Sourcethief (Book 3) Read online

  Sourcethief

  Book 3 of the Twinborn Trilogy

  By J.S. Morin

  Copyright © 2013 Magical Scrivener Press

  All rights reserved.

  Cover Art by Duncan Long

  duncanlong.com

  ISBN: 1939233135

  ISBN-13: 978-1-939233-13-4

  Table of Contents

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1 - Render Unto Sommick

  Chapter 2 - A Step Down a Wayward Path

  Chapter 3 - Desperate Alliances

  Chapter 4 - A Time for Celebration

  Chapter 5 - New Old Friends

  Chapter 6 - Twice the Bargain

  Chapter 7 - Attention to Detail

  Chapter 8 - The Northern Front

  Chapter 9 - Asymmetry

  Chapter 10 - Plans for Aftermorrow

  Chapter 11 - Next Resort

  Chapter 12 - Lights in the Night Sky

  Chapter 13 - Invitation to a Lair

  Chapter 14 - Meeting My Family

  Chapter 15 - Peacemongering

  Chapter 16 - A Longer Perspective

  Chapter 17 - Back on the Water

  Chapter 18 - A Liar's Game

  Chapter 19 - Trail of the Dead

  Chapter 20 - Familiar Old Khesh

  Chapter 21 - The Twelfth Name

  Chapter 22 - The Fourth Necromancer War

  Chapter 23 - Beginnings of Suspicion

  Chapter 24 - Footprints in the Clouds

  Chapter 25 - Child's Ploy

  Chapter 26 - Where Loyalties Lie

  Chapter 27 - Intent to Fail

  Chapter 28 - The Raynesdark Diversion

  Chapter 29 - The Fate of an Empire

  Chapter 30 - To Keep From Harm

  Chapter 31 - Death Against Death

  Chapter 32 - Unwelcome Visitors

  Chapter 33 - An Age-Day to Remember

  Chapter 34 - Consultation with a Demon

  Chapter 35 - My Perfect Match

  Chapter 36 - To Whom It May Concern

  Chapter 37 - Only the Beginning

  More by J.S. Morin

  Prologue

  Agga was a shriveled shell of a man. Never an imposing specimen in his lifetime, he sat piled in his chair, heaped in blankets to warm his bloodless extremities. Though he wheezed with every breath, and his dry, ashen skin sagged from the bones of his face, he was as frightening a man as Yancy Tarek had ever encountered. Agga the Ratkeeper, folk called him, though each generation seemed to have come up with a new appellation for the ancient seller of secrets.

  "Tarek ... have they all...arrived yet?" Agga asked.

  "They have. The last one, Filius Gromn, got in just this morning, by way of Trebber's Cove. Do you wish to see them?" Tarek asked.

  "No ... not yet ... there is one ... more I expect," Agga said, eyeing Tarek with a look that chilled him. While Tarek could snap his employer's bones by looking at him cross-ways, he suspected that Agga would still find a way to get the best of him. There was a way he had of knowing everyone's schemes that made him seem almost prescient at times.

  "I'm sorry, sir, but all your men are here now. I didn't send for anyone else." Tarek felt it his duty to correct the old man, even though he knew an explanation was forthcoming. That hairless, liver-spotted skull atop Agga's neck was too keen for casual slips. For all his frailties, Agga's mind had not suffered a bit.

  Agga laughed; it sounded like a leaking bellows and ended in a hacking cough that bent the old man in half. Tarek thought for a moment that it would be the end of Agga, right there, at a jest he had yet to explain.

  "I have ... sources Tarek...that you do not...comprehend. There will be...one more...a kinsmen of mine. He will ... be the last."

  "Any idea when I should look for him, sir?"

  "Soon. You should ... go wait," Agga said.

  "Is it true that you will be choosing a successor? That's what the talk is, that you're planning to retire.""Yes. I am ... getting too ... old for this."

  "Then ... um, maybe I might ask how old that really is?" Tarek ventured. Agga lied boldly and habitually about his age, rarely giving the same account twice. His agents had a running bet going, should they ever discover the old man's true age, and each of them had his guess. Rumors of Agga being well over a hundred persisted, but the most any of his men had bet upon was one hundred ten. Tarek had taken eighty-five and hoped that if retirement was on Agga's mind, he might be willing to confess.

