The Path of Destruction (Rune Breaker) Read online

  The lad bore the clear indicators of a family whose genetic legacy had been tampered with. His hair was stark white, shading to extremely light blue, his eyes red like an albino's, and overly large in his head. The overall effect made people look twice, but was nowhere near as drastic as some of the alterations he'd seen Kimean aristocracy inflict on a peasantry they viewed as one mass pool of fodder for their experiments.

  Now he stood, dripping wet, his long, unbound hair sticking to his face, with a look of unbridled excitement on his face. “Mister Tolere! Mister Tolere! They sent me up from the village!”

  Tolere grunted and tried to look like he'd been interrupted in the middle of something important. “What is it, boy? And it had better be a navy bearing down on us to justify entering my office without knocking.”

  The boy hung his head, eyes on the ground. “I'm sorry, Master. Only, they said to come with all haste, and I was already slowed up enough for the rain—didn't wanna slip and crack my head!”

  A waved of Tolere's hand told the boy to get on with it. “You work for me, remember? No one else's orders come before mine and mine are to knock.”

  “Begging your pardon, Master...” The boy stayed near to the door, ready to bolt. A lot of people new to the island behaved that way; like beaten dogs. They eventually came around, once they realized that the steward wasn't a cruel man, he just blustered because he could. “But ma says we work for the Lord of Nhan Raduul, Lord Crossius.”

  Tolere chuckled. “Yes, but beyond the gold he sends to keep the coffers topped up, Crossius hasn't been on this island for more than twice as long as you've lived.”

  “That's just what he said, Master.” said the boy with the wide-eyed expression of a child desperately trying to relate their side of the story before punishment. “He said it's been nigh on twenty years, and that I should run and tell you he was coming.”

  “Who told you this?” Tolere asked, resisting the urge to heave a sigh.

  “Why Lord Crossius, Master. He said he'd be here in an hour.”

  Tolere gaped like a fish on the deck of a ship for a long moment. It couldn't be! After two decades of efficiency and bliss, it was all just going to be torn from him again? He'd gotten used to the life of an autonomous steward, and now he was expected to return to the life of a servant?

  He suddenly knew what he needed to do that day: drink. There was half a bottle of the local brandy in his desk. Like a flash, he went for it, half-shouting to the boy to order the household staff to assemble for presentation in the receiving hall before diving into the fermented salve for his soon to be battered pride.

  ***

  Mon Sulus Kime was a meritocracy that judged its members on their accomplishments in spellcraft with very complex and strict views on what types of spellcraft had merit. But even in the unusual system of hierarchy that existed in the Kimean Isles, an aristocrat was an aristocrat, and Lord Crossius lived up to expectations by arriving two hours after his underlings were all expected to be ready for him.

  The household staff was arrayed in neat ranks according to their station in the receiving hall when the retinue finally arrived.

  Tolere watched their arrival with trepidation and more bitterness than was healthy, but managed to maintain his best posture. He was front and center as the main doors were opened. Storm winds rudely preceded the lord, lashing the servants nearest the doors with cold rain. Just behind it came the oddly small procession of Nhan Raduul's long absent master.

  Lord Ienstadt Crossius entered without a herald to announce him. Tall and thin, he looked much like Tolere remembered him from years ago: the same weak jaw and narrow nose, the same pale skin, and impassive, unchanging expression. His taste of clothing still hadn't changed either. In place of the light, close fitting style preferred in the hotter climes of the islands, Crossius wore extravagant robes in the style of Mindeforme. The only sign that time held any sway over him was the silver that now colored his normally black hair.

  He, of course, was as dry as a desert at noon, thanks no doubt to the spell that hovered above him, occasionally flashing a translucent red and revealing a shape not unlike an enormous jellyfish when the gusting wind drove rain in his direction.

  Also with him was his bride, the Lady Milfine. In all his years serving the couple, Tolere couldn't recall ever seeing her face. Like her husband, she adopted the robes of Mindeforme, but she also supplemented it with a hood that covered all but her eyes; and a veil that covered those. It was a practice she claimed was from Callen, but Tolere had never heard of such a thing.

