The Sah'niir

by Kim Wedlock

  Owan's eyes dropped back to the face of the remarkably nondescript man. He'd always fancied that he'd know a spy when he saw one, but this man's face - kind, almost, with a strikingly regular nose and soft eyes, framed by hair that was neither too long nor too short, too tidy or too unkempt - well, he found himself quite suddenly doubting his own life-long acquaintances.

  Paranoia began creeping in, and the longer he stared at the portrait, picking those normal features apart, the darker the man's eyes grew - until, finally, they appeared to stare straight back at him, picking apart his own thoughts and secrets while disarming him with a friendly look.

  Alarmed, he rolled the parchment away and cast it back on the table.

  "But he wasn't the only rogue present in Bowden this afternoon." He returned quickly to the grand magister who had roused from his own simmering thoughts. His eyes were suddenly sharp, and he studied the younger man closely. "Rathen Koraaz was also there."

  "Rathen?"

  Arator nodded. "He wasn't involved. If anything, it seemed he was about to try to stop the rebels when they launched into their attack, but he was stopped himself. By a companion, I would guess. He fled with him, at any rate."

  He continued to watch him, and Owan felt as though his thoughts were being assaulted now by his own superior. A man he'd always believed he could trust. "He hasn't been in touch with me since," he replied, forcing away his dubiety. "I haven't the faintest idea what he's truly up to, only suspicions."

  "And you've shared them with me to no end." He sighed and rose from behind his tidy desk to stare out through the window, searching, as he so often did, for solutions across the lantern-spotted, banner-strewn city. "There's too much magic running rampant out there, and we haven't the first clue how to stop it..."

  "We're trying, Grand Magister."

  He turned him an apologetic smile. "I didn't mean anything by that, my boy. But, I fear, no matter how you go about it, control over the matter will continue to elude us."

  A soft and pleasant whisper of breeze slipped in through the open window. The two savoured its brush, and stood a little easier as they felt it tug away some small thread of worry.

  Arator turned back to his desk and cast him another weary smile. "I'm sorry, Owan. It's really quite late. You should be sleeping - though I take it from the look you wore as you came in that you were still at work. Rest, Owan. You'll have enough sleepless nights ahead of you."

  "M-my lord?"

  The old man nodded gravely. "And so you should look alarmed. It's only three or four weeks away now, isn't it?"

  "Oh..." he smiled with some relief. "Yes, yes, it is."

  "Then make the most of the freedom you still have. A child is a wonderful thing - but it's also the greatest test of endurance. Be sure you're in the best shape for it. Good night, Owan."

  "Yes, thank you - good night, my lord."

  The door clicked shut, and two deeply troubled sighs heaved.

  On the western side of the city, secreted at the furthest edge of the stately district, equal unrest clouded the night.

  In a room that was a touch too small for its fireplace and luxury, several particularly warm and expansive lights hung whimsically beneath the vaulted ceiling. Their glows were cast back brilliantly by the vast collection of mirrors, and the room appeared as though it were full of a thousand miniature suns. But while the light bounced from their silver surfaces, the opulence did not stretch endlessly into their depths.

  Instead the mirrors presented pictures of dark streets lit by lanterns, surrounded themselves by moths; of people both alone and in small groups moving on towards their homes on quick or staggering feet, and of the occasional cat or mouse scurrying about its own vital nocturnal business.

  But these mirrors showed more than just pictures, for the sound that accompanied them was not imagined. The shift and shuffle of travel-weary horses filling the stables of several inns, the drunken singing and raucous laughter inside the emptying taverns, the hushed giggles and promises of couples visiting empty squares and grounds in the most private depths of night.

  But even pushing into the blackest hours of the morning, from some of those elegantly framed windows came worry. Distrust. Anger. The overwhelming frets of people who were all afraid for their lives, who doubted their safety from the camps of hooligans and barbarians on their doorsteps while their own military were too busy picking the dirt out from between their toes to do anything about it.

