, including demons, that could fight you without leaving obvious traces.

There was a scuffling in the alley behind him. He glanced back, saw Poplock bouncing towards him. “Well?”

“He went straight back to the estate,” Poplock confirmed, reaching his accustomed position on Tobimar’s shoulder. “Didn’t even go slow, went as fast as he could manage and still stay hidden.”

Tobimar kicked pensively at the dirt. “Her story fit his.”

“Hmph. That’s interesting. Though depending on what Rion really is, convincing someone to believe a particular story isn’t hard to do.” The Toad shifted his weight. “The real problem I have with his story is timing. Took too long, from the time I came back to get you to the time we found him. I can’t believe the fight he described took fifteen, twenty minutes. Can’t believe it took half that. Most fights are measured in seconds.”

“I know what you mean,” Tobimar agreed, as he started retracing their steps to the Vantage estate. “And that would mean he spent an awfully long time, relatively speaking, in that alley with Helina. He could’ve picked her up and carried her somewhere.”

Poplock grimaced. “Of course, he could argue he was frozen with indecision–carrying her anywhere would reveal his presence, especially if she woke up, and since we haven’t decided whether he is the real Rion, we’ve been pretty emphatic about him hiding it. Heck, this wandering around at night is pushing it, no matter how good he is at hiding and how well he knows the land.”

“I guess. But I don’t know that I’d swallow that argument. If we don’t, though…what was the point? What did he do to Helina, and why?”

“You took her to the Temple, right? Maybe old Kelsley will have answers for us.”

Tobimar nodded. “We’ll have to check in tomorrow. But we’d better get answers soon. Won’t be long before Xavier and his friends have to leave…and then it’ll be you, me, Kyri…and Rion.”

 

 

The Seer – Snippet 52

The Seer – Snippet 52

The long lives of mages and the etherics they handled meant complex, tangled relationships, rarely based on anything as simple as affection. Gallelon was as close as she had to a friend among her kind. He was another sort of sanctuary, though necessarily a brief one; it did not take many months for the two of them to reach the limits of their tolerance for each other.

On their last morning as they lay together, her head nestled on his arm, she ran her dark fingers across his pale body, wondering at his body’s ancestry and how he came to have the hint of ginger in the hair on his chest.

“Where do you go next, Marisel?” he had asked her.

“Home, perhaps.”

“You should consider the capital. Yarpin would do you good.”

“Do you jest? What a foul place.”

He chuckled. “Excellent cuisine. Splendid wines. Passable ale. Some of the cleverest of the Iliban. Also some extraordinary collections.”

Of books, he meant, knowing her weakness.

He was right about the food. The last time she had eaten in Yarpin, the chef had worked mightily to impress his Perripin guest. Fish from the ocean, goat from the high hills, spices from Perripur, rare ferns from Arapur. It was an artistry of subtle flavors, a symphony of scent and texture. A splendid meal.

Which the bowl in front of her now, here in the Ill Wind, was most certainly not. She couldn’t even guess what the greasy lumps floating in a sluggish sea of brown might be, but she was hungry enough to eat anyway. A quick touch of her attention into the unattractive sludge assured her that consuming it would not harm her, so she reached for the spoon, then hesitated, her hand hovering over the crumb-strewn table. From the cracks in the wood, antennae quested out, followed by the thin segments of a centipede. The creature took a large crumb from the surface in its pincers and slowly retreated to the undertable.

Maris pushed at the creature with her intention to make sure it went in the other direction, but it pleased her to share her table with the locals, as long as they weren’t humans. She preferred places like this one for much the same reason she no longer wore black robes: sitting here, eating greasy soup, and sharing her table with insects, she could almost imagine belonging to the world.

Around her sat dour-looking dockhands, grubby in overalls padded against the ocean chill, slumped over cheap drinks, bowls much like her own. The glances they gave her were mere curiosity at a plainly dressed dark-skinned Perripin traveler and nothing more.

She’d worn the black for a time after she had been created, until the looks of hate and fear had become too heavy. It was a bad time for her, newly created and trying to find her way. She had gone to the Shentarat Plains and walked barefoot on the sharp ground until her feet bled. At the edge of the plains where the smooth rock gave way to barren ground and then hopeful grasses, she had stripped the robes off and buried them in the ground to rot.

Simpler clothes, she had discovered, made for a simpler life.

Now, catching the eye of the tavernmaster, she indicated someone else’s drink and that she would have the same. He nodded.

