Aethersmith (Book 2) (54 page)

“What perfect plan would that be?” Juliana asked. “I
remember your ‘plan’ from Raynesdark, which—”

“No, that was Brannis’s plan,” Brannis said.

Kyrus!
Juliana reminded herself.
I keep telling
you they are not the same.

“I have this thought through well enough. I want you to
captain the
Daggerstrike
. I have no need of sailors on this ship, I have
realized. This is a ship to be run by a sorcerer, or a sorceress in this
particular case. I have written up all the appropriate orders to promote you to
a naval captain, assign you a crew, and relieve you of your current Circle
commitments.”

“I’m not certain you are authorized for all that,” Juliana
replied, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

“That is the beauty of the plan. You are leaving tonight,
not very long from now, in fact. By the time you are gone, you will be
unreachable to rescind any orders. Before anyone can make any serious effort to
recall you, I will have all the authority I need. Rashan arranged for Emperor
Sommick to send him off to war; the bloodthirsty bastard cannot wait to free
himself of the shackles of politics. He told me that he will arrange for me to
be left in charge, to take his place tomorrow when he departs for Megrenn, or
at least the parts of Kadrin that are under their control now.”

“Wait, what about the emperor? Rashan is free to go because
there is an emperor now to take care of all the politics.”

“No, the emperor is a fool. Rashan wants
me
running
things in his absence, not Emperor Sommick. I trust that he will arrange it so
that happens.”

“What about this ship, then? I know nothing about captaining
a ship, and this thing doesn’t look close to getting off the ground,” Juliana
protested, knowing that it would not change anything. She loved hearing
Brannis’s convoluted mental acrobatics. It was among her favorite things about
him.

“The ship is ready to fly. It just needs aether to get it
started. I will empower it momentarily. I just wanted to wait until you were
ready to depart. I … um … think it may draw a small amount of attention. I will
show you everything you need to command the ship; it is as simple to use as I
could think to make it. As for the captaining part … you already run a small
crew of mercenaries in Tellurak, plus you have been aboard a number of ships;
you have seen how captains act.”

“But what do I do once I leave? I am not a battle
commander.”

“No, but you are a mercenary. I do not want the
Daggerstrike
within a cannon’s range of a real battle. I want you to cause havoc. Ambush
supply caravans, pick off scouting parties, strike remote garrisons, that sort
of thing. I shall leave the details entirely to your judgment and discretion.”

Juliana got a quick tutoring on everything she would need to
know about the controls for the ship, how to steer it, how to make it climb or
dive. Everything from the gangplanks to the hidden hatches in the sides to
disgorge corsairs was all commanded by the captain from one of several points
on the ship that would accept commands. When he felt she knew all she would
need to get her started, Brannis shooed her off the ship.

“I will need to draw a lot of aether to get this monster
started. Best not to be too close,” Brannis warned.

Juliana retreated to the ground, where she found her crew
gathered, awaiting orders. She met her new first mate and officers, all of whom
were army, not navy. They made introductions as Juliana felt alarming amounts
of aether flowing to the interior of the ship. The nearest sensation she had
ever felt was being there in the mines of Raynesdark when Jinzan Fehr had used
the Staff of Gehlen. As the draw ended, the ship began to crackle with energy,
and a throbbing, pulsating hum emanated from the steel hull.

“Everything is ready. It took,” Brannis called down to her
as he descended the gangplank. He looked haggard. “You should all get aboard
and get going. Head out to sea a bit before looping around out of sight of the
city. I have to get back to the palace before my presence is too sorely
missed.”

“Brannis, you never promised me a ship of any sort, or a
command of my own. What promise were you referring to keeping in your note?”

“Bran—I gave you Adventure and Freedom,” he said, nodding in
the direction of where she kept her dragon-tooth daggers. “It might have been a
sweet gesture, but it was ultimately a hollow one. It was cheating.
Now
I am giving you adventure and freedom—the proper sort this time.”

She did not care that it was in front of her entire new
crew; she crushed Brannis—
Okay … Kyrus
—in her arms and kissed him before
she took her leave.

The
Daggerstrike
lifted effortlessly at her command,
holding the ship’s wheel just as Kyrus had shown her. The thrills of adventure
and freedom awaited.

