by T. A. Miles
“Why do you believe it was an injustice?” Korsten inquired, accepting the glass Irslan proffered him when the man came over to join him at the chairs. There were four arranged near to one another, a window behind them. The great length of it was draped, shutting out all but a narrow sliver of night.
In response to Korsten’s inquiry, Irslan said, “Why not? My uncle hadn’t harmed anyone. He certainly wasn’t a danger to this city. Rather, he was precisely the opposite.”
“According to Patriarch Ceth, Vaelyx had lost faith in both sides. Do you think his agenda shifted?”
“No, I don’t,” Irslan answered. “And I’ll tell you why.”
Korsten invited him to do so with his silence.
Irslan smiled at him while he sat down in the nearest chair, not condescendingly, but there was something almost cunning about the look. “My uncle’s essential goal was quite simply to end the war.”
Korsten wanted to ask, “In whose favor?”, but he withheld the remark, his eyes staying with Irslan, though performing a visual search for Merran also crossed his mind in that moment. “Master Treir, when was the last time you’d spoken with your uncle?”
As Irslan was settling back, his reply delayed itself. “I was barely in my twenties when he was charged with conspiracy. My father had been missing to war since I was a mere lad.”
“Vaelyx became as a father to you,” Korsten deduced, memories of his own uncle passing across his memory. He was not ignorant to the bond that could form in the absence of one’s father.
Irslan nodded, drinking from his glass and then setting it aside on the stand between their chairs. An intake of air preceded his next words. “I haven’t spoken with Vaelyx for several months, at least, and I’m sorry to say that I don’t know where he is.”
Korsten watched the man speaking. More than that, he felt the steadiness of the man’s heart, and knew that he was speaking truth. Better than the steadiness to indicate such things, was the shift from the imbibing warmth of taking a drink, into the chill of uncertainty.
Irslan feared for his uncle. Whether it was fear over his disappearance, or fear of some guilt hanging over Vaelyx, it was clear in the sensations that Korsten perceived, that Irslan maintained no sense of guilt for himself, nor did he emanate an air of guile.
“Merran and I are going to find your uncle,” Korsten said to him.
Irslan showed his appreciation, and more of his uncertainty, in a taut smile. “You were looking for him at the constable hall tonight,” he said, by way of Korsten’s incidental invitation. “May I ask why?”
And that was when Merran showed himself. He tossed Vaelyx’s ledger onto the table, managing to miss Irslan’s glass.
Korsten was grateful that he was still holding onto his own, regardless of the unconscious spells set onto their clothing that prevented them from easily soiling.
“This was found on a small desk on the second floor of this library,” Merran announced. “There’d been no attempt to conceal it, though its placement suggested that it may have been lately read. I believe you know what’s within it.”
Irslan reached for the narrow book. “My uncle kept a number of small journals. For some reason, he preferred to store his thoughts and observations in lighter portions. He also did not catalogue them, but shelved them wheresoever his hand felt the itch to do so. He was a tad eccentric, I suppose you could say. Cataloging the contents of this room has been a project of mine. An ongoing one.”
Korsten considered the lack of organization currently surrounding him and felt an internal shudder, half of it owed to dismay, the rest excitement over the possibility of discovery. The library at Vassenleigh was impeccably ordered—once one understood its system—else he might have felt compelled to surrender himself and who could say how many of his extended years to cataloging himself.
“I actually haven’t viewed this one yet...” Irslan murmured. “Not as far as I recall.”
Korsten and Merran looked at one another.
“The first I’d heard of potentially demonic slayings were when I contacted Patriarch Ceth,” Irslan continued.
While Irslan spoke, Merran was speaking volumes to Korsten in his silence. His partner was already gone in spirit, back to the streets of Indhovan, in search of demons and now a man as well.
Before Merran could take his leave physically, Korsten returned his attention to Irslan. Setting down the glass in his hand, which Irslan took some unexpected interest in—the man almost appeared disappointed—Korsten asked, “What do you know of crystals?”
Irslan seemed a bit taken aback. His gaze abandoned Korsten’s full glass and a curious expression stacked gradually upon his features. “Crystals?”
Never one for subtlety, Merran said, “Yes. Of the kind that hang above entryways throughout this city.”
Korsten was about to describe them further, when their host took in a draw of air and said, “Ah...those crystals.” A new smile formed. “Indhovan is home to activists and purists.”
“Purists?”
“There are those in Edrinor who believe that progress is a worse bane upon our country than Morenne and the Vadryn combined,” Irslan explained. “They objected to the manmade waterways. They objected to the city’s expansion over the years. They object to the gathering of forward-thinking minds we have here—men and women collecting ideas on how to improve the city and our lifestyle within it. They object quite a lot.”
While Korsten and Merran exchanged a glance Irslan sighed, taking up his glass again.
“They’re not an overly aggressive lot, but they convene regularly,” Irslan added. “They’re quite devoted to the Malakym, and I imagine they spend a good share of their gatherings praying for the future of Edrinor and perhaps that the thinkers in this city might pay them the service of expiring. It’s their religion which has them hang the crystals, identifying themselves to one another. The Malakym, of course, are icons of nature and only the worst blasphemer is arrogant enough to presume to control what is the realm and responsibility of gods.”
