Mother of Heretics: Bastards of the Gods Dark Fantasy (Enthraller Book 2)

by T. A. Miles

  “There’s no evidence for…” the sweet voice of the redhead drifted off thoughtfully.

  The cool monotone of the other picked the thought up with a simple, “None.”

  “Very lucky, then.”

  “Very.”

  Dacia’s gaze had been stuck on the mouth that formed the redhead’s words; a very soft line across a narrow, smooth jaw. Her mind was gliding sluggishly between the two speakers and their words that pieced together haphazardly in her current state, fixing around staggered memories of the night before.

  She assumed it was the night before. She could recall running through the streets. For a moment, she entertained notions of a fire, and then a vision of the redhead. He had been helping her somehow. She must have been in an accident…caught in a fire? She blinked and took her gaze slowly from the man in the window, fixing her gaze now on the carefully patterned quilt lain across her and the bed; deep brown with gold and copper leaves embroidered densely over it. It was quite lovely and appeared expensive. This was not home.

  “What is your name?”

  The man in black. She had quickly differentiated their voices in her mind and assigned them to each stranger. Granted, the redhead’s voice held a singular quality. And the man in black practiced minimal inflection, almost none at all.

  “My name is Dacia.” The words formed easily enough, but awakened a rawness in her throat. She swallowed dryly. “Dacia Cambir.”

  A glass of water was offered by the darker man and she accepted, sampling a swallow against the ache in her throat, then drinking down more as it soothed.

  “Our names are Korsten,” the redhead offered. “And Merran.”

  She put their names in what she assumed to be the proper places without further direction, handing the glass back to the black clad man. “Thank you, Master Merran.” When he did not correct her, she settled the matter in her mind.

  “What do you remember, Dacia?” Korsten asked her.

  “Little,” she replied truthfully. “Running toward home…and then a fire. I think it was a fire. Did you pull me from it?”

  Korsten studied her gently, letting her know in that silent moment that her accounting was not quite accurate. Though he confused her somewhat by saying, “In a way.”

  “You were possessed by one of the Vadryn,” Merran told her, rather indelicately for a physician. She could see in Korsten’s tilting of his head and the slight raising of his brow, that he shared her sentiment. It was scarce amelioration for Merran to add, “Briefly.”

  “Possessed?” Dacia echoed and the word offset her inside. Her mind spun a little and her stomach gave a nauseating protest. She’d had peculiar, even disturbing dreams in the past, but possession…

  “A Release spell was performed,” Korsten said, to further educate her and in that, she felt more detached and unable to process.

  “A spell?” As the words came out of her, Merran’s hand fell carefully onto her shoulder.

  “Lie back, Dacia,” he instructed, guiding her to do just that.

  Her head came to rest upon thick pillows and she looked up at the ceiling; timbered and spacious. “I have to get home,” she remembered, feeling Merran’s touch against her forehead once more and letting go of the thought.

  Dacia was a very pretty girl, in a practical sense. She had a moderate to fair skin tone, large brown eyes, a proportionate nose with definition, a smart set of the mouth and brow, thick waves of medium brown hair, and a slim frame that was perhaps just slight of athletic. She appeared to have a fair amount of common sense and a good instinct for survival. The only real mismatch Korsten could see was how her apparent common sense allowed her to be out in the deeper hours of night alone in a city that was not ignorant to its recent dangers.

  “You’re thinking loudly,” Merran informed him while in the midst of another brief checking over of his patient.

  “What do you suppose she was doing out at night, aware of the danger of a lurking murderer?” Korsten lifted his gaze from Dacia’s sleeping face and was met with Merran’s blue eyes. He had come to love those eyes for their color; they were the most expressive part of Merran.

  “Awareness of danger doesn’t always facilitate sense or reason,” his fellow priest answered.

  Korsten heard the underlying words. He, of all people, should not have had to ask.

  “She’ll be fine,” Merran eventually declared, rising from the bed. “Her system is in a mild shock, over both the possession and the Release. Rest will recover her.”

