by Kim Wedlock
"The eight-point star symbols that denoted caches of information, scattered across ruins ancient even in their own time." Anthis gestured again with the loose pages. "A small rebellious faction disagreed with the direction their culture was taking, individuals with the very unpopular opinion that the importance of material wealth and status had corrupted their people almost to the point of being irreversible. They acted out, killing, stealing, sabotaging anything they could from those who ranked above them to prove that a life lived magically, without respect for the gods or the world around them, would be their downfall. They were right, in a way, but it was a desperate and ill-conceived method and what they expected to achieve, I really can't guess.
"These pages don't reveal that much - they seem more like a confession, an attempt at catharsis. There's probably a lot more in the rest of his journal, wherever that is, but--yes, sorry. Ultimately, what they sought isn't important because they didn't succeed, there were too few of them, and their impact was so minor that it was never recorded. What does matter is that a few of these idealists were acquaintances of Kruik Vuthal."
"You mean he was working with them?"
"No, but he was worried for them and afraid of what might happen if high society decided to retaliate. So he hatched a plan."
Aria stared, enraptured despite being far too young to understand political struggles, and even Eyila seemed to miss the complexities. But the others listened with intrigue, eating the peppered heron-chicken slowly, welcoming the distraction from their overshadowing ordeals. Everyone but Garon, of course, who remained standing just outside the circle, eyes searching, hand on the hilt of his sword, his shoulder rolling and fingers attempting to flex.
"Vuthal was, by both social standards and historical records, a nobody, but he was clever enough to devise the Zikrahlehveyn. It was meant as a means of suspending the magic from any attacking force rather than harming them and fighting back, be they moving against his friends, or his friends themselves if they were about to attempt something too foolish. The thing was that its creation would involve activity that could never go unnoticed. So, rather than risk drawing attention to himself or, more importantly, to his friends and being stamped traitors together, he approached the qu'ulas, buttered him up with everything he'd want to hear - that he had the most powerful magic, was the grandest, the most handsome, the most intelligent and so on - and told him that he could make him a weapon so powerful that he could secure his status for eternity without ever having to use it. The qu'ulas accepted quite eagerly, apparently, and that gave Vuthal the clearance to put his plan into action without raising suspicion." He sighed then, and his smile faltered a fraction as pity edged in. "He succeeded, as we know, but the qu'ulas appropriated it as soon as it was finished. He paraded it in front of his people with a rallying and tactical speech, which was described here as a 'threat masquerading as wonder', describing its ability to silence in an instant the magic within an enemy's veins and declaring elves at the very top of the chain of power - and himself above them, no doubt. And while the qu'ulas didn't actually say it, Vuthal goes on to presume that it was right then that the suggestion of elves being greater than the gods and the Zi'veyn being the proof of it began to crop up, and that that was their next step. The idea circulated very quickly."
He absently tapped the journal beside him. "Drekath Svol, while not tied to the creation of it, was close enough to the qu'ulas to know of the Zi'veyn, if not its truth, and to know that he intended to use it. He was wrong, though, but I think that was more to do with timing - the elves were destroyed before the qu'ulas had the chance."
"So," Eyila frowned sadly, "Vuthal's plan backfired. Not only did the Zi'veyn encourage the exact behaviour his friends were fighting against, but the qu'ulas took it and there was nothing to stop him from using it against them."
"Nothing but the fact that the rebels hadn't been discovered yet. Apparently most of their activity had been put down to dissent among humans because magic wasn't involved. They used their hands instead to make a point."
"And I bet they made no attempt to alleviate the blame." Petra grunted in disapproval. "Well?" She asked tartly, feigning disinterest. "What did his friends have to say?"