Best of all, though, the Ill Wind had cats. On a high shelf amidst jars and curled atop a pile of burlap bags was a black and white feline, ears twitching in sleep. From a corner, an orange tabby roused itself to stroll into the kitchen. And overhead, against the high windows through which a fog-filled sky shone like a lackluster pearl, was the silhouette of another cat, sitting still as a statue, looking down on the room.

With a finger of intention, Maris reached up to touch him.

Male, a few years old, his feline blood pulsing easily through his lithe, powerful body. He had the glow of recent sex about him, a contented relaxation through the groin, the warmth of hard use across his shoulders, the taste of female nape in his mouth. At her pull, he turned his head to look at her.

Softer than a whisper, she spoke a few words. Sounds more than anything sensible, the words being irrelevant. Her soft vocalizations were an invitation. Did he want to be stroked, she wondered. Perhaps some food, a bit of meat from her stew bowl?

The cat blinked slowly, eyes on her a long moment, then he looked away and began to groom a paw.

She laughed silently. She could not even summon a cat to her side. And people were afraid of mages.

With a thunk the tavernmaster put a ceramic mug in front of her. Glazed deep brown, inside and out — to make the liquid seem darker, she knew from discussions with brewers. As a matter of habit she dropped her focus into the cup to be sure it didn’t hold anything she would have to fix once it was in her body. It didn’t.

“Something else, ser?” he asked her. A large man, gone well to fat, brevity near surliness.

“A room for the night,” she said, putting a falcon on the table. Overpaying, she guessed. He slipped it into a pouch beneath the apron, stained with enough colors to be a clumsy painter’s spill.

Then, ambling from foot to foot, he drew himself upright. “We got a room, sure.” He looked bemused, as if he couldn’t figure out why she was here if she had that much to spend.

It calmed her, his lack of effort to please. Other than money, he wanted nothing from her. Like the cat’s disregard, it comforted her.

After he left, a thin figure entered into the room, looked around, came to her table. Blood-shot eyes looked out from behind dark, stringy hair, a face slick with sweat, gender indeterminate.

A Sensitive.

Male, possibly, she thought as he swallowed nervously. She could touch into his body to find out, but it seemed an intrusion and so she refrained.

“Yes?” she asked.

“High One.” A deferring dip of the head, breath shallow and short, tone flat. “I have been asked to contact you.”

She sighed, lamenting the loss of anonymity this implied. A bit surprised as well: this far from the capital she had not expected to be so quickly recruited.

If mages were a sort of family, Sensitives like the one in front of her were a distant, disfigured, and disowned relation. They were among the large portion of people who fell below the line to be considered for apprenticeship, yet were also not quite Iliban. Outcast among mages, deviant among Iliban, ostracized by all. She ached a little for him — with no choice about what he was, with no way to become more, his life could not be easy.

He might even be one of the extraordinarily rare Broken, those failed apprentices allowed to live. Unlikely; failure to finish the study was not well-tolerated. She remembered Keyretura dragging her, coughing and retching, from the deep water where she had tried to end her own. Not at all well-tolerated.

Certainly she could ask. Did you fail the study? Is that why you live in this wretched land that abhors you?

“How long have you been employed thus?” she asked instead.

He would not meet her eyes. “Since childhood, High One.”

“Call me Marisel.”

“Yes, High One.”

Oh, well.

“I am to ask if you are receptive to a contract.”

Of course. It would be some task that only magic could accomplish, that only the very wealthy could afford. A troubled conception to be smoothed. Treasures to be secured in strongboxes that would open only for one specific hand. An impossible decoration high atop some glittering, ostentatious spire.

But nothing as draining as the healing she had given across the country sides, over and over, for no pay at all.

“A contract with…?”

“It is not given to me to know, High One. May I tell them you are willing to discuss?”

 

Phoenix Ascendant – Chapter 19

Phoenix Ascendant – Chapter 19

Chapter 19

“You wish to see…what, precisely?” Arbiter Kelsley asked.

“Well, that’s part of the problem,” Poplock said. “We’re not sure.”

Kelsley jumped. “By the Balance…were you always able to talk?”

“Yep,” he answered. It was still amusing to see people suddenly have to revise their entire evaluation of him in an instant.

“Then why…ah. Because you were a far more dangerous weapon when not suspected. Obvious, really. But why reveal yourself to me now?”