Chapter 30 - Intentions

The morning sun brightened the sky over the islands of Kapish,
where the
Fair Trader
sat at anchor, but did nothing for the mood of her
captain. Denrik Zayne was a patient man but he was being sorely tried. The
Sea
Dragon
had already come and gone, paying their tribute to Zayne as the
owner of the vessel and liege of her captain. That had been two days prior.
Stalyart’s
Merciful
had been due around the same time, but there had
been no sign of him or his ship.

“Another day, Cap’n?” Holyoake asked, approaching Denrik as
he stood at the ship’s port railing, staring out into the northern sea.

“Aye, Mr. Holyoake. Another day,” Denrik concurred. “Captain
Stalyart stood by for three years, and got me off that miserable hunk of rock
the Acardians stuck me on. The least I can do it pay him the courtesy of
waiting three days.”

“And tomorrow, sir?” Holyoake asked. “Men are grumblin’. Not
me, mind you. The men. I’ll handle ’em sure nuff, don’t you worry. But you know
… the men.”

Marfin Holyoake finished saying his piece, and clamped his
pipe between his jaws. He dug in the pockets of his jacket until he found a
small cloth bag. Reaching in, he took a pinch of pipeweed, and stuffed the bowl
of the pipe with it. When Denrik looked his way, Holyoake angled the pipe in
his direction, and gave a wink.

Smiling, Denrik focused in the aether, managing to draw
enough of the stuff to get the pipeweed to smolder. The first mate of the
Fair
Trader
took a few quick puffs to get the flame burning properly, and
returned the smile. It was reassuring to Denrik to find that sort of
acceptance. Too few men knew of his powers, paltry though they might be.
Holyoake would never understand what it was like to be twinborn—Denrik would
never reveal
that
secret to anyone who was not twinborn himself—but him
even knowing that he was some sort of witch or wizard or shaman, whatever he
chose to perceive it as, was comforting.

“Round up a few of those men for me, Mr. Holyoake,” Denrik
said over his shoulder as he looked back out to sea. “Put together a game of
Crackle. That ought to occupy their time.”

“Aye, sir. Mind if I count myself among ’em?” Holyoake
asked.

“Unless your eyes have gotten a fair sight better since you
served on the
Honest Merchant
, you shall do no good out here, watching
the horizon. Of course you may join in.”

If there was anything that was likely to draw Stalyart back
to him, it would be the presence of a game of Crackle. Fill that game with
amateurs like Holyoake and the crewmen, and how would he be able to resist?
Despite a thorough understanding of the workings of magic, there were still
some forms of it that defied explanation.

Come now, Mr. Stalyart, you know you would not want to
miss such a game.

* * * * * * * *

On another ship, in another part of the Katamic, a ship
called the
Sand Piper
carved a line through the water. It was a Takalish
vessel with a mostly Takalish crew, charting a course around the northern side
of the small continent. It was similar in design to the Acardian galleon, but
smaller and lighter in the water.

The
Sand Piper
was a passenger vessel, first and
foremost. Any cargoes she carried were incidental. Most of the passengers were
Takalish, with a number of light-skinned Acardians mixed in among them. In
every direction, there was evidence of wealth, from finely tailored suits to
jeweled necklaces; passage on board a vessel such as the
Piper
was not
for the weak of purse. Brannis squirmed in his newly bought outfit, trying to
keep the seams from rubbing in the wrong places. The sleeves were cut too
narrow for his muscles to flex comfortably. Juliana—Soria—had insisted on
outfitting him to match the cover story she had arranged for them.

“There you are,” Soria called out.

Brannis turned to see her appearing more feminine than he
had realized she could look. The Takalish were fine, by and large, with the
concept of warrior women, but unwed couples traveling together was looked down
upon. Soria had the playful idea to pose as husband and wife for the trip to
avoid drawing both scorn and attention. She had decided to look the part of an
idle kept-wife to some merchant, who in this case would be Mr. Brannis
Hinterdale. A low-cut pink gown outlined her figure—gave her a figure, it
seemed—distracting Brannis from all else he had been thinking about. Her hair
seemed more golden and less reddish, curled into an elaborate knot at the back
of her head, stabbed through with thin wooden skewers in a Kheshi fashion.
Breaking up the expanse of bare skin from her chin to her bosoms was a gold
chain and diamond pendant, flanked by emeralds; a pair of dangling
diamond-strand earrings paired with it, each one appearing to drip from a
single emerald. The jewels appeared so extravagant as to make one assume they
were fakes. Brannis suspected they were real, stolen, and worth more than the
Sand
Piper
.