  "Forty years, Tarek...only as old as...your mind tells you," Agga said, smiling toothlessly.

  "I'd hoped you'd tell the real number, sir. No offense."

  "None ... taken. But some ... secrets are best ... kept."

  * * * * * * * *

  Tarek sat waiting by the door to the fortress. For being carved into the side of a mountain, it was lavish in its accommodations. The chair was upholstered in velvet with thickly padded arms and a high back. It sat on a Kheshi rug that cost more than most peasants would see in a lifetime. Wall alcoves contained statues and rare baubles from all across Tellurak. Double-doors inlaid with gold stood open to let in the pleasant sea breeze.

  Tarek lounged in his seat, idly tossing a ruby-adorned knife to pass the time. There were more formidable weapons lying about the fortress, but it was a place built for privacy rather than defense. Their true defense was their reputation: bargain with the Circle of Ears, and you would get what you paid for; cross them, and it would be your final mistake. The Circle occasionally hired coinblades to set breached agreements straight, but most often Agga arranged something special.

  Once, King Javin had commissioned the Circle to feed his admirals information on Feru Maru's fleet deployments. The Circle delivered victory into the hands of the Acardian navy, but were never paid for it. Not long after, the king's bedchamber burned. The king and his mistress were consumed in the fire. The crown and royal regalia were found unharmed, piled neatly outside the king's door. Crown Prince Jorin sent a bailiff to question Agga, but the man went missing. The prince paid Agga's price.

  Thus insulated from the cares of defending a place no one would think to attack, Tarek whiled away the hours until a man finally approached. Tarek caught his blade one final time and went to meet the man whom Agga had been expecting.

  The visitor was old, though not decrepit like Agga. He was small of build—a trait that ran among Agga's kinfolk—with grey-white hair pulled back and tied at the nape of his neck. Eyes like spyglasses looked Tarek over, inspecting him, judging him, and—it would seem—approving of him.

  "I am here to see Agga," the visitor said in perfect Acardian, though he had an accent that even the worldly Tarek could not place. The man's dress was no clue either, though it was unusual enough. He was dressed all in black—from the cloak he wore to his boots. He wore scale armor stylized to resemble dragon scales, an extravagance that told Tarek the armor was for show more than practicality. The black scales appeared as if they had been individually lacquered, causing the man's attire to look both expensive and exotic.

  "Got a name I can give him, sir?" Tarek asked, still wondering about his master's guest. The question seemed to give the man pause.

  "I suppose Lord Sunrise will do, for now. Take that for what you will."

  The visitor looked more like a sunset. His face looked worn by time. It was a face that had been used up, wrinkled, speckled with an unshaven mottle of greys.

  "How are you and Master Agga related, if you don't mind me asking?" His expert eye had decided that "Lord Sunrise," or whatever his name truly was, carried no weapon. It put Tarek a bit at ease, if he had to let a stranger into the fortress.

  "If Agga did not tell you, then why should I?"

  It may ha
ve sounded like a question, but Tarek realized that he was not going to get far by arguing the point with his master's guest.

  "Have it your way, your lordship," Tarek relented. "Follow me."

  Tarek led the evasive stranger down into the mountain stronghold. It was still roughly laid out like the mine it once was, years ago. The tiny town of Ratsport, nestled between Mount Fairview and the Canthoun Bay, had once been a mining trade port. It had housed the men who mined the mountain's silver, the men who loaded it onto ships, and few others. The town had been called Silverfall in those days, before the silver dried up and before Agga had reclaimed it from the ruins.

  Every bit of the former mine had been refurbished under Agga's rule. Rough-hewn stone was smoothed and polished, inlaid with mosaics and reliefs. The old timbers were replaced with fitted stone arches. Galleries were carved to make rooms of all sizes, from private chambers to feasting halls and libraries. Tarek pointed out these features to the taciturn Lord Sunrise who looked about a bit but remained silent as they walked.