“Because we know you are not one of our enemies, but an ally that we can trust, sir,” Tobimar said. “It makes it much easier to discuss things with you, and I think that by now his secrecy is no longer terribly useful. Our enemy probably has guessed his nature by now.”

Kelsley nodded, contemplating the little Toad with an amused smile. “Well enough. Can you at least tell me the sort of thing you are looking for in our records?”

“We’re looking for any clue as to how to find the Justiciars’ Retreat,” Poplock answered. “I know it’s probably not going to be so simple as finding a map and following it, but this has been the center of the faith since the beginning. Somewhere in those records might be a clue, and we’re just about certain that the Retreat is what our enemy’s using as a base of operations, along with the fallen Justiciars.”

“Of course,” Kelsley said, his cheerful face turning grim, as Poplock suspected it always did when reminded of how the representatives of his faith had been corrupted. “I recall no such traces in my readings, but I will admit that I have never sought such knowledge, so it may be that you are correct. Come.”

He led them from the main temple through a smaller door at the back of the stage where the rituals of the Balance were enacted. This opened into a set of well-lit, wide corridors with several doors opening onto each. Kelsley led them straight on, deeper into the temple, until they came to a set of unadorned doors of polished olthawin, a deep blue wood that Tobimar had only seen once or twice before and never in such large pieces. The doors were clearly ancient, worn in gentle curves where untold thousands of people had passed over the centuries.

The twin doors swung open, revealing a wide, sweeping semicircular room on the right and a doorway on the left. The semicircular room was lined with bookshelves, and other books, scrolls, and artifacts were also in cases spaced around the room.

“These are the archives of Myrionar,” Kelsley said slowly. “It is said that some of the artifacts, if not the records, go back to the days of the founding of the church, Chaoswars ago. A few other valuable records and manuscripts are kept here, in my office,” he opened the door on the left and showed them a large office, with a broad desk, lamps, chairs, and a safe inset into one wall. Normally,” he went on with another smile, “those not of the Faith would not be brought here, but you are an ally of Kyri and have already done our temple a signal service, and continue that service. It is only just that we provide you with all the support we can.”

He crossed to the safe, touched it; the solid metal shimmered, and the door opened. He extracted the contents and placed it on the desk. “You are welcome to search as long as you like, just be appropriately careful with the more ancient and fragile materials. I will be tending to temple business most of the day, and services this evening, and I will give directions that no one disturb you here.”

“Thank you, Arbiter,” Poplock said sincerely. The holy man was certainly going all the way to be helpful, and he certainly could have tried to be a bit sticky about showing any of the really valuable or old materials.

“You are more than welcome. I only hope you find what you are looking for.”

For the next two hours, Poplock and Tobimar scoured the archives. Most material could be instantly dismissed as not bearing on their search, but there was still a lot to look at. Finally, Tobimar brought two stacks of books and papers that seemed to have a fair amount to do with the Justiciars and their activities, and the two settled down to start looking.

After a while, Poplock said “So…what do you want to do about Rion?”

Tobimar started, then looked up from the huge tome he was leafing through. “What? What do you mean, ‘do about Rion’?”

“You’ve noticed a couple of oddities–like me. Right?”

Tobimar shrugged. “Poplock, we know there’s plenty of ‘oddities.’ He’s a construct, made from a piece of Rion’s soul and at least a couple of other things to create his body. It would be pretty much unbelievable if there weren’t oddities.”

“I’m not talking about that kind of stuff,” Poplock said, hearing a slightly injured note in his own voice. He found it was more annoying when Tobimar didn’t get what he was saying than it was when other people didn’t have a clue, probably because he was used to the two of them being in accord. “I’m talking about the little signs he gives of either not being himself, or of knowing things I don’t think he should.”

Tobimar got a thoughtful look on his face; he was silent for a few moments, paging through the book. Poplock continued perusing the large scroll he’d unrolled, hopping from point to point.

“All right, what little signs are you talking about?”

“You first. You must have noticed at least one.”

Tobimar sighed. “Yes. Xavier’s swords.”

“He recognized them.”

“Or that symbol, anyway. Which bothers me, because I’ve never seen that symbol before; it’s similar to the one the Spiritsmith put on mine, but I’ve not seen it, or its like, anywhere else. And Kyri’s seen those swords, and never said anything about that symbol. So where did Rion see it before?”

“Right. So, my turn; he recognized the name Tor for you and Xavier’s fighting style, and it gave him a jolt.”

“You’re right. I remember, he stopped for a split second. A good recovery, but not quite perfect. Anything else?”