“About time you woke up. I thought that was my exclusive
purview,” Brannis said, managing with effort to look her in the eye.

“I was having the most wonderful dream,” Soria replied,
unable to remove the grin from her face.

Brannis had overlooked it as he gawked at her, but she
carried a spitted rabbit haunch, soaked in some sweet-smelling sauce that
hinted at honey and ginger. She took a bite, leaning forward over the ship’s
railing to keep the oozing sauce from dribbling onto her dress. She wiped away
the excess with a finger, and sucked it clean.

Brannis eyed the morsels until she held it up for him to
try. He bit in, and savored the sweet, spicy flavor. He found his tastes to be
more suited to Tellurak’s food than Kyrus’s had proven toward Veydran fare.

“So where did you end up taking it?” Brannis asked.

“Sure you want me to tell you?” Soria teased. “They can’t
torture you for my whereabouts if you don’t know.”

“You had fun with it, I take it?”

“Oh, how I wish this pretty little bucket we’re bobbing
along in could take wing, and soar like my
Daggerstrike
!” Soria
exclaimed, looking up into the sky and twirling around once, billowing her
dress out like he had seen Juliana do so many times. It had the same effect on
him now as it had when she did it in their youth.

“How were the crew? They warming to you at all?”

“They seem like they’ll be all right. I think once they get
their air legs, it will be a bit better, with less vomiting. A few took to it
right off, though. All those harnesses around made it seem a lot safer, being
tethered to the decks and walls when it goes upside down.”

“You … flipped it over in midair?” Brannis asked, looking at
her sidelong, eyes wide.

Soria nodded, her mouth occupied with tearing a chunk of
rabbit meat from the skewer. With her free hand, she pantomimed a series of loops
and rolls. “Made a mess of everyone’s quarters, though,” Soria replied with a
gasp as she gulped down the bite. “We’ll be keeping it a bit more level until I
get someone to rig up a way to hold footlockers down to the floors.”

A cold gust of wind caught them, speeding the ship by a hair,
and causing Brannis to shiver.

“You warm enough out here?” Soria asked.

Brannis was dressed in a long-sleeved white shirt with
ruffled shoulders and cuffs in current Takalish fashions. They were supposed to
fit loosely, but without having something tailored, everything was tight around
his arms. Pinkish skin showed beneath the fabric where it was taut, hinting at
just how little protection it gave against the wind.

“I am using a bit of aether to cheat the cold,” she said. “I
would die from exposure in this thing elsewise.”

“I should be fine,” Brannis assured her. “Have you seen
Rakashi this morning?”

“No, and I don’t expect to see him much this voyage unless
we try. Warrior-scholars are a pretty big deal around here. They’ll have him
telling stories to their children, and giving blessings. They’ll ask him about
health problems, and his opinion on just about everything from wheat prices to
whether the peace will last with Khesh. The captain gave him a cabin nicer than
ours, and didn’t charge him a single darshi.”

“You think he is the same in Veydrus?” Brannis asked her.

“You plotting again?” Soria chided, waggling a finger at
him. “I told you, we have a deal worked out. We don’t play politics between
worlds. Speaking of which, would you care to elaborate on that whirlwind
explanation for shipping me out of Kadris last night? Distracting me with my
own airship was only going to get you out of explaining yourself for so long,
you know?” Soria could not help but grin anew at the reminder of the
Daggerstrike
.

“Those murdered were supporters of Rashan. That means they
were supporters of Emperor Sommick as well, whether because they believed in
his claim or because they are obsequious bootlicks looking for personal gain,
it matters little. If there are sides being taken in earnest—and if the fact
all three victims were on one side was not simple coincidence—it very much
looks like one side has started a war.”

“Don’t most folk support Rashan? I mean, maybe he isn’t
popular in the ‘Let’s name our firstborn after him’ sense, but I would assume
anyone would support him out of … well … laziness if nothing else. Just doing a
job in the Empire and following orders from above is ‘supporting,’ isn’t it?”
Soria asked. “It takes some initiative to actually oppose a regent.”