  She stood in the protection of the barrier, alongside a new face in the Lord's company: a young woman.

  This one was dressed expensively, but in a practical manner: a fitted shirt, dyed dark blue with ivory toggles, heavy trousers of the same color, tied together with a white satin sash, and a spider-silk cloak in white. Her hair was golden, the color storybooks gave to princesses, but she kept it in a utilitarian ponytail held in place by metal decorations of some sort. On her shoulder perched a fantastic specimen of tropical bird; a green, blue and yellow creature whose long tail trailed down the woman's back.

  Behind them came porters, hauling the usual array of chests and oilcloth wrapped packages. Four young men were also carrying something concealed by a tarp and supported between metal poles. By the care they took with it, Tolere was certain they had either been bribed or threatened in regard to its handling.

  At his signal, the whole of the household genuflected to their lord as a sign of respect.

  Crossius drew up short as if he originally intended to walk right through without stopping. Soon however, one thin eyebrow raised and he gestured out of hand. “Rise.”

  The servants slowly did as told. Tolere scrambled to standing and hurried forward like an eager dog. It was humiliating, but that was life in the Kimean Isles.

  “My lord! We are most grateful that the day has finally come for you to return to us.” He stopped a respectful distance away, “As you directed, I have acted as steward in your absence and I dearly hope that you are happy with what I've done these past few years.”

  “It will do.” said Crossius, then he stepped to one side and indicated the young woman. “This is my ward, acquired during my travels; Layaka Emeries-Partha. Her word is to be considered my own.”

  Layaka nodded once and went back to openly leering at one of the maids.

  Tolere made silent note of that. In any other nation, that look might merely indicate dalliances with the help. In the Kimean Isles, it was just as likely the precursor to the maid becoming a test subject for some new spell that might turn her into a monster, or leave her in agony. He knew everyone who worked in the keep, and resolved to schedule things so that this Layaka person couldn't arrange any unfortunate accidents or false criminal accusations for the young woman.

  Crossius continued. “I trust the keep's garrison is still manned and operational?”

  “Of course, my Lord. Three dozen highly trained soldiers, backed by a corps of six military magi.”

  “Excellent. Order them to prepare to be reinforced. I will be bringing mercenaries onto the island via the teleportation array over the next several days. Have them on high alert: while I do this, the island will be vulnerable to scrying and enemy teleportation. Oh. And do you still remember the operation of the keep's magical defenses?”

  Tolere stared blankly, his mouth working on automatic. “Yes, my lord. A-are we at war?”

  “Good. Train three people you can trust in their operation and activate everything.” Lord Crossius's face remained just as impassive as ever as he spoke, like a mask. “And oh yes, war is coming. A power beyond the scope of your imagination is being brought to bear on this island.”

  Before Tolere could speak, Crossius was off and moving again, heading toward the central spiral staircase that serviced the keep. Along the way, he turned and pointed to the men carrying the tarp covered thing. “You. Come with me. I need to find a safe place for that.”


  Milfine followed after with Layaka not far behind. As she moved forward with a grace that seemed akin to floating, there was a faint scraping of clay over the stone floor. “'A great power is being brought to bear on this island'” She echoed sarcastically once they were out of earshot of the servants.

  “In no way is that a lie.” Crossius replied. “I only neglected to mention that 'here' is exactly where I want that power to come.”

  Chapter 2 – The House in the Aether

  Three days out from Daire City found them beyond the hills that surrounded the city and on the grasslands to the south. There, the sun blazed down on endless, gentle slopes of grass kept short by the herds of wild horses, antelope, and thick-necked aurochs that roamed freely.

  Where the army had passed, the vegetation was trampled into the dirt, revealing the bones and gristle of herd animals taken by soldiers to supplement their rations. They were being picked over by sun scarabs: beetles the size of house cats with blue and gold carapaces. These in turn were preyed upon by koshi orms: winged serpents whose verdant scales glittered in the sun.