Korsten was a bit caught up in and confused by the very thick layer of sarcasm their host used, and had to have his attention pried from both it and its bearer. He was in the process of doing so when Merran assisted with a single word.
“Witches.”
Korsten’s gaze went from Irslan to Merran, and back again as their host raised his glass to Merran’s statement. The smile on his lips was particularly dry.
“Why were we never informed of their presence before?” Merran asked.
Irslan shrugged. “They’re a harmless lot, even if opinionated.”
Merran’s expression argued that they should have been told, regardless, but he didn’t press it verbally.
“Thank you, Irslan, for sharing what you know with us,” Korsten said as he rose to his feet. “In words, both spoken and written.”
As the library was referenced a look of pride came to Irslan’s face. “I say again, both myself and my library are at your disposal.”
Korsten thanked him once more and walked with Merran to the door.
“Do you think that he’s hiding anything?” The question came along the ascent from Irslan’s library to the guest rooms. When Korsten asked it, Merran returned a question of his own.
“Did he feel as if he was hiding anything?”
“No,” Korsten was able to answer with certainty. “No, he didn’t.”
Merran accepted that in silence. At the base of the steps to the third floor, he said, “I’d like to talk to Ceth about what we’ve learned.”
“About the presence of witches,” Korsten clarified for his own benefit.
“Yes.”
“And that would require a Reach. A rather long one.” Korsten followed his partner up the stairs, his pace lagging deliberately. “Don’t you think we ought to rest first?”
�
��You’re not eager to discuss the situation with Ashwin?”
“Well, I am, yes, but it’s a bit of an extended Reach, and I thought we had determined to reserve those for urgent circumstances, which this is not.”
Merran stopped at the landing and looked back at him.
Korsten drew himself to a halt on the step below. “It’s not, is it?”
The question seemed to prompt Merran to contemplate the situation further.
Korsten watched him do so, considering the mentioning of Ashwin after the fact. He wasn’t given time to consider it too far.
“We’re not equipped to contend with a hostile coven, if one is legitimately present,” Merran said. “I want to seek counsel regarding these witches, and Vaelyx Treir. Given events following our last discovery of the Vadryn exhibiting peculiar form and behavior, I think it wise to report early on that as well.”
“I agree,” Korsten said, “but I also believe that we should rest first. Given all that’s happened since Lilende, I think we both know that our work will only become more strenuous. I’d also like to be fully prepared, which means we’d be wiser not to overtax ourselves at the start.”
Merran let him have his say, then nodded with resignation. “We’ll return to Vassenleigh, come morning.”
They spent the night in separate beds, Korsten dreaming about things that went unremembered, come dawn. The dream he’d had the previous morning, however, remained fresh in his mind. He lay awake, wondering about the presence he had felt in his subconscious then for the better part of an hour, before he heard Merran begin to wake.
The sun was barely risen and their low-ceilinged room sat tucked in shadows that glowed like embers along the edges, as sunlight worked through the gaps between the drapes. Korsten gave Merran a few moments to dress himself, before rising to do the same in silence.
The morning’s proposed task crept into Korsten’s thoughts. Performing a Reach as distant as Vassenleigh would require a good deal of effort. That said, Korsten found it less taxing to target individuals rather than locations. He felt sure that he could bring them to Ashwin easily enough. However, there was no one with whom he felt a strong enough connection to in Indhovan to bring them as easily back. Not unless…
Merran made a path to the window, Korsten’s gaze following.
“It may be easier if you stay,” he said to Merran. Before debate could begin, Korsten added, “It may save us considerable time as well.”
His partner leaned over and pushed open the drapes, looking out at the streets of Indhovan. Without looking back at him, Merran asked, “How do you mean?”
“There’s no reason for both of us to speak to Ceth and Ashwin. I could easily Reach to Ashwin directly and, in the time I’m there, you could be continuing on with the investigation here.”
“I wanted to know how we should regard the witches before we came across them more directly,” Merran said in valid argument.
“Yes, but the Vadryn still have to be found, regardless,” Korsten reminded, which drew a nod of agreement from Merran, since it was also valid. As it occurred to him, he said, “Perhaps I should return with Vlas or Cayri. Whatever information or instruction we receive will be relevant to them and their work as well.”
“That’s true,” Merran agreed. Finally, he gave his gaze to Korsten. “It’s important that you mention the earlier incidents Vaelyx documented. Ashwin should know that the circumstances here are not as new as we originally believed, nor as confined to Morenne’s current strategy as Vlas would like it.”
“As he would like it?” Korsten waited for Merran to leave the window, walking to the door with him. “I’m beginning to believe that he likes very little, and has hope for even less.”
“I believe that he enjoys being a pessimist.”
“Odd thing to enjoy,” Korsten murmured.
