by T. A. Miles
A glass suddenly slammed onto the table in front of Korsten, nearly making him jump. He blinked and looked up at the homely serving girl, who said, “Here’re your ales. Sure you’re not hungry at all? Last time I’m askin’.”
Korsten shook his head. “Nothing else for me, thank you.”
The young woman fixed him with her strangely curious stare again, taking it away when Merran dismissed her.
“I find it very odd,” Korsten eventually said. “The way she was looking at me.”
“You think it has to do with more than your abundant gifts?”
Though it was difficult to tell whether or not Merran was teasing, Korsten answered seriously. “That wasn’t attraction. She looked at me as if she knows something about me that even I don’t. Something not pleasant.” He let his gaze wander into the crowd, in search of the girl. “It chills me, now that I think about it.”
“Stop thinking about it,” Merran instructed. “Our trouble awaits us at the keep.”
“Maybe she knows something about the keep.”
“She looks as if she’s more accustomed to the kitchen than the common room,” Merran said. “I wouldn’t exclude the notion entirely, however I doubt she’s meaning to share whatever she may have heard her employer grumbling about with us. More than likely she saw an unusually pretty and half drowned man sitting in front of her and didn’t know what to make of him.” Merran looked at him, adding, “I still have difficulty with it myself sometimes.”
And to that, Korsten said sweetly, “Bastard.”
A lengthy silence spanned between them after that. A silence during which Korsten observed the people around him and observed also the fact that they were remarkably uninterested in him. All except that girl. What was she seeing when she looked at me that way? A mage? Does she believe in such things, like I didn’t when I first encountered Merran? No. She’s too young. Talk of mages had all but ceased thirty years ago and talk of the Vadryn, too. That was why I had such difficulty believing Merran’s story. Now the Vadryn must surely have been pure fairytale to those not actively involved in the war against them. But then, I haven’t been actively involved. I’ve been a student, ensconced in a different library, but shut in from the world yet again, just as I always have been. Perhaps things have gotten worse. Perhaps word of the unspeakable horrors that took place in Haddowyn, in the very home of the ruling lord, spread all over Edrinor, inspiring new stories of demons and new beliefs in them as well. There may have been other incidents as well, other murders without witnesses or satisfactory explanations. Disappearances, like Seryline Rolce.
“It’s been quiet outside,” Merran noted. “No heavy rain. No thunder to announce one coming. The road shouldn’t be a problem for us come nightfall.”
“Why then?” Korsten asked. “Will anyone be expecting us to arrive after dark?”
“An old acquaintance is going to grant us entrance through the rarely used eastern gate. Once inside, we’ll be introduced to Captain Grisch, who may or may not be pleased to see us. From then on our investigation officially begins and we may not see much of each other throughout it. The keep is large and the troops many in comparison to only two mages. It will be necessary to divide our efforts in order to quickly determine the nature of the existing problem. Be careful who you trust, Korsten, and refrain from casting spells unless it is absolutely necessary. Remember magic attracts the Vadryn. We don’t want the creature coming to us on its terms. Once we know where it is, who it may be possessing, then we’ll act.”
“What about the mole?”
“The troops will think we’re present to assist in any military confrontation presented to the outpost. What they’ve heard of a possible spy or a demon is purely rumor at this stage. It is not in our interest to confirm those rumors, whether true or not. What we reveal to the soldiers will undoubtedly be revealed to our enemy. Our true agenda must be kept secret.” Merran let his haunted eyes put the severity into his quiet words. Korsten felt the weight on him increasing with each one. “I know you’ve studied history in depth. You understand the etiquette and the patience required during times of war.”
“Yes,” Korsten answered, and Merran elected to explain anyway.
“We’ve only just been made aware of the possibility of an enemy hiding here. It may be months or even years before the individual decides to act. There is no telling how long they’ve been instructed to wait or how much information they were told to gather, how many rumors they were told to spread to disquiet the soldiers. Watch every action made in your presence. Listen to every word uttered. We must not let this outpost fall. We must not let them take it from within.”
“I understand,” Korsten said attentively. In a moment, he added, “I know that Ashwin and others at the Seminary are depending on me now, just as they have always depended on you. I won’t disappoint them, Merran … or you.”
Merran’s expression softened. He reached discreetly across the table, as if for his drink. He touched Korsten’s hand and squeezed gently before taking up his glass. Korsten gave no special notice to the gesture, no matter how appreciated it was. He understood that they had other secrets to keep than simply their agenda.
The weather remained favorable throughout the evening and well into the night as Korsten and Merran made their passage along the steep road leading to the outpost overlooking Lilende. It seemed in a strategically sound location, considering its elevation and the river. An invading army would definitely have the disadvantage. Placing a mole made sense. Letting onto the fact didn’t. Korsten had to wonder who suspected a spy first and why such suspicions weren’t brought directly to his superior, rather than whispered to a fellow soldier, enabling rumors to spread that he must have known would disturb the unity of the troops residing here. Or perhaps he did go to his superior and the captain dismissed him and his findings. Just because Grisch was appointed to command these men didn’t mean that he was competent. And who was this acquaintance of Merran’s? The same individual who took it upon himself to notify the Seminary perhaps?