  The scarabs were harmless, but koshi orms that felt threatened by larger creatures employed a poisonous bite, so Kaiel steered the party slightly westward and out of the direct path left behind by the army. Once or twice, they caught sight of a small pride of spotted lions waiting out the heat of day beneath the rare tree growing out in the open, or mated pairs of moas; distant cousins of ornis birds like Miser, ahunt on the edges of herds.

  When they weren't eating or sleeping, Taylin stayed in the air, riding lazy thermals to keep up with the group with minimal effort. Her increasing silence over the past few days hadn't escaped Kaiel's notice, but every time he tried to talk to her, she said that she was still thinking.

  The only person who could fly to reach her had fallen similarly quiet, but for easier to deduce reasons.

  Ru floated along behind the mounts, legs crossed, robes dragging the grass. The artifact held his complete attention. The day Issacor was laid to rest, Ru told Kaiel that he'd made a breakthrough, and over the past few days, he'd grown increasingly excited and bizarre. He muttered nonsense phrases at the bauble, shook it, and at one point, poured the blood from a rabbit onto it. Such bouts of irrationality were short lived and followed by longer periods of sulking.

  Kaiel found both their behavior increasingly concerning, but there was nothing he could do about it while they were on the move. Instead, he tried to fulfill his promise to Rai and do his best to keep the rest of the group's spirits up.

  Brin had asked earlier what life at the College was like, and so the bulk of the morning was given to his more entertaining anecdotes from his earlier years.

  “...so I come to Sovemeya's office and she tells me to sit down. The entire time, she's looking at me over those thick spectacles as if she were looking at a clown who was seconds away from shenanigans.”

  Rai, riding in a makeshift howda constructed from their supplies secured to Gaddigan's back rather than her own pony, snickered at the imagery.

  “She takes a second, composes herself and says 'Arunsteadeles, I have reviewed your first offering for publication'. I have no idea why she's looking at me like that, so I ask her if I was going to fail the first segment of her class. She lets out a long, drawn out sigh and says, “I cannot mark it a failure, as it is acceptable. You have a proficient grasp of language, your style is nascent, but within the requirements, and the story is reasonable for publication.

  “At this point, I'm very confused, so I ask her what's wrong with what I wrote. Sovemeya looks me right in the eye—and no one stares you down like a native Chordini. They have more types of glare than words for 'love'. She says, 'The problem is that your main character is named after yourself, easily wields powers not even known to the greatest wizards of the Age, and the love interest is clearly meant to be me.'”

  Rai laughed raucously and almost slipped from her perch in the process. “You didn't!”

  Kaiel suppressed a grin. “Actually, no, I didn't. The love interest was meant to be Cellion Zhai, this gorgeous half-elf that sat across from me in Sovemeya's class. But I thought maybe I was only passing because she was flattered and kept my mouth shut. To this day, whenever I'm in the Court of Written Arts, she gives me odd looks.”

  Again, Rai was in stitches, but Kaiel's own mirth was tempered when he noticed the Brin wasn't joining in. He looked to see that she was still atop Miser, riding at his right hand. Her attention, however, was the landscape around them.

  “Something on your mind, Brin?” He asked, voice still jovial from his story.

  At the sound of his voice, her head whipped around, sending her golden mane flying messily about her face and over her pointed ears. Once more, tiny suspicions planted by Ru forced Kaiel to take note of the little differences between Brin and the elves he knew from back home, or Chordin. Complete nonsense, but damn the dark mage all the same for putting it in his head.

  “Sorry” Brin said, more gently than she normally spoke, as if some of her inner strength had been sapped. “But I just realized what track the army is taking. If we keep following it, we'll be passing Idarian Homestead before nightfall.”

  Behind Kaiel, Rai's laughter subsided. The halfling woman gave the elf a sympathetic look. “Where Layaka was from?”

  “Where she said she was from.” Brin said with deep bitterness. “I don't even know if Layaka was ever a real person.”

