by T. A. Miles
“Twenty years is a long time to detain a man over public disruption charges…and to save face.”
“Yes,” Imris said, frowning that deep frown of hers.
There was more to it than that. Vlas didn’t press it yet. Instead, he said, “Let’s find Vaelyx and see for ourselves what he’s really about.”
Imris agreed to the idea with a nod, and Vlas began a course deeper into the city. “Are there any representatives of this coven whom we could speak with? Do they have an individual—or individuals—who speak out often on their behalf, preferably in public?”
“They have a meeting site for the public,” Imris offered. “We’ve been to it a few times already looking for Vaelyx.”
“So, it’s unlikely that he’ll show himself there,” Vlas deduced. “However, there may be someone there who knows of him or of his situation.”
“That’s possible,” Imris replied in the tone of ‘That’s likely and we’ve had little luck with it’.
“We’ll start there,” Vlas decided.
Imris helpfully stepped into the lead. “I will take you.”
The door at the end of the wall lining the canal was indeed quite small. Not small as if it were intended to disallow people to utilize it, but small as part of a structure that was quite old and quite left alone. The street and the wall seemed almost built around it, as if a portion of the door remained hidden beneath; remnants of a ruin from a past era. There was a narrow stone compartment at the base. The ground sloped down to it with a rough progression that suggested steps might have been intended at one time. The door itself was metal and adorned with a simple latch.
“Was there a lock on it?” Korsten wondered as Merran pushed it open, onto an uneven slope that carried on from where they currently stood.
“Yes,” Merran replied while they both stooped to pass beneath the narrow arch that was ill-fit against the canal wall. “I removed it.”
“So, they don’t want just anyone to have access,” Korsten said, noting it to himself mostly.
Merran answered anyway. “Either that, or it’s been in place for quite some time and forgotten.”
“That may be so,” Korsten allowed, looking up as the spray from the fall misted his skin—fortunately he’d put his jacket on that morning. His gaze traced the water downward, and he saw that the rushing canal itself was only a few uneven steps away. So, too, was a narrow ledge with what may have been the remains of a stone balustrade worn down along the rim; only low nubs had survived time’s abuse. The opening they’d spied from the top of the wall sat along that worn path, a peculiar gaping mouth in the rock face. Strings of water tapered down one side, like a tattered curtain.
Merran climbed up to the entry with Korsten close behind. The stone at the rim was smooth and slick, but they both managed to keep their footing. At the mouth, a deep world awaited, darkened by the light’s stunted reach. They each performed a simple Lantern spell, looking to each other briefly before heading into the blackness with pale orbs of light hovering near.
Within only a few paces, Korsten felt the separation from the outside. The moonlight stayed at the entrance and as he and Merran moved forward, the darkness closed around them and their Lanterns. Korsten fixed his sights on Merran for a moment, noticing the concentric rings of symbols that tended to be visible on his hand whenever he performed spells. They were the remnant traces of Emergence, something that had shown on Korsten only when the transformation happened and for a span afterward, like dark spots in one’s vision after looking too directly at the sun. They’d vanished over time, however and had never been seen since. At least, not to Korsten’s knowledge. Magic inspired different responses in everyone, he’d learned...both physical and emotional.
“I wonder if the coven utilizes this access at all anymore,” Korsten said, speaking quietly. In spite of the roaring fall behind them, it took little more than a whisper for his voice to carry to Merran.
“I’m more concerned with what it may be access to,” his partner replied, looking about as if he also wondered about the acoustics of the cave.
“It feels ancient,” Korsten murmured.
Of course, the cave itself must have been and perhaps it was his empathy with nature—owed to his gods’ given connection with brown on the Spectrum—that had the earth around them speaking to him of its ancientness. He had grown more alert to the physical world that surrounded him while he studied and worked, but it was far less deliberate than his honing of both red and white. White, he’d unconsciously chosen for himself—he suspected he knew why. Red had been selected for him by his predecessor; a woman who had never met him in life, but who had chosen him to carry on in her absence. In death—or at some length after it—she had transferred her chosen talent onto him and in the event of his own death, he would somehow do the same, bestowing white upon whomever that unsuspecting soul might be.
The system was so complex, but it didn’t defy or deviate from nature as much as one with an outside view might think. Korsten understood that the Spectrum was nature itself—human, animal, and elemental—and that the Order’s system was a thread spun to parallel it, existing within a harmony that fashioned itself in the shadow of nature’s melody. The Vadryn’s tune, on the other hand was discordant and conflicting. They had carried themselves outside of nature’s intended range and seemed determined to forge a new one, one which surely tilted the balance. The gods could not have intended for such creatures to drain the vitality from the world, replacing none of it as they went. The demons gorged themselves and sat with swollen bellies on the emaciated corpses of their victims. If the gods favored that course, then the world was truly cursed.
His current path with Merran carried on in nondescript darkness, the walls becoming rougher and less wet the further they proceeded. In spite of that, the rock still shone with bolts of metallic gray shooting through it and creating a glittery veil in the half-dark. The space remained vast enough that Korsten could feel the openness of the air. He had wondered at first if they would come to a narrower, more confining space before long, but maybe not. A minor chill of anticipation moved through him.
