Aethersmith (Book 2) (19 page)

“So you would tell him about torture and rape, necromancy,
that sort of stuff, should he just ask?” Brannis tried to make his stubborn old
grandfather see where such roads led.

“Nasty stuff, all of it. Wonderful stories, though, if you
have a mind for it. Better to be repulsed by it early than build up curiosity
for years. Brannis, my boy, you were always good about it, but do not forget
that the truth is always the best path. Do not let that seventy-first great
uncle of yours, or whatever he is, convince you otherwise,” Axterion said.

Brannis turned his attention back to his meal, tiring of
trying to reason with Axterion. The old man had been High Sorcerer before his
years caught up to him and left him using all his power to hold onto life, with
none left for working magic. He was a veteran of too many arguments to count,
and refused defeat even when logic sided against him.

“Pardon me,”
Brannis heard a voice in his head. His
eyes widened in surprise. He looked furtively up and down the table to see who
might have tried to get his attention.
“My name is Illiardra, Iridan’s
mother. I have not yet had the chance to make your acquaintance. I sense that
your Source is not strong enough to reply, so merely listen a moment. When the
dancing begins, which ought to be shortly, ask me to dance. I wish to speak
with you.”

Brannis looked down to the head of the table again, but not
seeking Juliana for once. He saw the strange immortal whom Rashan had brought
to the wedding. It was clear she was not human, as least insomuch as Rashan was
no longer human. She appeared as she wished, by agency of whatever magic she
chose to use.

Brannis waited until the music changed from peaceful
melodies for dining to boisterous songs for dancing. As couples made their way
to a nearby stone terrace to dance, Brannis approached the warlock’s consort
(he realized he had never asked their relationship, or whether Iridan was born
a bastard). She seemed otherworldly, much less similar to human than Rashan
was. The warlock kept his appearance as it had been in his own youth. Illiardra
had been much less bound in her choice of form.

“My lady, I am Sir Brannis Solaran, Grand Marshal of the
Imperial Armies. Might I have the pleasure of a dance?” Brannis was glad that
many of the folk at the table had already adjourned to the dance floor,
including the newly married couple. The guests had not made a fuss over it,
considering the circumstances, but the warlock had not yet appeared at the
feast. Word had spread about the assassin that had tried to kill Rashan, and
everyone seemed to assume he was off somewhere dealing with the matter. Most
had a “better him than me” attitude about the whole thing. It was a more jovial
atmosphere without Rashan around, anyway. In truth, many were scared of the
warlock’s mere presence.

“I would be delighted, Sir Brannis.”

Illiardra extended a hand, and allowed Brannis to help her
to her feet. She weighed almost nothing. It felt like he was helping a cloud
rise from the seat she had occupied.

She rose from the ground as they danced, lest the vast
difference in height make both the steps and the conversation awkward. They
drew curious glances, but mostly due to the unfamiliar face in the large clique
that was the Imperial Circle and their families. Floating in the air was simple
magic, not enough to impress jaded old eyes.

“So tell me about my son,” she asked. She bounded and
twirled along with Brannis so expertly that her eyes never left his as she
spoke. “Rashan spoke highly of you and said you were the best of Iridan’s
friends. Why then were you not his oathkeeper?”

“It is a long story, but I was once betrothed to Juliana
Archon. I suppose Rashan wanted to guard against me doing something silly and
romantic. Iridan and I have been friends since the Academy. I was there until I
was fourteen summers and they gave up on me ever showing any promise. I used to
protect him from Juliana when we were all little. She used to beat him.”

Brannis was not sure why he chose to introduce Illiardra to
her son that way.
Maybe because that seems to sum him up so well. He always
needed protecting.

“And now Rashan wishes to make him a warlock. Perhaps he
thinks to toughen him by foisting his tormentor upon him as a wife. My, what
changes a few seasons can wreak,” she said, then laughed. It was a melodic
laugh, with a smile that seemed so much more at ease than Juliana’s fake one.

“Well, that was fourteen winters ago,” Brannis commented.