  Tarek knocked when they reached Agga's private office, but opened the door without pause so that Agga's failing voice was spared the trouble of answering. He was relieved not to have caught the old man in one of his frequent naps.

  "Ahh, excellent," Agga called out. "That will ... be all Tarek. Thank ... you. Your service has ... been of ... great value." It seemed an odd choice of words, and Agga never chose words incautiously. Tarek watched as Lord Sunrise entered the office without further comment and closed the door behind him.

  Tarek settled in next to the door, thinking to eavesdrop. It was a common enough pastime in his line of work, but after several long moments he had heard nothing. Frustrated, he went off to the sitting area near Agga's office to wait until Agga was done with his guest.

  * * * * * * * *

  "This feels so strange," the visitor commented, looking Agga up and down.

  "Agreed. But no ... matter. I am glad ... you made it ... before—" Agga began, but his guest cut him off.

  "Yes, yes, I know. You may fool the rest of them, you senile old relic, but you do not need to tell me," the visitor snapped in reply.

  "Suppose ... I do not," Agga agreed. "Seemed right ... to talk first. Don't you ... think?"

  "Are you ready or not, old friend?"

  "Do you ... think this will ... work?" Agga asked.

  "I have no better idea than you do and you know it. But what choice do you have?"

  "Of course. You ... are right," Agga said. "Before you ... try. I just ... want to ... say thank you. For trying." Agga took a deep, steadying breath. "Go ahead."

  * * * * * * * *

  Tarek had been reading reports of an uprising in northern Khesh. It was old news, but Agga encouraged his agents to study events even if they were a bit dated. Understanding the world better than their competitors was the secret of their success. When the doors to Agga's office were thrust open, Tarek's attention snapped immediately back to his master, and to the mysterious visitor who emerged alone from the office. The visitor closed the doors behind him before Tarek got a chance to see inside.

  "Agga does not wish to be disturbed," Lord Sunrise said, stalking off.

  As curious as he was to see where "Lord Sunrise" had gone, Tarek wanted to speak to Agga. He was on a very short list of men who could disturb Agga when he did not wish to be. When he reached the doors, he found them held fast. The door had neither bar nor lock, deep as it was within Agga's stronghold. Tarek tried again. He put his foot against the wall for leverage, but to no avail.

  "Agga," Tarek called, pressing his cheek to the door. He cupped a hand to cover his mouth lest he raise alarm among the Agga's guests. "Are you all right in there?" He heard no response.

  Tarek went to a supply room nearby and pushed aside a set of shelves. He found the catch in the wall that opened a door, and navigated the unlit passage by feel until he found the catch on the other end—a lever that moved one of Agga's bookcases. Emerging into his master's office he found the old man slumped in his chair.

  Before he even checked, Tarek's instincts told him that it was no nap. He felt Agga's neck for a heartbeat, put a finger under his nose to feel for breath. Agga the Ratkeeper, age unknown, had died just moments ago, his limp body still warm to the touch.

  Tarek rushed to the doors. Though nothing seemed to hold them there, they refused to budge.

  He killed him. He's escaping. I've got to stop him. A moment's clear thinking left the first and second thoughts intact, but vetoed the third.

  Agga has no successor, and this fortress is filled with killers. I have to get out of here before anyone else realizes he's dead.

  Tarek was clever, which was the main reason Agga kept him around as his personal attendant. He decided that the stuck door was a lucky break. He left by way of the secret passage, loosening the catch as he closed it then snapping the handle free just as it locked shut. Let them find their own way in.

  He hurried to his own room and packed as quickly as he could, taking only what he could carry. Coinage, sword-belt, journals, a few clothes—all went into a pack except the sword, which he buckled about his waist. He was gone moments later, departing by a passage that only a few residents of the fortress knew of—a number one fewer since Agga's demise.

  * * * * * * * *

  He could not, even years later, figure what prompted him to remain close by. His rocky outcropping overlooked both the path up to the fortress and the town of Ratsport below. He had made his escape cleanly by way of a footpath that would lead him out of the mountains and to Trebber's Cove by next nightfall. The coin in his pack was enough to start a new life in Marker's Point or mongrel Khesh if he so chose.