"I doubt they were impressed. He'd just handed their king the means to oppress anyone that stood against him, and they stepped up their own activity because of it. Many of them were eventually rooted out and killed and the whole matter covered up for fear it would make the qu'ulas's authority look weak. He'd made it worse by trying to make it better. And while he didn't have the weapon, he did have the drafts for its creation and, subsequently, its destruction. But he knew the qu'ulas would be aware of that so he set out to scatter the information where he'd never think to look for it, so he couldn't strengthen it, alter it or make another, while they could make another to use against it if they had to. Then he fled with the remaining rebels."
Aria's bright eyes were as big as saucers. "And then?"
"No idea. But after seven hundred years, my money's on that he died."
Petra grunted again. "He was clever enough to make the thing, but it was pretty stupid to tell the king what it actually did."
"If he'd told him any less, he wouldn't have been allowed to make it."
"He could have lied."
"We've only met elves once," Rathen mused, "but I doubt it would be that simple. It's possible that they could not only sense magic in use like Eyila and I can, but also the intent of the spells."
"Smudge the truth, then."
"Well the qu'ulas's speech was probably all fluff anyway. He knew what it could do, but I doubt he understood the workings of it. They turned away from the God of Mind just the same as the rest, and that didn't just mean they abandoned philosophy; odds are they wouldn't have had much care to put too much thought into anything just to understand the intricacies of how things worked. As far as he was concerned, the weapon had been made, it was in his hands and, if Rathen's right, the magic sensed in its creation would have corroborated what he'd been told it could do. And after being told by all his adoring fans that he was the most powerful, he probably thought it would obey his command in a heartbeat. But in the end, without Vuthal's help, he probably couldn't have used it. Even the idea of turning it against the gods was bluster, not to mention that it was just that: an idea."
"Then it couldn't have done it?"
"I doubt it, but they never had the chance to test it."
"They had the gods worried, though."
"Worried, or offended?"
Rathen peered thoughtfully over at the pages, illuminated by firelight. "Why didn't you find these before?"
He blinked. "Well the book's old - I didn't want to tug at anything that was loose and they were matted into the other crinkled pages..."
"This is all very interesting," Petra sighed impatiently, setting her bowl, empty of any scraps from the meagre meal, a little too firmly on the ground, "but how exactly does it help us? This is pointless information. In fact, even if we didn't have the Zi'veyn yet, it would still be pointless information."
The atmosphere shattered. Anthis lowered his books in silence and turned his attention to his own bowl, its contents long cooled, while Aria shuffled nervously closer to her father. Eyila fired the duelist a sharp look, but this time she didn't acknowledge it. Though she was very aware. Petra's lips formed a hard line.
"It could become relevant," Garon replied from the edge, quite unaffected. "We're moving against the Arana and Salus has elves at hand, not to mention that we don't know whether or not we're being tracked by Tekhest."
"I don't see how knowing why it was made will have any impact on that. If it was a technique for using it against them, fine, but this is just pointless."
"Garon's right. In knowing why it was made, we know what it was originally designed to do, and that could help us against them. And anyway, he's a historian; he's not had to put his work on hold for this."
"No, he hasn't, but now that we have the Zi'v
eyn and we've got it working, the matter is all on you, Rathen. He's not going to discover anything of use to us anymore." She actively avoided brushing Eyila with her gaze.
"If he wasn't still needed, I would have dismissed him to resume with his life, not keep him in harm's way out in this miserable place." The inquisitor turned away to leave the matter and continue surveying the area. His tongue, however, had other ideas. "I've tried to dismiss you countless times."
Her cheeks flushed suddenly in anger, and burned all the brighter as each pair of eyes fell mutely upon her. "Yes," she snapped, "of course. Because I'm just a tag-along, aren't I?"
"Petra, I'm sure Ga--"
"If you were needed, you would have been recruited."
"Garon, she has been needed," Anthis reminded the back of his head. "As has Eyila. Even Aria has pulled her weight and I doubt you wanted her to come along, either." He sent the little girl an apologetic smile. She smiled back, but her eyes were wide beneath a furrowed brow as they flicked nervously back onto the seething duelist.
