by T. A. Miles
“I see it,” Merran said. “And something more.”
“Such as what?” Korsten asked, collecting his slightly damp hair and tying it up in a knot at the back of his head.
“Crystals.”
The word brought Korsten’s gaze back to the cave opening. There was a glistening around it, but he hadn’t given it any notice, presuming it was the light reflecting on the water from the moon or Indhovan’s lanterns, or both. But Merran was right. There was a familiar pattern to be discerned amid the glow.
“What do they mean?” Korsten wondered aloud.
He and Merran looked at each other. Their silence was an agreement that they were going to find out.
Five
The decision was made to return to Irslan’s home before investigating the cave. The night had barely been spent, by their standards. Apparently, that sentiment was shared by their host, who was reported by his porter to be out when Korsten and Merran arrived.
The porter, Stacen, was good enough to escort them to Irslan’s library. The slim man with delicate precision to his every movement lingered in the doorway afterward.
“Is there anything I can get for either of you?” he asked.
Korsten took his eyes from the man when he realized he’d been studying him, setting his gaze on the shelves surrounding them instead. “No, thank you.”
Merran seemed to have a destination in mind and had already gone to one of the staircases. In the corner of Korsten’s view, Stacen was visibly observing his ascent. A careful nod and a gentle pulling closed of the door eventually answered Korsten’s verbal reply. While the behavior wasn’t horrendously odd, it was distinct enough for Korsten to mark it in his mind. On the chance that recent events were lending him to paranoia, he would better consider Stacen later. In the meantime, there was research to be done and a library for Korsten to orient himself with.
Merran was on the second level, browsing shelves as he walked. Korsten went to the table, where books presumably of recent interest were stacked. Slipping a limp curl behind his ear, he lifted the cover of the top book, eyeing its table of contents.
It quickly became evident by the section titles that the book regarded the war, their century-long feud with their nearest neighbors to the north. Korsten had been born into it. When a child, he’d scarcely been aware of it. But Cenily was even further southeast than Indhovan, too distant from the borders for the subject to invade his young perspective. A more personal war would arise for Korsten first, one which had landed him north, directly on the border where tension was higher than he’d ever realized.
For some reason, though Haddowyn had then lain directly on the verge of annexation by the enemy, Korsten failed to feel threatened in his life there. He had failed to sense the fear others of Edrinor felt regularly; that Edrinor would lose the war and be overtaken by Morenne. They feared death and subjugation. They feared razing and destruction…and they feared their souls being harvested under the drowning shadow of a dark alliance. That fear was one that some may not have been able to comprehend or label, but it was there. Whether an individual believed in the Vadryn or not, they could sense their presence.
Turning a page in the book before him, he noticed the library’s low light painted a shadow of the book’s edge along the inside of his arm. It traced a scar that was more memory than physical, though it had never fully dissipated from his skin. A Vadryn intent on leaving a deliberate mark on a body always succeeded. Renmyr had proved that more than once, which should have been all the evidence Korsten required to condemn him, as Renmyr had surely condemned himself. The seal at the base of Korsten’s neck had just begun to throb when he dismissed the subject his mind seemed determined to dredge forward, out of shadows that delighted in his misery and that he could not afford to dignify or entertain.
Korsten promptly closed the book and let his hand rest on its cover while he leaned to one side to examine the spines of those beneath it. The titles appeared a varied assortment of political writings, where a title appeared at all. It would have been much simpler to ask Irslan directly about Indhovan’s population, particularly the members of it who fancied crystals above the entryways of their residences…their businesses perhaps and places of gathering as well.
That thought brought him back to the opening tucked beneath the canal wall and behind the waterfall.
Korsten traced his fingertips down the stack of books then let his gaze wander over the rest of the table. Some candlesticks, a bookstand with a closed book upon it, and a few other volumes populated the surface. Korsten examined the books, lifting one and spreading it open with the spine resting in his palm. Words in a slightly untidy script personalized the pages and suggested it may have been a journal. He scanned random words as he prepared to situate himself in the reading.
...anticipated such a place so near. I’m at a loss. To think that our…
“Korsten,” Merran said from above, precluding the possibility of getting lost in a manuscript. He was like a gatekeeper at times, closing off the passages that could often lead Korsten to disaster, and sometimes simply to time ill spent.
Looking over his shoulder, Korsten discovered his partner coming down the staircase with a book in hand. “What did you find?”
Merran indicated the narrow volume he was carrying by lifting it somewhat as he descended. “A ledger of events.”
Korsten’s eyes went to the ledger, as if he could see its contents so immediately, and then he gave attention back to the journal in his own hands, turning the pages back until he found an entry heading: The Islands, Summer Landing.
Closing the book, he laid it back down where he’d found it and turned toward Merran as he arrived. The pages of his partner’s discovery were exposed as he came to stand beside Korsten.
“A documented murder of an unexplained nature,” Merran said and put his finger on the entries of interest consecutively. “The body was found torn and broken. A young man. The next incident; a woman.”
“Mother of four,” Korsten continued as he read the succinct account. “All found dead. Husband missing.”
Merran’s finger traveled to the next entry. “Husband found, dead.”