  'Useless,' hissed some, while 'trust in the general,' soothed others; 'we'll do it ourselves,' vowed a few as they picked up formidably-edged work tools, and 'it's all a conspiracy to raise taxes', slurred others over four empty tankards.

  Salus had heard it all too often, and though it vexed him, he was more concerned with what he wasn't hearing. Across thirty six mirrors, there was no sight of the subject that so distressed them. Across thirty six mirrors, not one of them watched Doana's camps.

  As that fact floated about him like a thick cloud of flies, he began to feel deserving of those words, even though they were not aimed towards him. The Arana, after all, was a myth - which in itself meant an imperfectly-kept secret - but no one gave them any honest thought. And so it was only natural that the public held Moore to blame for the inaction. Martial scouts were only trained for gathering tactical knowledge and intercepting messengers; it was his people's job to get into the enemy camps and gather the truly sensitive information they needed in order to lay out timing, priorities and fortifications.

  But the longer the people complained about and lost faith in the military, the harder the Crown would come down on him. And while he couldn't care less what the Crown thought, the people's dismay was unpleasant. It needed to be corrected, and fast.

  As fast as yesterday.

  That afternoon, Doana had moved again, and this time without the military's provocation. They'd proceeded as though they were preparing a three-pronged attack on Turunda's forces, reached the cusp, then aborted just one step before Moore could give the order to meet them. It was like running to the end of a jetty to dive into the water, then stopping suddenly at the very last moment to stare into the depths while the dust kicked up behind carried on over the edge.

  But the unlikely action was no mistake; there was no deterioration of his chain of contact this time around. Doana were baiting them. They wouldn't make the first move, but their food supply was thinning thanks to General Moore's efforts, and they were no doubt growing restless. But even so, Salus had other suspicions: their sudden activity could also mean that they were making progress elsewhere.

  His eyes travelled towards the dark streets of Kora, framed in lavish golden filigree. There had been no word from the city. But that meant nothing.

  It could also have meant that they knew he'd discovered their lockbox - and that in turn suggested that it may well contain more than just a contingency plan.

  Regardless, whatever their goal, whatever their motive, Doana remained a threat as long as they had a foothold in Turunda. The longer the stalemate lasted, the more time they had to search, and there was nothing to stop them from storming Kora altogether if things fell out of their favour. The damage they could cause while the military stood around umming and ahhing at their intentions could be catastrophic. And he would get the blame for it.

  All of this lead him neatly to one further, irritating conclusion: Doana weren't just baiting, they were attempting to confuse. With every feint Turunda's prudent general didn't fall for, Doana gained the upper hand, and the moment they did finally strike, no one would move until it was too late.

  And that in turn produced yet another: Moore had no choice but to make the first move. Far better to hit them hard and fast than wait and see what else would happen, and rattle their scavengers in the city in the process. If their back-up was suddenly engaged ahead of any schedules, that would set a fire beneath them and evaporate their focus.

  But while their most recent bluff would have alarmed the good general, it would not h
ave been enough for him to make rash decisions. Moore would need provoking...

  Salus shifted in his seat. His stiffness reminded him that he hadn't moved for quite some time. But with such a perfect position to oversee the hidden goings on of the country, why would he go anywhere else?

  He chose not to acknowledge the answer his own body presented with the overpowering arrival of yet another yawn.

  The few spies he'd had within Doana's camps had been murdered weeks ago - it was something he'd come to expect when he began to recognise Doana's own sly competence - and he hadn't bothered to replace them. It wasn't a trick he could pull twice. But while he had others watching from outside, it wasn't enough; their movement was sudden and they hadn't been close enough to hear the plans.

  But with spells, he could see and hear it all as it happened, and he could act upon it immediately. That was why he'd created the spell in the first place...

  Then his next move was simple: establish surveillance inside the camps, and as soon as possible. It would be a challenge, but it was achievable with the right people.