  Kaiel gazed ahead of them. The tail end of the army was cresting the next hill and there was nothing of the Homestead or the farmland it once controlled yet. “Did you perform any of your docent duties over the dead there? Check for lingering spirits? Because if they died by violence...”

  “There wasn't time. Lay... Partha made it sound like I easily won the day against those spirit beasts—or demons, I suppose—but that's not true. I killed more than my share only because I merged with Reflair, and when I couldn't hold the merge anymore, we had to run.”

  Kaiel ducked his head. Now he understood why she took such care and measures when sealing and cleansing Issacor's grave.

  He opened his mouth to express his sympathy, but Rai beat him to it.

  “The demons should all be dead or gone now.” the halfling pointed out. “You could do... whatever you're meant to do there now.”

  Brin's face brightened, but then she shook her head. “I couldn't waste your time. Not with what's at stake, especially for you.”

  Rai scratched her neck and looked down. She worked hard to maintain the light attitude expected of her kind, but confronted with the threat to her son directly, she had to fight for it. She finally spoke, eyes still low. “We'll be passing it at nightfall, you said. We can't move at night anyway. You can perform your exorcism then.”

  Graciously not attempting to correct the idea that docents performed exorcisms like priests and druids, Brin murmured her thanks.

  Again, Kaiel was about to plunge into another attempt to make the two women feel better when he was interrupted by a string of profanity so old that he only identified it as such by the simmering anger in the speaker's voice.

  “What is it now?” The chronicler tossed over his shoulder without even bothering to look at Ru.

  Ru rumbled a growl low in his throat as he flew closer to the others, still in his cross-legged posture. He clapped the book on his lap shut and waved the artifact in the air as if to shake the secrets from it. “This thrice-cursed device! I have toiled for days to divine its mysteries. And divine, I have. But now, on the cusp of success, I find that whoever created it (may his corpse fester in the bellies of a thousand diseased rats) tied its function to a command word.”

  Giving Brin an apologetic look for her crisis being interrupted, Kaiel turned to diffuse things as quickly as possible so they could get back to discussing the Homestead. “Is that what has you hissing and growling so? Many spellworks require command words. They're rarely difficult to bypass.”

  The dark mage gave him an i
cy glare. “Do you believe that I, with my skill in the art, would be perturbed by something so simple? Basic command words are just trigger phrases. You can easily fool one of those. This... the word is used as a word of power to complete the primary array to make the device function. I would be impressed at the intricacy and creativity if I weren't imagining the spellcrafter responsible being drawn and quartered.”

  Kaiel rolled his eyes and shrugged. “It's still just a pass phrase.” He regarded the draconic character painted on the artifact a moment, then said, “Why don't you try 'home'?”

  “'Home'?” Ru made a sour face at him and looked almost triumphant when nothing happened. “That would be dangerously stupid.”

  “Not 'home', it's written in graphur.” said Kaiel, “Try the draconic word for home ura-la.”

  Ru looked at the device warily, weighing the reward of finally activating the artifact against the disdainful idea of Kaiel being right about something. At length, curiosity won out and he raised the device. “Ura-la.”

  The uneven disk of stone warmed in his hand and the yellow paint that formed the graphur character became golden. There was no other outward indication that it was now in an active state, but Ru's senses felt the surge of vox that was being marshaled as the long dormant array engaged.

  Satisfaction curled his lip as he thrust the device before him. The air rippled from it like the surface of a pond, but those ripples didn't go very far before rebounding from unseen edges, their passage and return outlining a rectangle in the air, five feet wide and eight feet high.

  The ripples continued to move back and forth in the air from the other side, but on Ru's side, they slowly ebbed, giving way to a door of stained wood, carved with patterns of vines and leaves with dragonflies, birds and small bats lurking behind them.

  Seeing only that something had come of Ru's attempts at activating the device, Kaiel wheeled his horse around, intent on putting a stop to any ill deeds the Rune Breaker might have planned with it. Brin wasn't far behind, though she had to catch Gaddigan's reigns to bring him around, as Rai knew nothing of guiding a horse. The well-trained pony only plodded along behind them.