  Korsten’s unfolded himself from the window, stepping around the bed. He followed Merran out the door and made sure to shut it quietly while they moved into the hall.

  “We should pay a visit to the Cambir household,” Merran was saying. “One of us should accompany Dacia back to her home.”

  “While the other investigates the whereabouts of any other Vadryn,” Korsten added, alert to Merran’s plan as it formed. “Which would you prefer to take on?”

  “The Vadryn,” Merran answered easily.

  And as simply, Korsten said, “I should not have asked.”

  Two

  The girl ate with alacrity. Irslan watched her with a sense of bemusement as she cleared her plate in efficient portions. A side effect to the Release, perhaps.

  “This is all very good, thank you,” Dacia said, managing to fit the words between mouthfuls of food.

  Irslan gave a nod in return, gesturing to what remained of a dish of sweet bread. “More?”

  The girl’s expression was at first welcoming to the idea, but then her features squinted in better thought and she shook her head with a smile. “No, thanks.”

  Irslan hesitated to be sure she was decided, then let it rest, giving his attention to Korsten. The redhead sat in quiet observation of the girl, who’d been brought down to breakfast shortly after Merran’s departure to carry on with the priests’ investigation. Korsten seemed rapt enough in the task of observing that he ought to be left alone to carry it on. The intensity of that study was how Irslan knew that there was something unusual to this situation.

  The sound of knocking at the front door carried easily through the quiet, abbreviating Irslan’s thoughts. He looked over his shoulder, but didn’t rise to answer, leaving the task to his servant, who he could hear performing the duty in the hall beyond. Irslan’s gaze returned to Korsten instead, who had now taken his brown eyes from the girl and was himself looking to the dining room’s entrance.

  Within a few moments a thin, black-haired man of a demure bearing put himself in the doorway and politely excused himself for the interruption. The interruption of complete silence, but still Irslan gave a nod, permitting the man to proceed. Caution over every action had been Stacen’s way since he arrived at the house, back when Irslan still considered himself young.

  “Sir,” Stacen said. “A gentleman and lady are here to see you. Priests Vlas and Cayri of Vassenleigh.”

  Of course, they couldn’t be from anywhere else, but Irslan nodded all the same. “Thank you, Stacen. See them in, please.”

  Stacen inclined his head and departed.

  Irslan looked at Korsten, who seemed curious and attentive, to the point where he was the first of them to stand when the newcomers were ushered in. The red-haired priest gave them an affable nod and a smile.

  While the woman—blond and green-eyed, wearing brown riding garb—returned the gesture, the man, who was also blond but with blue eyes and wearing tones of blue to match, opted to speak. “Hello, fellow priest,” he said to Korsten, neither with a smile nor a frown. It was simply acknowledgment, and it fell equally impersonally upon Irslan. “Master Treir.”

  “Hello, and welcome,” Irslan returned with a smile to let them know they were, in fact, quite welcome. “Priests Vlas…” When the man confirmed by putting his hand out, Irslan shook it, then carried the gesture to the woman. �
��And Cayri. Wonderful to have you in my home. Please, join us.”

  Cayri moved to a seat as Irslan gestured toward the vacant chairs. Vlas took his time getting to one. The man appeared—appeared, Irslan enforced to himself—quite young and carried all the airs of a man caught up in perpetuated youth; attentive, ready, couldn’t be bothered to sit….

  Contrary to her companion, the woman looked very balanced. She was also quite beautiful. Irslan couldn’t put an age to her face—neither young nor old—and he could see that, as with Korsten, she was among the priests who took on a hue of the magic itself, wearing it like a veil of otherworldliness that marked them no longer among the masses.

  “I’m Korsten,” the redhead was saying to their guests while he returned to his seat.

  “Mentored by Ashwin?” Cayri guessed.

  Korsten’s nod indicated that it was accurate. “I’m working with Merran currently.”

  “Yes, I know Merran,” the woman replied with a small, but rather fetching smile. “Dour fellow.”