"Rathen," the inquisitor began shortly, "is Aria's only family, and Eyila's was killed. Neither of them had any choice but to come with us."
"Yes but Petra volunteered for it, and she's taken up half of the watch without ever having been asked."
"She wasn't asked because it wasn't wanted. I don't need anyone's help."
Aria flinched as Petra rose sharply to her feet, and indeed the rest of them froze for a heartbeat, too. But she didn't shout. She didn't lash out. She didn't even snarl. She turned around, walked away from the circle, snatched her blades from beside her bed roll and vanished into the night-drowned swamp.
All eyes returned to the back of the inquisitor's head.
"Well done."
He glanced around as Rathen rose to his feet, an intense disapproval shadowing his dark face. Garon straightened against it and squared himself towards the others' matching expressions. "If she wants to indulge hurt feelings, she shouldn't be out here," he declared. "You all seem to have forgotten that we are being hunted by the Arana. They almost killed us three days ago, and they won't have lost our trail just because we've ventured into a swamp."
"People skills aren't taught in the White Hammer, are they?"
Rathen left to follow her trail. Garon turned his back coldly to the fire once again. "You should all get some sleep. We move on in the morning."
"To Mokhan?" Anthis frowned doubtfully. "You're sure--"
"No! To Wrenroot!" Aria looked around at the confused looks Anthis and Eyila shot her, the latter of whom appeared about to make her own interjection, and the growing irritation of the inquisitor. Her eyes widened with regret. "Well, we promised Nug that we would fix Wrenroot second..."
Garon was already shaking his head. "No. Wrenroot is--"
"You're quite right, Aria." Anthis ignored him as he spun. "We did promise. And we'll keep it. There's no use turning more friends against us." He glanced up at the inquisitor's grunt and watched him march away to indulge himself in a solitary patrol. He smiled slightly to himself, grinned at Aria, then tightened as Eyila leaned closer between them, her young, unpainted face striking in the firelight even with its wrinkle of confusion, and dropped her voice low. "Who is Nug?"
Chapter 18
Rathen stopped short when he found himself suddenly staring down the length of a blade.
A sigh of irritation came from the other end, and Petra returned it roughly to its sheath - after taking a moment to think about it, first. She then grunted an apology and turned curtly back to the lake. The dismissal was plain.
"It's all right," he replied despite it, "and I'm sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you."
"You didn't."
"...No," he agreed mildly. "No, just being cautious." She didn't respond - in fact her silence was down right hostile - but he leaned against a tree anyway, folded his arms and stared leisurely out across the bleak body of water.
She knelt down at its edge and waited. Her patience didn't stretch far. "I'd like to bathe, Rathen."
"Should I leave?"
"I would prefer that you did."
He nodded and obeyed. Slowly. He barely managed a full turn before the expected groan of defeat.
"Wait."
He stopped and turned in feigned surprise, but when he found himself suddenly facing someone else, he started as if she'd returned the point of the blade to his nose. Her face, a moment ago so harsh, was now creased in the most hopeless dismay, and the proud and rigid line of her shoulders had dropped into a slouch. She appeared younger - helpless. Her walls, so recently reinforced, remained, but it appeared that she'd at least pulled aside the gates.
"Why..." her weary expression twisted further. "Why did he say all of that? He didn't need to say it..."
Rathen leaned back against the tree and resumed his observation of the clouds reflected across the water surface, sparing her the discomfort of his gaze. "He's a difficult man," he replied musingly. "But I don't think it has anything to do with his position, I think it's him. I think he likes to stay in control - of us, of the route, of the situation. Of himself. He's guarding himself against something, and forcing this distance is how he does it. He never lets his walls down."
"Mm..."
"And it upsets you." His gaze didn't touch her even as she whipped around in startlement.
"What?! Of course not. Why would it upset me?"
"Ah. Then I must be imagining your irritation every time he brushes your help aside. Otherwise you wouldn't keep trying, would you? Though you'd think you'd have learned better by now." He grunted in consideration. "But, then again, Elle wasn't quite so warm when I was trying to catch her attention, either."