The subject ended at that, and silence carried them to the floor below their virtual attic space. They greeted Stacen in the hall. Korsten found himself once again observing the man for an extended moment. There was something about him that eluded Korsten. Maybe it was that the man was nothing at all like any of the servants Korsten or his family had ever had.
Stacen didn’t seem to have a staff beneath him. From what Korsten could tell, he tended to everything that went on within the house itself. Granted, Irslan was only one person, but so had Korsten been in Haddowyn. Irslan’s house was comparable in size to the one Korsten had inherited from his uncle, if not larger. It was larger, Korsten decided, considering the library and the width of the hall he and Merran currently traversed.
“What do you make of Stacen?” Korsten decided to ask, which inspired Merran to look over his shoulder, then further down the passage, as if to locate the man in question, though Stacen had already passed from view.
“I’ve yet to form an opinion,” Merran said, and Korsten was glad that he wasn’t the only one of them considering Irslan’s servant.
At another of the other guest bedrooms, Merran announced their arrival with a knock that was promptly answered by Vlas.
The blond looked at each of them, then just past them, undoubtedly for Cayri. After sparse greeting, their colleague said, “We’ve had word sent to the governor’s wife to arrange a meeting with Cayri, whom she seems to have taken reasonably well to. As Cayri’s of the opinion that I inspire open hostility, I’ll be off to Master Ossai’s in the meantime. What have the two of you planned?”
“To join you,” Merran said, managing to catch Vlas off guard, judging by his expression. “Korsten intends to return to Vassenleigh.”
Vlas frowned. “Long Reaches are better saved.”
“Korsten finds it a less demanding task than most of us,” Merran replied, which earned a questioning glance from their colleague.
“It’s resolved dilemma in the past,” Korsten offered.
And Merran mumbled, “It’s also caused some.”
Electing to ignore the remark, Korsten continued to explain their intentions to Vlas. “We considered that one of you might like to join me, but as both of you have meetings planned, it seems I’ll be returning alone. I’ll be as quick as possible. Is there anything you and Cayri would like me to share with Ceth or Ashwin?”
“Beyond what information was shared last night, no.” Vlas shook his head, looking past Korsten and Merran once again as Cayri arrived in the hall behind them. “Any word in return?”
“Lady Tahrsel agreed to meet with me this evening,” Cayri announced.
“Ah, well then you have time to accompany Korsten,” Vlas said.
“Where to?” she asked, looking from one of them to the other.
“To a meeting with our mentors,” Korsten replied, and held his hand out to Cayri, who took it willingly.
“We’ll see you soon,” Vlas said to both of them.
“This way.” Cayri directed Korsten toward the neighboring room.
At the door, Korsten looked toward Merran, who was looking back at him. While they often separated to accomplish specific tasks within an assignment, returning to the Citadel felt further from his partner than Korsten could appreciate just now. He reminded himself that there had been many a time when Merran had departed alone from Vassenleigh before Korsten had arrived at Adept status. And he reminded himself that he hadn’t appreciated those times either.
Seven
The six pillars of the Council Chamber stood like lonely trees; boles stripped of their limbs and left standing in a decimated wasteland. It was the image that Ashwin continued to envision, layering itself over the innermost sanctum of the Vassenleigh Citadel as stubbornly as the Vadryn refused to be extinguished from the land they were ravaging. Reports from what contacts remained loyal to Vassenleigh grew increasingly grim. Sarily was on the verge of lost, one more city of too many others.
“This year marks a century of war between Edrinor and Morenne.”
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Ashwin felt the weight of Jeselle’s words. Those words could have been delivered by any one of the twelve Superiors present and been as heavy. They all knew what Edrinor faced. It could almost be said that no one knew more intimately, but it was actually those outside of the Vassenleigh Order, those who had already been conquered, who felt it deeper than any of them.
“We’ve let too many fall,” Ashwin said and though he said it quietly, his voice carried easily in the acoustics of the hall.
“More will fall before this has ended,” came another quiet voice, one similar in register and quality to his own as it belonged to his twin.
Ashwin could feel Eisleth’s dark eyes on him in the corner of his vision and eventually turned his head to meet his brother’s gaze. By appearances they were as light and shadow—Eisleth black-haired and black-robed while Ashwin wore layers of white and had hair blond enough to nearly match the garments. There was color in Ashwin’s eyes, however; the green of Empathy, deep and perhaps taking in too much. Eisleth was more ascetic and critical, a trait aptly serving him as one who understood death as an element.
Jeselle had chosen black as one of her colors and she and Ashwin shared white as well. It rendered her a valuable mediator between brothers in some matters. It helped that she shared in their ancientness. On the Council of Superiors, the three of them were the eldest, followed closely by two others. The remaining seven were comparatively very young still, but experienced enough to assist them in guiding the even younger priests under their collective charge.
“Lilende held out,” Ceth said, drawing Ashwin back to the conversation at hand. “And so has Endmark, both with our assistance. South Meadows has been holding its own for the last several years, again with our assistance. Haddowyn fell, along with Feidor’s Crest. We were scarcely present. Sarily may fall and again, we’re barely there.”