“A whiff of fragrance from a petal as it falls from a rose.
That is the length of fourteen winters,” Illiardra said softly, looking deep
into Brannis’s eyes. “Do you have any idea how old I am?”

“By your looks, twenty springtimes and no more, but I know
better. You are immortal and choose whatever appearance you wish. By your
words, I would guess you are closer to Rashan’s age,” Brannis ventured. Mortal
women were so sensitive about age, he did not want to risk angering her by
guessing any older than that.

Rather than taking offense, she laughed. “My dear Brannis,
you are so tactful. You wish not to offend me, but miss the mark by kingdoms. I
was old when Kadrin was founded, a little city-state in the wilderness, carved
out in the shadow of the elder woods and brash enough to name itself an empire.
I knew Gehlen, whose staff your people seem to have misplaced, and mighty
Tallax, two thousand winters dead when Gehlen was born.”

Rashan being two hundred and forty-two summers old was a
hard thing to grasp at times. He was a creature of a different age, who lived
in a much different Kadrin from the one that now stood. He had no reason to
disbelieve Illiardra’s claim, ludicrous though it seemed on its face, but the
span of summers defied Brannis’s comprehension.

“Tallax was a real man?” was the best response Brannis could
muster out of the information he had just absorbed. “I was taught that he was
just a legend.”

“Oh, he was a legend, for certain, but a real man as well.
Your ancestors used to claim his blood ran within them. He never unlocked the
secret to immortality, but kept alive over seven hundred summers on life
extension alone. All that is true,” Illiardra said.

“And his Source?” Brannis asked, his love of history
brimming to the surface. “Was it as strong as the stories said?”

“It is so hard to compare such things, especially across so
many years. But men in that age said that his Source hurt to look upon,”
Illiardra said. As the music slowed, the couples dancing did as well. Illiardra
drifted lower and closer, and rested her head against Brannis’s chest.
“Brannis, your obvious love of history is endearing to one who has seen so much
of it and finds too many who care not. That reason is why I so seldom visit the
mortal world. It seems so foreign and unwelcoming. I had come to visit Rashan,
and to meet my son.

“When I look in my son’s eyes, I see disbelief and denial. I
saw how he looked to the guests at the wedding. The couple that we sent him to
be fostered with were there, and I saw in that look the love a son bears for
his mother. I bore Rashan a son, but I did not mother one. Iridan fears me and
what I represent: a mother he never knew and a heritage he does not understand.
So my son avoids me, and my Rashan has gone off. He used a transference spell
shortly after the ceremony, and I could not see far enough to know where he
went. Brannis, you are a clever boy. Where might he have gone?”

Brannis could think of only one option when he thought of
Rashan: vengeance. “Did he ever tell you of his philosophy, to let none live
who have tried to harm him?” Illiardra nodded sadly. “I can only surmise that
he found out who sent that assassin, and is laying waste to whatever city they
might be in.”

“He can be so thoughtful at times. He was always full of
vigor and ideas. He did things. He did not just wonder aloud about them, as so
many of our kind fall into the habit of. But he has this killing lust within
him as well, that try as he might, he could never overcome. Now, it seems, he
has stopped trying entirely, and is giving in to his base need to spill blood.
He left without even telling me, leaving me alone among strangers, with a son
who denies me in his heart.”

Brannis did not know what to say to that, so he wisely said
nothing. He allowed the neglected immortal to spill her sorrows upon his
doublet and continue talking as they floated about the terrace in time with the
music.

“We have each lost someone today, someone who was already
gone, but whom we could not let go. Rashan has no special claim on my heart. I
am not his wife nor his concubine. Juliana is now wed to another, no longer
seemly to dream of. Let us spend this night in each other’s comfort.” She lifted
her head and looked up at him. Her eyes brightened when they met his and she
smiled. “I have always preferred younger men.”

* * * * * * * *

The next morning, Brannis strode down the halls from his
room to the practice yard, where he expected the warlock to be, if indeed he
had seen fit to return from whatever burning city he had likely left in his
wake. He was wearing his armor again, a precaution he felt more than justified
by the assassin’s attempt on Rashan the previous day. He was far less equipped to
defend himself than Rashan. Without his armor, he was ripe to be killed should
Megrenn send someone to end his life.