  Otherwise, provoking Moore would be easy. It was no trouble to stage an attack by the opposition - countless wars had been triggered by a third party's meddling, and in the end, the sooner a brooding war began, the sooner it was over, and the better then for everyone. And doubly so in this case, since his own country was directly involved.

  A soft knock came at the door, a familiar knock that made his chest flutter, and an identity confirmed when the door opened before he could grant permission. He looked up as Taliel stepped in, her soft face marred by a look of concern. It looked that way increasingly often these days. He was busy - perhaps too busy. But she understood. She must have. She had to.

  "Salus," she said in that achingly soft voice, "come to bed. You need sleep."

  His eyes drifted back to the mirrors even as his mind processed a response, but it never made it out. It took him a long while to finally rise to his feet, and even then his gaze continued moving from one image to another, just in case he'd missed something. He didn't pull himself away until another, firmer knock sounded, and he looked up at this new arrival beside whom Taliel now stood with perfectly trained composure, staring at the opposite wall.

  "I apologise for the intrusion, Keliceran," the young man said formally, his own gaze fixed to the fireplace, "but the box is open."

  The sag of Taliel's shoulders was barely visible, and indeed, Salus didn't notice it. His eyes brightened, though they were still edged in fatigue, and with one final sweep across the mirrors, he followed the young man out.

  Chapter 42

  Rathen release a long, deep breath as his eyes roved the veiled sky, his notebook open and forgotten in his lap. A thick sheet of iron clouds, laden with the scent of promised rain, diffused the sun and cast a pleasant coolness through the air. Like the shield of a colossal knight in one of Aria's story books, the sloping fields were guarded from the worst of the summer's heat and all life seemed to slow down and breathe in the respite. Birds looped and cavorted without fear of exhaustion, and jackalopes and deer alike ventured out beyond the safety of the trees to graze in the open meadows.

  But, despite being so often at the mercy of the elements, he did not relish the lull.

  Though the clouds were far from breaking, each of them continued to search the sky, but the location of the sun remained in the realms of guesswork. Such had been the unchanging case since they'd stopped what felt like hours ago, and with no way of knowing one way or the other, they were left with little choice but to continue watching and waiting for noon, when the winds were supposedly at their strongest, at the foot of the High Dells right where the ditchlings had told them to, eyes pinned to the clouds in search of the harpies' approach and wondering all the while if they were any wiser to the time.

  Rathen watched as restlessness crept in over the others, until only Eyila and himself, as a long-suffering father, seemed to have any kind of patience. While Aria kept herself busy climbing the trees, Anthis stared off in the opposite direction, up towards the mountains, and it was plain that his anticipation was for the impossibly isolated ruins above. Petra stood and strode, then stood, then strode, sending irritated glances back towards Garon who himself paced unendingly back and forth, setting everyone else further on edge. Lost in a cloud of thought, his hand was balled at his mouth. His fingers were only half-curled, Rathen noticed from his seat at the foot of a tree, and he dwelled on that for a time rather than on Anthis's translated papers.

  Finally, a familiar shriek pierced the cool air.

  All eyes snapped towards the north, their guard rising on instinct though the six avian shapes sweeping down towards them from over the conifer treetops were sorely expected.

  Eager for progress, their bags were over their shoulders before they could distinguish the colour of their feathers from the bleak grey of the sky, but any gratitude they'd prepared for their temperamental allies was dismissed before it could be offered. "Come," was all the leading harpy said, and not one of them alighted. Instead they bared their menacing talons, as long as the length of a full and open hand, and eyed them one by one with menacing yellow eyes they still found difficult to meet.

  But despite more than a few misgivings, Rathen steeled himself and stepped forwards. Aria kept close to his side. Eyila followed, and Garon an instant later, until they were all standing within frightful reach of the gleaming black talons. Rathen ushered Aria forwards; she took a little more encouragement than he'd expected, but he found she was rather occupied with staring up at the raptorial figure in awe. He turned and met the leader's sharp, yellow gaze directly. "Be careful with her."