“When we were leaving Jenten’s Mill, remember that he and Kyri were talking a little ahead of us?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I was able to catch some of that, and at one point Rion went…kinda blank on her. Couldn’t remember something that was obviously a big deal when they were younger, the roles they always played as kids; she was a Phoenix, he was the Dragon.”

Tobimar stretched, obviously thinking. “Well, he was just a soul fragment, and one slashed from the original by a monster. I think it’s kinda surprising he’s as intact as he is.”

The Toad had to concede that. “More like astonishing, I’d say. Like someone who knew him did the repair job.”

“Well, if Viedraverion’s been playing Jeridan Velion, that might be the case.”

“Hmph. True enough. But about Tor–remember when we were helping put things back together, both Miri and Shae told us that Tor was something that scared demons half to death. Why would Rion get all startled hearing about some martial art no one ever mentioned before? He should have been just thinking ‘oh, some new name I have to remember.'”

He could see that stopped Tobimar for a bit. There was a furrow between the Skysand Prince’s brows as he continued searching through the tome before him.

“Well,” Tobimar said at last, “we know he was made from something demonic, too. What if the soul that was used to provide the structure for Rion wasn’t just a human, but part of a demon? Then he might have some faint memories or reactions from that.”

“Ooo. You know, I hadn’t thought of that.” Poplock pulled a dried beetle out of his pack and chewed thoughtfully for a bit. “Might be true. On the other hand, it might not, which would mean…what?”

Tobimar waited, obviously wanting Poplock to continue; when the Toad simply kept looking at him silently, he cursed. “Shiderich! Fine. It means that there’s at least part of something in there that’s afraid of Tor, a demon probably, and that means that at the minimum Rion isn’t just Rion.”

“And at worst it’s a demon somehow pretending to be Rion. One that somehow can hide its deceptions from both Kyri’s truthsight and Gabriel’s senses, which Aurora says are pretty darn impressive.”

Tobimar’s blue eyes narrowed. “One that’s listening to a lot of what we’re doing.”

“Most of it, actually. Kyri trusts him–and I can’t really blame her. She might be the big ol’ Phoenix Justiciar, but she’s no less a person than the rest of us, and I know I would probably really, really want to believe that someone I loved that much had come back.”

“That’s why you waited until we came here to talk.”

“You see clearly with those squinty eyes. After what happened with Xavier’s sword, I knew Rion wouldn’t want to take a chance on what might happen to him if he walked straight into the actual Temple of Myrionar. And that meant we could have this talk and be absolutely sure neither he, nor Kyri, heard it.”

“Don’t tell me you don’t trust Kyri!”

“When it comes to acting sensible about her brother? Well…yeah, I guess I do trust her, if we can present a good case. She’s honest with herself that way.”

Tobimar looked somewhat mollified. “All right. But Sky and Sand, what a mess this could be. What do you think we should do? Confronting him won’t do any good–we’ve accepted him for a while, and there’s perfectly good excuses for any of these issues, I’m sure. I’d be disappointed by our adversary if there weren’t provisions to explain little lapses.”

Poplock grimaced, rolled up the scroll, dragged over one of the books and started paging through it. “You’re right. Confronting him would be useless unless he’s dumber than a dung beetle, and he’s not.” He thought for a bit, while looking for Justiciar references. They talk a lot about how awesome the Justiciars are, but not much about the practical stuff. “I guess all we can do is make sure he’s never not being watched. Unless he’s a telepath or mindcaster mage, he’s not going to be able to communicate with his boss while around us without us noticing something–and I’m pretty sure he’s neither of those.”

“True. So does that mean we make sure he’s always accompanied?”

“No, no. We need, as I heard a fisherman say once, to let him wade out far enough to hit the dropoff. If he tries to go off on his own, someone has to follow him and watch him. And as far as I’m concerned, that ‘someone’ has to be me, you, or Xavier. I’m not trusting anyone else.”

“Xavier likes him a lot, though.”

“Saw that, playing that poker game. It’s that brother thing; he knows Rion isn’t really his brother, but he can’t help but feel like there’s a connection there. Still, I think Xavier will go along with it. If he won’t, well, it’s me and you. You in?”

Tobimar hesitated, then nodded. “I’m in. I hope we catch him doing nothing more interesting than taking walks.”

“You and me both, Tobimar, believe me,” Poplock said. “Because if he’s up to something bad, our enemy’s got all the info he needs to trap us.”