  “At times,” Korsten answered. The smile edging onto his own lips suggested that she was actually quite accurate in that assessment. He gestured toward the girl, who sat decidedly finished with her plate at the opposite end of the table from the newcomers. “This is Dacia Cambir. Another guest of Master Treir’s.”

  “Dacia,” Vlas acknowledged simply, either unaware, or aware and ignoring how set the girl’s gaze instantly came to be on him.

  Cayri offered Dacia a polite smile and a nod in greeting.

  “Hello,” Dacia said, and proceeded to study the pair, mainly Vlas.

  “We’ve been sent to address strategic concerns,” Vlas informed, in an obvious bid to change the subject and in a duty-minded fashion that neither of his fellows appeared to take lightly. “Morenne’s strategy.”

  “Our details have been given to us primarily by Patriarch Ceth,” Cayri let Korsten know and by his expression and nod, it was no surprise to him.

  Irslan always found himself entirely compelled by these conversations, however infrequently he’d been witness to them. Most often, he excused himself or a priest suggested subtly that he should do so. Here he did not feel so inclined, and no one else seemed to be either. Perhaps it was because the war was everyone’s concern and by now all of them had to admit that. Even Dacia was permitted to stay and observe in her very openly curious manner. Her dark eyes went back and forth between the speakers.

  “Has Morenne’s strategy evolved much beyond inexorable overtaking?” Korsten asked.

  “Oh, yes,” said Vlas’ expression, though it was Cayri who issued a verbal statement.

  “We’ve been further north for much of the last several years. Agents of Morenne have been gathering with interest beyond the border there, encroaching on the coast. They’ve been bolder.”

  “Spies and assassins?” Korsten assumed, and Irslan couldn’t help his own subtle nod in agreement to that line of thought.

  “Yes,” Vlas said. “But not men or women. The Vadryn themselves are these agents.”

  “The Vadryn,” Korsten replied, not as if it were a fool’s notion, but as if it were a familiar topic never quite put into this light, or one that had been diligently overlooked.

  Irslan knew that, even among the priests, there were different views on the precise nature of the Vadryn, which were one of the world’s darkest mysteries to most outside of Vassenleigh. The legends were abundant, the truths lesser known.

  “I understand the convenience that the Vadryn have proven to be to Morenne,” Korsten was saying. “I understand also, that there are archdemons making themselves more aligned to Morenne’s cause—with genuine interest. But I hadn’t considered the lesser demons as such deliberate…or maybe conscious players on the board.”

  “You’d be wise to start considering it,” Vlas concluded. “They’ve started taking over more difficult hosts, under more difficult circumstances. They’re risking exposure and working together.”

  Korsten’s brow drew together at that comment. “Working together,” he murmured. And then his dark eyes ventured toward Irslan, who gave a nod, because it crossed his mind in the same moment; their earlier conversation about the possibility of three Vadryn in the city. Though with one dispatched, it would be only two now.

  The priest’s attention returned to his colleagues. “Merran will need to be given this information, once he returns. If he does so before I do, you needn’t wait for me.”

  Vlas gave a nod, and then asked, “Where are you headed?”

  Korsten was standing when he replied, his hand held out to Dacia. “I’m escorting Miss Cambir home.”

  Vlas’ expression seemed to simply say “Oh.”, while Cayri smiled gently at the younger woman.

  Dacia looked as if she hadn’t planned to be addressed or considered at all, but then got to her feet, absently disregarding Korsten’s hand. “All right, then,” she murmured and didn’t quite smile while she made her way around the table. “Nice meeting you all. Thank you for the rest, and food.”

  Irslan smiled at her with a welcoming nod.

  The other two were settling into quiet conversation between themselves, which had Dacia snatching another look at Vlas before Korsten ushered her to and out the door.

  “Master Treir,” Vlas said shortly afterward. “Ceth may have mentioned to you in a letter that he hoped we would be able to meet with the governor. Can you arrange it?”