  The harpy's feathered head bobbed once, hopefully in understanding, and her legs stretched out towards her. Aria extended her little arms out to the sides and the talons clamped snugly around them. Rathen winced at the perfect fit, but chose not to dwell on the designs of predator and prey and instead stepped bravely towards the next. The others uneasily followed suit, but before anyone had a moment to brace themselves, there came a sharp and unyielding pinch, a powerful thrash of air, a lurch of their stomachs, and the ground beneath their feet was suddenly replaced by the surging rush of treetops.

  And then flooded cold, instinctive terror. Thought shut down as their feet attempted to tread on empty air and every cell in their body screamed that it was wrong, that the most important thing in the world was for their feet to return to safe and solid ground even sooner than humanly possible. But once they forced themselves past that ancient fright, through helpless necessity if nothing else, there came the most shocking, most wonderful thrill.

  Their breath was snatched away from their lips, their hair roiled and whipped violently across their cheeks, grasps adjusted and pinched a little deeper into their arms, but not one of them cared. A few, unaware of the activities of their vocal chords, even howled in elation as they rose higher into the chilling air and watched the conifer forest rush by like a raging green river. They saw for miles so vast it challenged belief, as far even as Bowden, three days behind them, and the sloping meadows seemed as flat and easy as a slackened sea. They thought they could even see the dark, imposing edge of the Wildlands.

  But of them all, Eyila delighted the most; tears of wonder blown from her childlike eyes, lips dry in their exuberant smile. And Anthis beamed in joy for her.

  The harpies had made the effort to be far gentler with their holds this time around - it was still dismally uncomfortable, of course, and as miles flashed by in minutes, Rathen found himself wishing, if only for a moment or two, that someone had thought about slings or harnesses.

  They soared higher and the air turned frigid. Thinning trees gave way to bare rock, cracked from the touch of winter immemorial. And as the mountains filled their sight, their spirits abruptly shattered.

  The air became as cold as death, the sound of wingbeats became as monotonous as a charnel clock's pendulum, and what had a moment ago been a marvel was now an omen.<
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  A river of black - a rend of darkness; the chasm had carved its way through the mountains like an axe through flesh. It tore up the valleys, skirting the largest peaks, and sundered brutally straight through the younger, leaving their faces massacred in its wake. It was devastation, cataclysm - it was worse than they could have imagined. And yet, now faced with its magnitude, no one could recall their expectations.

  And it was splintered, they noticed dreadfully. As though two separate rifts had met, one from the north towards Dustwatch, and the other from the east, from Ivaea. Their true sources were unknown, hidden well beyond the secrecy of the mountains, but they each hoped dearly that it was but one single, indecisive rupture.

  The rush of air began to slacken and the wingbeats became measured and irregular, and the snow-patched ground began reaching up towards them. Purpose set in to override their hopelessness, and they prepared to land. It was only then that they realised they had no idea how. A few began treading air in the hopes of hitting the ground at pace, and others drove their feet out ahead of them to aid in the deceleration. Instead they were dropped a foot or so from the ground, and none had a graceful landing. Rock had never felt so hard.

  Eyila was the only one set down gently, but she hadn't her feet to stand upon, and despite their outwardly callous conduct, the harpies all sent the Ayavei girl looks of concern. The others were quick to notice the glaze of her eyes, too - all but for Rathen, who had succumbed to the raging magic in the same urgent manner he always did. He was left to Aria's care while the rest recovered their bearings.

  Settling his reeling head and stomach and pushing aside his own grudgingly shaken awe, Garon began to study their surroundings.

  They had alighted within a sunken ring of tall, jagged menhirs set within the snow of this brief levelling of the mountainside. Facing the peaks, the furthest edge of the ring sloped upwards into a gentle hill, and more stones could be seen embedded within the middle of the elevated face through the ice. Aside from the thaw-cracked stone, the barrows were identical to those at Borer's Teeth, if more frozen than sodden.