“The outpost has been expecting an attack from Morenne for some time,” Merran explained when Korsten asked him about it. “The Council has been keeping track of this situation as well and knew that it was time to send assistance. At some point during the communication between Ashwin and Captain Grisch, it was mentioned that there have been unpleasant rumors spreading amongst the soldiers and that Ashwin hasten the dispatch of an emissary or two, as this had all the signs of treachery from within and the Morennish army would likely be upon the outpost soon. It was Ashwin’s determination that the Vadryn might be involved, spreading rumors to promote fear, to incite disorder and ensure the success of an attack, if not from Morenne, then from the Vadryn themselves.”
“It disturbs me to think that they can be so calculating,” Korsten said. “Murdering beasts, barely above animals … plotting battle strategies. They’ll wage war in bodies not their own, bodies they’ve stolen, like a destitute urchin steals clothes. They are deprived of form … deprived of flesh, so they’ll take from those who do have. They veil themselves in our brothers and sisters, parents and children … friends and lovers. And what can we do against them?”
“We can fight,” Merran said quietly.
“It’s madness,” Korsten continued, unaware of the redness rimming his eyes until he felt the sting of tears in them. “We fight ourselves … the people we love. How many people have you actually freed, Merran?”
“Korsten….”
“How many?” he insisted, knowing that it was fear rising in him as much as it was sadness. “How many wound up like poor Markam, and Areld … and Renmyr?”
Merran frowned at him. “This is not the time nor is it the place for this tired conversation. You’ve come this far, Korsten. Get control of yourself. Get control of your fear, or leave here and now. I’ll shield you long enough to perform a Reach back to the Seminary. Is t
hat what you want?”
Feeling like a scolded child, Korsten managed to shake his head. He couldn’t halt the tears, though, and he didn’t try to hide the fact that he was shedding them. Gods, I’m not ready for this. I’ve been kept safe from demons for too long. Perhaps I’ve taken advantage of Ashwin’s patience and the shelter that comes with it. This is Haddowyn again. This is madness. But the Seminary doesn’t have any use for a coward. I can’t hide in the library anymore and if I can’t face this, how will I ever be able to face Renmyr again, or the demon he’s become? Merran’s right, damn him. I have to take control. It may cost both our lives if I don’t. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I abandoned Merran here, possibly to his death. Two mages are required here, or two would not have been sent. If Ashwin didn’t think I was ready, he wouldn’t have sent me.
“Korsten….”
“Leave me alone,” he snapped at Merran, shying away from the touch his friend tried to lay on him, and the soothing magic that might have come with it. “You’re just as much to blame for my weakness as I am. Stop trying to comfort me! I’ll deal with this in my own way … in my own time.” He forced composure in the next moment, adding quietly, “I’ll deal with it, Merran. I want to deal with it. Please, let me.”
Merran withdrew and said nothing more. The silence that carried them the rest of the way to the keep was heavy, suffocating almost, but Korsten managed and by the time they reached their destination along the eastern wall of a massive structure of stone and iron, all trace of tears had vanished. Korsten was calm and attentive when a tall, big-boned figure arrived at the gate to let them in.
“It’s late,” the man said beneath lantern light. He held the object up with one hand, using the other to unlock the gate while inspecting the two mages. There was a smile behind his grizzled black beard and a gleam of relief and trust in his dark eyes. “I was expecting you a little sooner. You haven’t changed at all, Merran. Not surprising. I’ve never seen your friend before, though.”
“This is Mage-Adept Korsten,” Merran introduced as the gate came open. “He possesses a rare talent which Lord Ashwin hopes will benefit our efforts here a great deal.”
“You’re welcome here, sir,” the man said, then offered the name Lars. As it turned out, he was a veteran soldier at the outpost, not ranked for the same reason that many qualified men weren’t; a lack of wealth and title. Korsten didn’t used to despise that prerequisite quite so much as he was coming to now. Fortunately, Lars’ lack of rank had not deprived him of the respect his years of loyalty and service to the throne of Edrinor—whether actively occupied or not—had earned him. He was treated as if he had rank, given duties that included supervising over the barracks and sitting in on important meetings, such as tonight’s. After leading Korsten and Merran to Captain Grisch’s study, Lars did not retreat. After the mages had been invited to take a place at the table centered in the wide, carpeted room, the aging soldier seated himself as well.
Captain Grisch was no youngster, but he was a long way from old. That was obvious, in spite of the trim beard and mustache he may have hoped would hide the youth in his features. He was obviously the product of very fine breeding, something Korsten could relate to, and a man who believed sternly in discipline and keeping things ordered, something Korsten had known too much of during his childhood in Cenily. His eyes were blue, though not nearly as bright as Merran’s, and doing a fine job scrutinizing the two mages seated before him. From his chair at the head of the table, he put on the appearance of being relaxed and utterly in control. His uniform—perhaps a less formal interpretation of it—consisted of a gray tunic over a white shirt with soft leather breeches and tall, dark brown boots to match. He looked rather striking in his collected pose, with his trim blond hair, fine-boned features, and intelligent gaze. He looked rather too striking, and not at all like the kind of man who was going to stand at the head of his troops when the Vadryn attacked. He was going to be at the back, issuing orders, and perhaps that was the wisest place for any leader, but Korsten couldn’t help that he had come hoping to find a hero, who was going to take it personally that demons or even the Morennish people threatened his outpost and the town beneath it.