“There are steps here,” Merran warned and Korsten made sure to look where he was walking.
The step he raised his foot onto was rough and could have been as incidental as those that had led into the mouth of the cave. He flared his Lantern gently, giving himself a short-lived glimpse of the wider view. The steps spanned a good distance in either direction, bookended with more rounded sections of stone. It gave the ascent—which was only about four shelves tall—the effect of having been crudely cut and not nature’s accident.
“I’m assuming you’ll speak of it, if you detect a presence of any kind,” Merran said.
“You assume correctly,” he said to his partner.
Afterward, his thoughts drifted to what Merran had meant by ‘of any kind’. He gave his Lantern to the nearest shadows, assuring himself that his current lack of detection was truly for a lack of presence and not a lack of awareness. The Lantern revealed nothing but stone…undecorated, unadorned, rough-hewn walls. Several minutes of walking altered that with the addition of a deep orange glow—that of fire.
“Torches,” Merran announced as two metal baskets came into view, mounted on thick stone posts that were situated across from one another before a massive archway.
Korsten directed Merran’s attention to the top of the arch, where an artistic bundle of crystals was situated. That wasn’t the most interesting aspect, however. What he really wanted his partner to take note of, were the symbols carved into the rock, following the entryway’s frame.
Korsten visually traced the emblems down to the floor. He dropped his Lantern spell as he stepped nearer to the arch, studying the characters. They were not as impossible to read as those he had come upon recently, at Endmark. The letters were, at least, familiar, even if the use of them formed words th
at may have been too archaic for him to understand at a glance.
Merran stepped into the archway, and over the threshold of the chamber beyond.
Korsten let his fingers run across one of the symbols embedded into the stone, before he followed.
Within the next area, Merran dismissed his own Lantern. While the torches rendered the spell unnecessary at the entrance, many more torches—along with hung braziers—ensured that their environment would remain well-lit for the time being.
Korsten marveled at the sheer size of it. The main space was sunken, compared to the rest, which consisted of tiers and rises that systematically carried the room and the eyes on it upward. The ceiling was perhaps as high as the cliff itself, cloaked in shadow beyond the highest hung basins of fire and bracketed torches. “Do you know what this configuration reminds me of?”
“The city itself,” Merran answered, making it clear that they were seeing the same idea.
“Vassenleigh also resembles the Citadel, in architecture and layout,” Korsten pointed out, venturing up the first and centermost section of stairs. In three long steps, he was in the middle of a collection of wide platforms and stout balconies, all arranged of the rock supplied by the caves. “They’re not so different then us, are they?”
“But rather than organize a system and work to accomplish something for society, they choose to remain undeveloped and wild, detached from civilization.” Merran delivered the words as simple fact and nothing more.
“Do you disagree with it?” Korsten asked, while he looked over simple carvings in the stonework around him.
“No,” Merran said. “Nor do I agree with it. They live how they choose. If no one suffers directly for their lifestyle, then I’m inclined to think it doesn’t matter.”
Korsten looked over his shoulder at him. “Ceth is concerned about them, mostly about not knowing what their agenda may be, or if they have one.”
“Edrinor is in a delicate state,” Merran said, the words and his tone seeming to justify Ceth’s concern.
Korsten continued to examine the space around them. It felt ancient, and also private.
A tug at Korsten’s senses, pulled his attention sharply to his right, toward a steeper rise that was topped by another stone platform and a torch-lit doorway. It was very similar to what he’d felt when they were in pursuit of the Vadryn the night before. “Merran,” he said, moving quickly to the steps and up them.
Merran made a swift path after him.
At the doorway, they each halted. There were torches lining the path on one side. Still roughly carved out, the passage was narrower than the route they’d taken into the caves initially. While they could see no visible evidence of demons, they each knew that didn’t discount the presence of the Vadryn.
And so, it was with caution that they stepped into the corridor together and left the vast chamber behind.
Lady Tahrsel, whether or not she realized it, had chosen to meet at one of Indhovan’s shrines to the gods. The site appeared as a garden in actuality, as did most shrines within cities in Edrinor. In some towns, they were forgotten for what they were. Whether or not Indhovan’s people paid theirs any special notice, they kept the grounds around it reasonably ordered.
There were four walls surrounding a high point. Each wall contained an archway with archaic symbols carved in it. Flagstone paths led inward toward a central shelter, beneath which sat a small, square pool. A small tablet with emblems upon it stood in the pool’s center. This one did manage to be overgrown with assorted vines and what appeared to be algae of some kind, but it hadn’t been torn out, defaced, or in any way molested except by nature. Flower beds and shrubbery occupied the rest of the grounds. Cayri found it peaceful, if not a tad eerie at night. But then all of Indhovan appeared gloomier than the city meant to be while its inhabitants entertained the governor’s curfew. From what she could tell, there’d been no severe enforcement of it, but apparently the deaths and disappearances people were aware of was enough encouragement.