"What?" He didn't need to look to know that her eyes were wide and coloured with the same blanket of clueless innocence Aria attempted whenever she knew he'd discovered she'd brought Oat into her bedroom to play. She sighed, beaten once again. "Is it that obvious?"
"Only to people who care." This time he did look, for she jerked in surprise. First he thought it was at the fact that he cared, then considered it was just the fact that he'd said it. Neither sat well. "I'm not heartless," he informed her.
"I never said you were. You'd have to have quite a big heart to win two women..." She answered his flat look with a lopsided smile. "I'm sorry."
His gaze returned to the lake, and he stepped forwards from the edge of the trees to stop beside the water. A pair of nightlarks swooped overhead. They watched them dance and dive through the air, the bluer of the two making impressive loops and flits while the smaller and duller seemed to scrutinise the movements closely. Neither spoke for a few minutes.
"Have you considered," he began, startling her out of her rapture, "that it's you he's trying to protect?"
"Me?"
"His job is a dangerous one."
"I can handle myself. I have so far. And he knows it."
"Of course he knows it. But that wasn't what I meant." She frowned, bemused, but he retained his distant pondering, watching the blue bird dart close to the surface of the water to repeat his ballet with a perfectly choreographed partner. "Say the best were to happen - that it all worked out and you, being the strong-willed and capable young woman you are, decided to follow him out on a mission one day. I presume you would do so without asking him because he would never allow anything to compromise his work - so what if, when you found him, you got tangled up in whatever he was dealing with? That things got out of control all of a sudden because you didn't know the details and you got hurt, or killed?"
She said nothing. His gaze travelled down to her. Her eyes were absorbed in thought. "I wouldn't--"
"We may only have known each other for a few months, but I know you well enough to know that you most certainly would."
She turned away with a snort. "This is just conjecture anyway. He's not interested."
He looked back across the lake. "My point is," he continued mildly, "that he thinks hard, he thinks deep, he considers every po
ssibility. His walls are up for a reason. Perhaps he doesn't want to let you get close. Or perhaps you're just irritating him. Who knows what's going on in his head? He certainly isn't going to tell us."
"No, he isn't."
"No. He'll just brood over things. Storm off. Then release it through tart remarks. Throw up walls, thicken the atmosphere, make this whole ordeal even more difficult--"
"All right." She folded her arms tightly, disguising her embarrassment as annoyance. Again, neither spoke for a while. The birds had disappeared.
Her voice, when it came, was small. "What should I do?"
"I really don't know."
"Well...what did you do with Elle?"
A smile flickered. "I chased her. Endlessly. Then I threatened to cast a love spell over her."
"Really?"
"No!" He grinned. "I just kept chasing her. But," his tone softened as sobriety returned, "she isn't Garon. With him..." He grappled for the end of the sentence, then soon shook his head. "He's a closed book. Tightly locked, in fact. I couldn't begin to guess. Nor would I want to."
"Well, what if it was you?"
"Me?"
"If someone was chasing you."
He thought for a long moment. "Me, personally...I suppose I like to cause myself grievance. A woman who will take command even if I know better, and then prove me wrong. So, if I was being chased, I would want her to confront me and tell me exactly what she wanted. And not give me a choice about it."
Petra smiled, mixed between amusement and fascination. "Really?"
"I was chasing Elle, it's true, but she stopped running, turned around, told me exactly what she thought and gave me one chance to change her mind."
"Which you did."
He chuckled. "Only just. But it was enough."
"What about Kienza?"
He faltered, struck for a moment by guilt, brief but intense. Petra didn't miss it. "Kienza...she just happened. She saved my life after my banishment and wore me down. Make no mistake, I didn't give in because I was lonely or desperate. She's...truly, she's wonderful. Powerful, confident, affectionate - how could I not fall for her?"