  Instead, he saw the stranger emerge from the fortress entrance. Lord Sunrise stopped just outside, turned, and to Tarek's amazement, called forth the forces of hell upon Agga's followers. Flames poured from his hands like the gout of flame from a fire-eater's breath, but a hundred-fold, possibly a thousand-fold greater. For long moments the inferno roared. Tarek imagined screams of burning men coming from within the tunnels, but he was too far for it to be anything but his macabre mind's guess as to what must have been happening within.

  When the flames stopped, the visitor stepped away from the entrance. He gestured to the mountain peak, and the earth shook. Mount Fairview cracked and crumbled, pieces toppling down her side. Tarek crouched low, hoping the ground beneath him would remain intact. The quake continued for a time, and Tarek cowered in terror as he listened to stone falling in quantities his mind could barely comprehend.

  When the shaking had stopped and he lifted his head to see what had transpired, all was gone. Mount Fairview was as tall as ever, but thinner at the top. The entrance to Agga's fortress and the path leading up to it were buried under rock. The town of Ratsport had been crushed into the sea under the rockslide. It reminded him of the old Garnevian tales. When great kings died, the servants were entombed with their master.

  Of Lord Sunrise, there was no sign, but now Tarek knew his true identity.

  "Great blazes, Agga," Tarek said aloud. "Even Death had to take on a disguise to come collect you."

  Chapter 1 - Render Unto Sommick

  Kyrus Hinterdale turned the stone over in his hands, inspecting the facets. Among the more interesting observations he had made since he had begun unraveling the makings of various magical constructs around the imperial capitol was that the speaking stones were not precious stones at all, as he had once thought. The glazier had just returned the new stone Kyrus was working on. A new layer of glass had been added, providing Kyrus a fresh palette upon which to carve the next set of runes.

  Kyrus's workshop was his former office in the Imperial Army Headquarters, overlooking Kalak Square in Kadris. The constant demands of the palace, and the sorcerers and courtiers that swarmed about it, had grown to be too much for him. At least when he ordered one of his officers away, they stayed away.

  At that moment, as if to contradict his thought
, there was a knocking at his door.

  Kyrus rarely bothered to ward the door shut. When he left it unprotected, his men took leave to enter. One of his junior officers, a lieutenant named Shayl, slipped quietly into the room. The thin young man made several adjustments to the tactical map on Kyrus's desk per a set of notes he carried. As he finished, he looked Kyrus's way.

  "That about does it, sir," Shayl said. "Last of the Megrenn cities is garrisoned with our forces."

  "Was that Relleth?" Kyrus asked.

  "Yes sir, just received word. They surrendered to General Crestvale on condition that the womenfolk be spared."

  "Ahh, I gather that our esteemed warlock was not present?" Kyrus asked. Warlock Rashan Solaran had spent half a season inflicting chaos and ruin on the Megrenn people. Nearly half the Kadrin Empire's victories had been won single-handedly by the ancient demon. It was not his habit to take prisoners or to bargain in good faith over surrender terms.

  "Right you are, Sir Brannis," Shayl said, using the name Kyrus was known by in Veydrus. The real Brannis Solaran was living in Kyrus's own homeworld of Tellurak, after an egregious miscalculation in magical transportation displaced Kyrus and his Veydran twin simultaneously. "The regular army has gotten a lot of surrenders the last tenday, since word spread that they accept 'em and the warlock don't."

  "Sir Brannis," a new voice called out from the doorway. Kyrus looked past to see a messenger in palace livery. What now? I set up here to avoid this nonsense.

  "Yes, come in," Kyrus replied, a polite reflex gaining the better of him despite a temptation to shoo the boy away. Boy? Kyrus thought with an internal chuckle. He is probably about my own age, or close enough. I will still only be twenty-three come the first of ...

  Kyrus paused a moment. Kadrin's calendar was all based on seasons, ninety days apiece, and was two seasons set apart from Tellurak and their lunar calendar. Well, I suppose I have the same age-day as Brannis, First of Summer.

  "Sir Brannis, Emperor Sommick the First requests your presence with all practical haste. He is waiting in the main throne room of the palace." An uncomfortable silence lingered as Kyrus waited for him to continue.