Despite Illiardra’s assurances that Rashan had no hold over
her, and that she had no intention of mentioning their liaison, he approached the
warlock with some trepidation. Any servant who had seen them could have
reported them adjourning to Brannis’s chambers for the night; none would
believe that they had talked for hours until Brannis fell asleep from
exhaustion (and perhaps just a bit of magic).
Rashan always figures out too
much for the amount of information he has
. Any hint of a tryst and
Brannis’s life would hang on whether Rashan was the jealous type. Brannis did
not like his odds on that wager.

As he walked along, he saw someone approaching from one of
the side corridors. He stopped short, recognizing Juliana’s distinct
form—forever etched into his psyche—out of the corner of his eye. Her hair was
a disastrous mess, not just uncoiffed, but snarled and tangled. Her black Sixth
Circle robes hung loose about her thin frame, not cinched at the waist as she
usually wore them, and she had her armed tucked into the opposite sleeves,
hugging them close to her body. What really drew Brannis attention was her
face: wickedly reddened on one side, with a swollen knot beneath the eye that
would surely turn purple with a bit of time.

Juliana backed up a step tentatively as Brannis rushed over
to her, her eyes widening as if unsure of what to do.

“What happened?” Brannis demanded, sounding both concerned
and angry at once.

“We argued. It just … happened. Everything is fine.”
Juliana’s voice trembled. “I was just on my way to ask Rashan if Iridan can
skip his training today.”

“Iridan did this to you?” Brannis asked, trying to keep calm
so as not to sound like he was blaming her.

“I said something I shouldn’t have,” Juliana protested but
Brannis shook his head.

“That is no excuse,” Brannis told her. “Go see someone about
that lump.” Brannis strode off in the direction she had just come from, moving
at twice the pace and with far less uncertainty than he had felt when preparing
to approach the warlock.

* * * * * * * *

“Brannis!” Juliana called after him. “I can look after
myself. You do not need to ‘save’ me!” she shouted as he grew too far to
converse with at any lower volume. She drew a deep breath and loosed it
raggedly.

It is nice to know he still cares.
She would have
felt a bit better had Brannis not had a hand on Avalanche’s hilt as he rushed
off to defend her honor.
If my children grow to be tall, strong, and brave
like him, I will just have to say they take after my father …
(Shador
Archon was not so different in frame from Brannis, even if he lacked the
muscle)
… instead of their own.

She continued on to the practice yard where indeed she found
the warlock awaiting Iridan’s arrival. He sat with her new oath-uncle Caladris
as the portly sorcerer took his morning feast.

“Iridan will not be coming down for practice this morning,”
Juliana interrupted them, startling Caladris with her quiet, timid approach.

“My dear girl, what happened?” Caladris asked.

“Nothing. I am fine,” she answered.

“It was a long while ago, but I got married too—twice you
know—and that is not a typical result.” Caladris tried to keep the mood light,
but Rashan was intent on darkening it.

“Iridan did that.” Rashan did not even form the observation
as a question. He scowled as he inspected Juliana’s injuries.

“I pushed a bit too far. I know I sometimes do not think
before saying things that might be hurtful. I started it,” Juliana said, but
Rashan was apparently indifferent to her explanation.

“I will have to have a talk with that boy,” he growled.
Caladris quietly excused himself in the opposite direction as Rashan made to
leave the yard.

“You are just as bad as Brannis,” Juliana muttered beneath
her breath, but had not counted on the warlock’s excellent hearing.

“Brannis saw you like that?” Rashan demanded, his eyes
widening. The warlock took off at a run.

When he was gone, Juliana quietly pulled her hands out of
her sleeves. The knuckles were raw and bloody.
Soria, are you watching
today? If you are, tell me how you manage not to ruin your knuckles.

* * * * * * * *

Rashan saw the door to Iridan’s chamber wide open, with a
pair of the palace guards flanking it. Whatever orders they might have been
given, Brannis was authorized to countermand. He rushed past them to find
Brannis standing next to a pool of blood.