“Dolvaen. Dolvaen has taken that initiative,” Brannis told
her. “It is safe to know, now that you are out of the city, but he is the one
leading the opposition.”

“How do you know?” Soria wondered aloud. The last bit of
rabbit dripped sweet sauce onto the
Sand Piper
’s polished deck as the
skewer drooped limply in her hand.

“He tried to recruit me to his cause,” Brannis replied.

There was a metallic clatter as the skewer dropped from
Soria’s neglectful grasp. With a warrior’s instincts and a debutante’s tenuous
hold on newfound propriety, the skewer disappeared overboard before anyone
could turn to see what had happened. All anyone might have seen was a slippered
foot retreating beneath a frilly pink dress of a very innocent young bride as
she spoke with her new husband by the railings.

“He really did that?” Soria asked in a loud whisper once
bystanders had returned to their previous distractions.

“Yes, came right out and made his case, too. He left no
doubt. He told me that Rashan and I would not be able to coexist in the long
term, and that eventually he would grow wary of me, and find an excuse to kill
me. He seemed to think I had the potential to swing the balance of power
against Rashan.”

“Well, you have all the power and control of an untrained
monohorn. Sure, you ought to be able to hurt something if you got hold of it,
but you’re no warrior, at least not with aether. You’re just a really, really
impressively dangerous firehurler. Don’t think you can fight someone like
Rashan, or even Dolvaen, if it came down to it. I don’t like how you’re
sounding like you’re getting caught right in the middle of this.”

“Well, if I wait it out, I might not have to choose sides.
Rashan seems to suspect something is amiss, but is not concerned by it. Keep in
mind, it is not just him; Caladris and my whole family seem solidly behind him,
plus who knows how many others, not to mention the army seems to have warmed to
him,” Brannis said.

“Have you told Rashan about Dolvaen’s offer?” Soria asked.
“If you want to avoid a conflict, why not just let Rashan take care of the
traitors?”

“I am not sure he is in the business of killing traitors,”
Brannis replied. “He may have killed my father and your grandfather for treason,
but he has let many others walk free who he knows are guilty. He will wait
until he has another reason for killing them. He told me of his cynical method
for resolving mysterious crimes: let a few guilty ones run free, and cull them
when you need a scapegoat. He might well hold onto the knowledge until he sees
some better reason to kill Dolvaen, and in the meantime, I gain an enemy; I am
sure word of it would get back to Dolvaen. He is too clever.”

“Have you ever considered that maybe I was just the one you
should have wanted to keep close by? This sort of thing is far closer to my
domain than wars with cannons and dragons. Your sister tried to accuse me of
those murders—stopped me in the middle of the palace and everything—but she
wasn’t far from the mark. I wasn’t the killer but I certainly could have been.
For the right reason, I could be.”

“If you are looking for me to thank you for killing Duke
Pellaton, then fine: thank you. I had assumed you wished that incident kept
quiet, but here in Tellurak, I do not quite think any harm will come of saying
it.”

Soria's eyes widened. “You knew?” she asked. “Did Rashan say
something about it?”

“I was the one who told him—and told him that he was better
off with a younger, more pliable Duke Pellaton. The man threatened me, then the
next thing we know, he wakes up dead, with a goblin dagger stuck in him. Really
now … there was one dead goblin assassin with no dagger, and one goblin dagger
in a dead duke. Not a lot of people got out into that hallway the morning
before the battle, but if none of the others who were there picked up on that,
shame on them.”

“Oh. Well … you’re welcome. It was probably not the wisest
decision I’ve made, but I guess it all worked out, right?”

Another gust sucked the warmth from Brannis’s core, and set
him to shivering again before the blow passed. The ship was taking the northern
route around the Takalish coast before heading out into the deep Katamic to
make the crossing to Acardia. The southern route was shorter and warmer, but of
late, it had been beset by pirates. The captain of the
Sand Piper
was a
cautious man who was paid handsomely to ferry his passengers safely to their
destination. If that meant a long, chilly voyage via the northern coast, so be
it. The Mad Tinker kept the waters near his islands north of Takalia well clear
of pirates.