And that was fine. Cayri felt as if it were simpler for her and her colleagues to operate as they needed to this way. While she waited, she seated herself at the pool’s edge. She lightly touched the surface of the water with her fingertips, then rested her hand on the damp, cool rim, watching the city lights dance across the moving liquid. It reminded her of a very long time ago, when she would play at the bank of a spring near her childhood home. It astounded her at times to consider how much memory a person could hold onto, and how it didn’t make her feel old.
She understood by now that she had a greater purpose than to age...to marry or to bear children. Something she had let go of was the memory of whether or not she ever truly wanted that. It was only in the presence of other women outside of the Order that she considered such things, particularly a woman like Ilayna Tahrsel...married and with a son—an adult son whom she wanted to enter into a safe world, free of demons and warring.
Cayri couldn’t guarantee that the world would ever be free of such things. She wished sometimes that she could be more assuring to others, especially with her talent for Empathy letting her know on no uncertain terms when those around her were troubled and not at ease. She was glad to have Ashwin as her life mentor. Many conversations with him had helped her to comprehend and to properly apply her gift.
It was strange to consider that she and Korsten shared him as a mentor and she knew so little about Korsten. He was still young to the Vassenleigh Order, though. He had given her sensations of a tenuous internal balance, but in spite of what she felt around him, she could see that he wasn’t hampered by it overly. Pairing him with someone as steady—if dour—as Merran probably assisted his sense of stability. She understood that her own pairing with Vlas was not one of chance either. They balanced one another. She knew well that she would meander around many an occasion that Vlas saw fit to cut directly through. Likewise, there were times when his directness needed tempering.
Myrr lit on the back of her hand, tickling his tiny legs across her knuckles. She smiled at the soulkeeper’s narrow, scarlet form, then looked away, drawn by the approach of others. As she straightened and stood, Cayri realized that Lady Tahrsel and her son had both come.
The woman with soft white hair pinned up handsomely, approached Cayri with a slight smile. It was form, an expression that had become unconscious over time no doubt, given her station. Again, the governor’s wife wore trousers and a heavy jacket. The ensemble was quite feminine, but defied what others might have expected of her all the same. In Cayri’s own experience, gowns were attire for calmer days spent at the Citadel. Cayri rarely wore them.
“Thank you for coming,” Lady Tahrsel said, in the moment that Cayri was going to say the same thing. She detected a note of urgency in the woman’s voice.
In response to her words, Cayri nodded. She also offered a polite acknowledgment to the woman’s son, who appeared in expression as well as presence to be uncomfortable with the meeting. Cayri recalled that he’d appeared much the same way at the activists’ gathering.
“I apologize that this couldn’t occur at the mansion,” Lady Tahrsel said next.
“I understand your husband’s position,” Cayri offered. After a brief pause, she hazarded a question. “Is he aware of your meetings?”
“This one?” the lady replied, sounding a tad put out. “Or are you referring to gatherings such as the night before?”
Cayri felt as if she had her answer in that, but chose to press gently. “I meant the gatherings with men like Ossai and Treir.”
“Oh, he’s aware. He only chooses to ignore what goes on in his city, and with his family.”
“He has his own way,” Deitir put in. He stepped away from both of them after that and made sure to put his gaze harshly on Cayri on his way past.
“Yes,” his mother agreed, her gaze following him after the fact. “He chooses to ignore.”
Over her shoulder, Cayri watched Deitir stalk around the pool. She detected easily that his presence was primarily for his mother’s benefit, to satisfy his sense of protection. The Lady Ilayna was obviously a woman of her own will and the men in her life—at least one of them—worried over it.
“How aware is your husband of the approaching army?” Cayri asked, catching Deitir’s look of concern in the corner of her vision before she turned her attention fully to Ilayna.
The aging woman’s light eyes narrowed as she leveled her gaze with Cayri’s. She was a woman of good height and strong bearing. In spite of her son’s worry, she seemed very much at the reins of her own life. “They’re really here,” she said. The statement appeared for sake of confirmation and without surprise.
“We’re here because they are,” Cayri replied. “Konlan was not exaggerating. We believe that Morenne has sent agents in advance to undermine this city’s defenses.”
“The demons,” Ilayna said, again in the same leveling tone.
Cayri nodded, holding her gaze to Ilayna’s. “It’s important that your husband meets with us to organize Indhovan against an imminent strike. Cities to the north are falling, which will give them access to the coast. Alliance troops are being organized and will move this way as reinforcement, but the collaborative forces are already spread too thin. Every city needs to respond to this invasion with an aggressive defense.”
Lady Tahrsel drew in a breath, glancing past Cayri at her son, before speaking. “The Kingdom Alliance has been borrowing resources from this city for years. With worthy cause, yes, but we’re depleted somewhat for it. I feel that depletion is mostly in morale. It affects even my husband.” With a small shake of her head, she concluded her statement. “He only wants to protect this city…though at times I can’t help to feel that he’s given up.”
Cayri understood the emphasis on ‘only’. It was still better footing than complete ignorance, however. Defeat was something she hadn’t considered. “We’re here to help him protect this city.”