“Dead,” Korsten repeated, reading on. “No visible injury. Causes unknown.”
“Irslan mentioned many of the recent incidents,” Merran said. “But not these ones.”
Korsten looked at him, recalling just what Irslan had said; that there had been seven bodies discovered and that all of them were emaciated…drained, not destroyed. Also of the four missing individuals, Irslan had not spoken of one of them having been discovered.
“Perhaps he didn’t know what to say of them,” Korsten offered.
“What’s written here would have been relevant.”
Korsten glanced over the entries again. “Look at the signature…Vaelyx Treir.”
Merran was nodding, as if Korsten had just now arrived at the information he was intended to take note of, even above the rest of it. “Irslan’s uncle. Both Vaelyx and Irslan’s father were active in the war.”
Irslan had mentioned that to them, yes. As it occurred to him, Korsten said, “Where are they now, I wonder?”
“I believe his father died.” Merran frowned at the ledger as he spoke, as if at a person who wasn’t telling him something he gravely needed to know. “The Treir brothers were mentioned to me by Ceth before we left for this city. One went missing in battle twenty-eight years ago. The other abandoned the Kingdom Alliance army shortly afterward and took up activism, though I believe he abandoned that as well. He wrote Ceth frequently for a time. His last letter to the patriarch was delivered from a cell.”
“He’s in prison?”
Merran nodded very slightly, his mind at work. Whatever it was working at, he held onto for the time being and when he finally turned his eyes on Korsten, he said, “These entries are twenty years old.”
<
br /> “The Vadryn have been here longer than we believed,” Korsten deduced, holding his gaze steadily to Merran’s. “What did the final letter Vaelyx wrote to Ceth entail?”
“He didn’t relate it to me in detail. The overall attitude seemed to be that the Kingdom Alliance was useless. He also berated the Old Kingdom and declared Edrinor lost.”
“Optimistic fellow,” Korsten murmured while Merran withdrew the ledger and closed it.
“The subject came up during a conversation about our host,” Merran continued. “Irslan was introduced to the Vassenleigh Order through his uncle. He began to supply information and assistance to priests traveling to Indhovan, in exchange for information regarding the broader state of affairs. He would then share with his political colleagues, I’m assuming.”
Korsten understood that similar arrangements had been made in other cities as well, always through very cautious—some would say secretive—means as it was typical that those governing had little patience for or scarce belief in priests and their cause. Ashwin also did not relish the idea of exposing the Vassenleigh Order completely or suddenly. After what had happened a century ago—a decision he had made that did not play out in the way he hoped—he was wary of making another mistake in judgment where Edrinor’s internal politics were concerned. He and the other Superiors now sought to reveal the Vassenleigh Order and its priests gradually, which often meant through unconventional means. They thought it better that priests surface slowly from the depths events and time had cast them to, rather than have awareness rise up suddenly, as a corpse from a grave…or maybe more appropriately, a spirit from a corpse.
Korsten had seen how priests could be as feared and distrusted as the Vadryn themselves. He agreed with caution in this matter. It was supremely important that Edrinor unify again and exceedingly unimportant if they did so under the resurrected banner of the Old King or beneath their own joined hopes for a future for their country.
Several moments after the thought formed, Korsten realized that it may have been his father’s influence that formed it. Sethaniel Brierly had believed in the Old Kingdom and the Brierlys had been loyal to the Rottherlen family in its day, but he was a pragmatist. While the current and not uniform system of city states kept anarchy at bay, it wouldn’t hold against the Morennish invasion. They needed better than a mere alliance of cities, where each respective governor either quietly or blatantly held hopes on becoming Edrinor’s next king. They needed some sort of common goal and a leader whom they could trust…whom they would trust and get behind.
Ashwin believed that could only be a descendant of the Rottherlens. According to Fand, Sethaniel had always strongly doubted their line would ever be discovered again and doubted equally that anyone in Edrinor would rally to them outside of Vassenleigh and its handful of supporting cities. Whenever anyone had mentioned priests to him, Sethaniel promptly declared them dead and insisted that Edrinor could not look back on its old and fallen system. Oddly enough, Ithan Camirey had held a similar point of view. Both men may have been dead by now; Ithan murdered by his own son allied with Morenne and demons and Sethaniel…perhaps of old age.
Such thoughts were no place that Korsten wanted to linger. He dismissed them with a conscious shake of his head and deliberately returned his attention to Merran. “It would seem, then, that Vlas is correct in his theory. The Vadryn have been making a strategy of this. Haddowyn was a deliberate target, as were Feidor’s Crest and Endmark. Indhovan is as well, along with who can say how many other cities.”
Merran agreed with the summary Korsten put together with a taut nod.
“What we need to know is just how many demons are in this city,” Korsten continued, “who knows about them, and precisely what it is they plan to do.”
Again, a nod from his colleague, this time slower. Before Korsten could inquire what was on his mind, Merran reconnected their gazes and said, “I want to know more about those crystals, and I’m not so certain it’s Irslan we should be asking about them.”
“No?”
“No,” Merran replied. He reaffirmed his grip on the ledger and turned toward the library doors.