  Irslan raised his own eyebrows now as he felt immediately pinned by the polite demand. Ceth had indeed penned that hope. “Not I,” he said honestly, then smiled at his guests—two more priests to his home in less than a week’s time. “However, I will happily introduce you to friends who may be able to oblige you.”

  Vlas approved with a nod and as the weight of the past hour lifted somewhat, Irslan attended to something lighter in his drink.

  Indhovan began on a cliff and fell, like the arm of a sleeping body, down toward the rim of its bed, fingertips just dipping into the sea.

  From the vicinity of Irslan’s home, Korsten could see the cliff side of the city above him, and the ocean end of it below his vantage, to the west and east respectively. He recalled visits to Indhovan, to a town that was spreading, but still easily contained within the eyes of a child. Those visits had occurred near half a century ago, he had to remind himself.

  While Korsten wasn’t among the priests who more literally cloistered themselves at the Vassenleigh Order—not since his initial stay—somehow the world had still slipped out from beneath him without his notice, expanding itself even in Edrinor, where it had long seemed more diminishing occurred than growth.

  The thought offered some hope, against a war that had been ongoing for many years, but that had been at its worst within Korsten’s lifetime. It continued to escalate and, by now, there was a cloud of inevitability looming along the horizon.

  A glance at the blue sky overhead inspired another scanning of the city from cliff range to shore. Indhovan’s architecture was dignified, but practical; neatly stacked stories sat side-by-side throughout the denser parts of it. Some agricultural development had spread out over the top of the cliffs, along with some more innovative growth.

  Wind harvesting and unique approaches at channeling water occurred along the natural wall overlooking the city. Waterfalls spilled over the cliff face, depositing from a manmade lake on the high ground. The largest and most central waterfall emptied into a vast canal that met with the ocean via several channels that broke off the main waterway.

  The state of the coast made it very obvious how oppressive and stunting war could be for the inland territories. Indhovan seemed untouched by the war or the Vadryn at the surface, but for the fact that alongside Korsten, walked one of the Vadryn’s most recent victims, one who appeared to have gone remarkably untouched by the beast that intended to forever change her. Perhaps that had to do wi
th the extreme few moments the demon had been within her, unable to actually gain a firm hold.

  “Dacia,” Korsten began, drawing her dark gaze to him. She appeared very young. Genuinely young. “How do you feel?”

  She shrugged, gathering wind-tossed strands of her hair and tucking them behind her ear. “I feel fine, thanks.”

  “I’m glad,” Korsten said, and he was. Still, he felt as if there should have been more to her answer than that. To expel one of the Vadryn so soon after its arrival—literally moments into its attempt to take over—was a new experience for him. It probably was not new for Merran. That could have been why Merran seemed so unconcerned with it, and with Dacia’s lack of reaction.

  “It’s not far to get home now,” Dacia said, glancing up at him.

  Korsten issued a nod, walking with her to the threshold of an alleyway. It was instantly familiar; the site where Dacia’s Release had occurred. People moved across the area now as if it were of no significance whatsoever, and of course it wasn’t. Location meant little to the Vadryn. Wherever they saw opportunity, they struck. It was that simple, although after listening to Vlas, Korsten was left to wonder if there was some strategy behind attempting to possess a young girl at the entry of this particular corridor.

  The thought had Korsten slow his steps before following Dacia into the alley. He looked over the stonework, and up at the buildings to either side.

  Neat brick walls that gleamed a brighter shade of white in the sun with clothing lines strung out of windows slanted a thin layer of shadow across the corridor. People traversed it idly.

  Standing at the entrance, Korsten felt…nothing beyond the proximity of people and the warmth of day, the air textured with grains of salt lifted from the sea. He didn’t expect to feel anything definitive or specific. His ability to detect the Vadryn involved bodied individuals. His colors were red, brown, and white. All of them bolstered intuition, but it was the blood of individuals, primarily, that he was sensitive to.

  Dacia paused and looked over her shoulder at Korsten. “This way,” she prompted.