“As we all know, war is upon this land,” Grisch was saying. “Regardless of what is discovered here, the Morennish army will come and they will attempt to take this outpost. I realize that Lord Ashwin sent you to us as investigators, but I also know that he would not have sent you for that purpose alone. Morenne has magic users of its own. I will need mages to counter them and to assist in strategies.” No one contradicted him, so he added firmly, “You are here, under my command, to assist me in readying this place and these troops for battle. Are we in agreement?”
Merran nodded once and Grisch’s blue gaze shot in Korsten’s direction.
“I understand my responsibilities here,” Korsten decided to say, after casting a glance toward Merran.
Grisch’s eyes lingered on him a moment, then he stood and looked at Lars. “Show them to their rooms, please.” To Merran and Korsten, he said, “You must be weary from your journey.”
Korsten and the others stood on cue. Merran issued thanks to their hosts and no further words were exchanged. The two mages followed their guide out of the room.
“Well, that was brief,” Korsten commented once they were in the passage beyond Grisch’s study. “I’m not so sure that he appreciates our company.”
“He has endured a lot of stress since inheriting his position from our previous captain,” Lars offered. “And many of these young troops have never dealt directly with mages. Circumstances are tense enough with the rumors of betrayal and evil living here with us. Your arrival adds another layer to the mystery. As you must know, you are not ordinary men to these soldiers, not in appearance or in stories told about you.”
Korsten was curious immediately. “Stories told about us?”
“The Seminary is legendary and a source of much wonder to anyone raised under the awareness that it exists. The men and women who serve there—who live there for centuries upon centuries without aging—are equally curious to us. Lord Ashwin could be the very Father of Heaven, for all we know. There are several who would … who do believe that he is. To those people, the rest of you mages could be gods as well, and that fascinates them. Unfortunately, it makes some of them nervous and there are those who harbor some resentment toward you as well. Why can’t you use your fantastic powers to end this chaos, they wonder? Why couldn’t your Lord Ashwin save their homes, their fathers and mothers? This war has gone on for far too long. Hope has become a precious commodity in these times.”
“You make it sound worse even than it was,” Merran said quietly, respectfully, Korsten believed.
“The borderlands have become more dangerous,” Lars continued. “The battles are quick and brutal. Morenne gains two steps for every one we lose. They will overtake us, Merran. It is only a matter of time.”
“You can’t believe that, Lars,” Merran told him. “You can’t let others believe that.”
“It is difficult to think otherwise for those of us who still have only one lifetime, my friend.”
“It is difficult for those of us who have several,” Korsten offered with a small smile. He was surprised when Lars smiled at him in return. The expression was only half-hearted, but it was there just the same. Satisfied with that, Korsten gave a good look at the utilitarian corridor they were being led down. “Well, I hope that the rooms have better lighting than this, and better decor as well. War is no excuse for a lack of comfort.”
Korsten discovered rather quickly that the rooms did lack comfort. They lacked the level of comfort he had always been used to, from his childhood in Cenily to his magehood in Vassenleigh. They weren’t unlivable, though. His own room, three doors down from Merran’s, had two narrow windows flanking a third that was just wide enough for him to sit in and look out at the torch lit yard
s and walls radiating outward from the central tower where much of the living space was located. The barracks were below. That made Korsten think of the soldiers, and their misconception of mages. We are only people, and we’ve suffered the same losses as you. The only difference is that we will remember those losses longer.
Turning over his wrist, Korsten looked at one of the scars Renmyr had given him. The moonlight illuminated the discolored line upon his fair skin even better than sun or firelight. Seeing the wound this clearly made it hurt again and brought tears to his eyes. They were countered with the merest smile when Analee made her presence known by lighting upon his wrist. “My dear, I’d almost forgotten you.” The crimson butterfly fanned her wings outward and otherwise sat very still upon his skin. Somehow so simple a gesture uplifted his spirits, even if only a little. “You must speak to me like this more often. I know it’s the only way you can, and when you don’t I feel foolishly alone. I know you’ll never leave me, but humor me please, darling Analee. I’m not as strong as you are. I don’t believe I ever will be.”
Morning brought rain, again. After more than an hour of slow stretching and walking about his room on his hands, Korsten braved the outside world. A visit to Merran’s room let him know that his fellow mage had gotten up before him and found somewhere else to be. Korsten decided to give himself a tour of the keep, beginning with the residential area. He found nothing of interest until he was back at Captain Grisch’s study. The youngish commander looked up from his morning meal when he noticed the redhead leaned casually in the doorway, smiling at him a little. Korsten thought he was being polite, but the expression worn by Grisch suggested he may have appeared somehow smug.