“Merran,” Korsten called after him, anticipating what he had in mind and what might come of it. Whenever constables and cells arrived as the topic, Korsten couldn’t help but to recall Merran’s stay in Haddowyn and how he had a habit of rousing suspicions just as a matter of course.
With a sigh, he followed his partner. “Perhaps we ought to let me do the talking.”
Indhovan’s primary constable hall was quite a large establishment. A broad staircase made a gradual curving ascent from the city’s largest thoroughfare, past stone balustrades marked with periodic lanterns and statues and toward a tall pair of steel doors. The sharp arcing shape of them gave the façade a particularly stern and unforgiving aspect. The building housed several stories and peaks which cast long shadows. At the top of the steps, Korsten looked over his shoulder at the sea. From the docks, the building would be as distinct as the city’s waterfall, which currently loomed in the backdrop.
Few other structures in Indhovan were quite so impressive. Scanning from his current vantage, Korsten picked out less than half a dozen such buildings—those that truly stood out among the others for their immense size and architecture. Undoubtedly, one of them would be the governor’s house. Without attempting to determine which, Korsten placed his attention on the constable hall’s doors, walking parallel with Merran.
To the left of them was a pull rope. Merran veered toward it, looking up to see what it might have been attached to. A bell, Korsten presumed, and it was confirmed when Merran put one hand around the rope and dragged it downward. A single, solemn tone followed the action.
“I can’t help but to wonder how great a mistake this might be,” Korsten said to his partner when he joined him before the doors.
He received little more than a glance for the comment. Merran could stand there as stoically as he liked; he was never going to escape Korsten’s memory of their first meeting, and the one that followed in Haddowyn’s constable hall. His partner continued to stand with his eyes firmly on the doors before them all the same, though the negligible shifting of his jaw indicated he felt Korsten’s stare well enough and knew what he was thinking.
It wasn’t until Korsten looked away that Merran mumbled, “I don’t see what you’re worried about, since you volunteered to do the speaking.”
“I did and I shall,” Korsten replied, his gaze traveling the length of the doors upward. His attention was snatched back down when a squared window slid open.
“Business?” a man with sharp features demanded as he peered through the opening at them. His eyes moved back and forth between the two of them.
“We’re associates of Master Irslan Treir,” Korsten said—he’d been considering what to say and precisely how to word it since leaving the library several minutes ago. “We’ve come with an urgent question for his relative, Vae…”
The small door slid shut abruptly.
Korsten glanced at Merran, whose blue eyes had already slid in his direction. Lifting a shoulder slightly, Korsten said, “Well, at least we’re not being arrested.”
Merran raised both eyebrows and they agreed without words to leave for the time present. As they turned to do so, a deep clamor of metal resounded from the door. They looked to find it opening and the guard from within ushering them inside.
“Come on,” the man said.
Korsten and Merran exchanged looks of uncertainty and accepted the invitation.
A brief yard had led them to the building’s interior. A deep foyer preceded a large staircase along one wall, curving up toward the unseen higher floors. There was a doorway to either side of the foyer as well. Their escort guided them to the one at the right while to their left men were trafficked in and out, some of their own accord, others in struggle as they protested their arrest and im
pending assignment to a cell or other punishment for whatever their crime may have been.
The guard they’d accompanied gestured for both of them to step beyond the threshold ahead of him after opening it. Korsten entered first, his eyes moving over a collection of tables, some of which were occupied by men who were at work taking record of some thing or another.
At the head of the room sat a large desk. The elder currently seated there lifted his heavy brow, light eyes following suit. He gave the new arrivals a cursory glancing over and proceeded with his business, which was a book on the desktop before him. Thick, callused fingers turned the pages while Korsten and Merran were directed across the room toward him.
“Have a seat,” the elder commanded in a voice that rang deep and alluded to many years spent supervising men younger than himself.
Korsten selected the chair before the desk while Merran was supplied with one from a nearby table. Another page was turned and lightly smoothed before the older man’s finger traveled half the length of it and began to tap one area in particular.
“Vaelyx Treir,” he said thoughtfully, as if he’d been considering the matter of Irslan’s uncle privately and long before Korsten and Merran’s arrival. And then he looked up, pale eyes making quick targets of the priests in his presence. “It’s been twenty years since one of you tried to arrange his release last. The notable difference being that your predecessors did not claim to be associates of Treir’s nephew.”
And now Korsten was particularly curious about Vaelyx Treir’s alleged crimes. Evidently activism alone wasn’t grounds for arrest, else Korsten and the others would not have a host in Indhovan. It crossed Korsten’s mind then that Irslan and his peers could have been much more secretive about their political interests than he and Merran had been led to believe. More than Korsten was aware anyway, since Merran had a habit of idle conversation with Ceth that may have granted him greater insight. It was similar to the way that Korsten spent time with Ashwin, except that Ceth was not Merran’s life mentor and, so far as Korsten was aware, Ceth was also not romantically inclined toward Merran. As far as Korsten was aware, Merran had been a particularly solitary and particularly left alone individual where romance was considered. Perhaps that made Korsten a bastard or a fool, or both, for leaving their situation as open and undeclared as it had been since its unexpected start.