by T. A. Miles
General Bheld Aetrix seemed a very dour man behind his intelligent eyes. Korsten had no talent for empathy, but he could still tell that the man had concerns other than what went on at this outpost; deep concerns. It was at the end of a hurried briefing with the generals who would each be taking a hundred man unit out to what could well be their collective suicide, that Korsten approached the blond officer. “May I ask where you served before your assignment here, general?”
“You may ask, yes,” the other man replied. Korsten smiled patiently at this meager display of humor, and then Bheld said, “I fought and received my promotion at the borderlands. North. I would be there still, but that a friendly acquaintance of mine managed to get me called back to Temstead. From there I acquired a leave home to Ti’ann. I really shouldn’t have. I was lucky to be granted the time that I had.”
“Time enough for….”
Bheld’s blue eyes flickered at Korsten then went back to the troops in the yard, readying for their most peculiar march yet. “Time enough to witness the birth of my first child. That was all I witnessed before my summons back to Temstead, and my subsequent assignment here.”
Korsten waited a moment, then said, “Ti’ann is far south of here, closer to the safe borders of Edrinor.”
“The safest border, until something or someone comes at us by sea.” There was irony in the general’s tone and once again Korsten smiled. His expression faded when Bheld asked, “Where are you from, apart from the Seminary?”
“Cenily,” Korsten answered quietly.
“Do the memories fade with unnaturally long life?”
“No. While my life has not yet come to unnaturally long terms, I know that several of my fellow mages remember their pasts with perfect clarity. If there was pain, it still hurts them. My own has yet to fade and I doubt that it ever will, no matter how long I should last.”
“I’ve heard that magehood calls a person,” Bheld said next. “Much like a soldier during times of war, mages become isolated, knowing little beyond the people and circumstances surrounding them. You left family behind in order to fulfill this calling, didn’t you?”
“I did,” Korsten replied. “No children, though it occurs to me now that if I’d had any, they probably would have been close to your age by now, general. I have nieces and nephews older than you … perhaps some younger, some who I’ve never met. My youngest sister … still older than me … is liable to be a grandmother. My father will be a very old man, if he’s still alive.” Korsten wondered how he felt about that, about not knowing whether or not Sethaniel Brierly was an ancient authority in Cenily, humored in his late years by the younger people who would have inherited his land and position … or if he’d died. Strangely, Korsten wondered next if his father ever thought about him. He wondered if Sethaniel’s first, maybe only legitimate son ever crossed his unforgiving mind.
And then Bheld sighed. “I suppose we ought to get this done. Reminiscing isn’t going to put us back with our families instead of here.”
Korsten agreed with a faint smile and a nod. Then he proceeded out into the courtyard to join the troops, who didn’t seem as apprehensive as they maybe should have been. Bheld addressed them first and they paid close attention, with a collective fervor in their eyes and expressions, like they would follow their commanding officer anywhere, for whatever cause.
Their enthusiasm didn’t falter when it became Korsten’s turn to speak to them. He spared them the details of the spell that would be performed over them and stressed to them only that they had nothing to fear and to use their imaginations.
He smiled a little at them when he said, “If the spell doesn’t work, you’ll only remain here having envisioned yourself somewhere else and I’ll be standing at the riverbank giving a bow to about thirteen hundred enemy soldiers.”
A few chuckles rose and then Bheld stepped forward again to issue final instructions and to bless his soldiers with a few standard words. The men cheered in response, demonstrating again that morale was up. Relieved that he would have the men’s support in casting the spell, Korsten let his attention wander for a moment, up to a balustrade overlooking the yards, where his gaze met someone else’s. He smiled at Merran reassuringly and wasn’t surprised by the grave concern on his friend’s face.
One moment you have no care or heart for the Seminary or its cause, and in the next you’re willing to sacrifice yourself for it. And what a senseless death yours will be if this fails. You have so much more to live for than you will allow yourself to believe. Camirey isn’t worth your effort this day, but you are, Korsten. What you mean to others can’t be ignored. What you mean to Ashwin … and to me.
Several feet below, at the head of a very small army, Korsten began his incantation. Merran kept his eyes on him throughout the process, then whispered, “Be safe out there, my friend.”
For a moment after Korsten finished casting the Reach spell, it appeared as if a forest had cropped up in the yards below. And then the Mage-Adept and three hundred soldiers who trusted him with their lives were gone.
Korsten knew at once that the spell had worked. He felt the others traveling with him and he could feel their arrival, their presence in the space around him. Miraculously, not one soldier had been left behind. Because of their trust in magic and their faith in him, they had literally stepped through time, erasing the critical hours a march would have taken.
“I believe that I’ve just surprised myself,” General Aetrix said, standing beside Korsten, in front of the orderly formation of his men.
“I believe I have as well,” Korsten replied, then looked behind him, toward the river. “They’ll be coming from that direction. Better arrange your troops in whatever fashion best suits an ambush.”
Bheld immediately began dishing out orders and while the soldiers obeyed, Korsten turned fully around. He took a moment to absorb the atmosphere outside the keep. The light was dim, the air cool and damp. Perfect conditions for a mist. To his advantage, Korsten could work with what was already forming naturally. The Morennish wouldn’t suspect anything until it was too late.
Korsten didn’t allow himself to doubt that. He assumed a relaxed position, closed his eyes, and began to work his second spell for the morning. He filled the woods generously with a ground-level cloud and then waited with the others.
They heard the oncoming soldiers long before the first trace of them became visible in the mist. It was on Bheld’s order that their own forces sprang out of hiding and engaged the enemy. They were wholly surprised, but not willing to run. Korsten found himself in the midst of battle and a physical part of the war with Morenne for the first time. Somehow he didn’t panic. He took full advantage of each opponent’s surprise at not only being attacked so suddenly, but of being attacked by a mage as well. The Morenne soldiers scarcely had time to react to the Blast spells illuminating patches of fog and cutting their numbers down, sometimes by several per burst. Men were screaming and shouting on both sides, hollering commands or warning, or possibly war cries to whoever was near enough in the chaos to hear them.
“Mind your back!”
The voice sounded like Bheld. Korsten summoned his blade and wheeled around, striking whoever was behind him. The man gasped and reached for his own throat just before collapsing in a dusty and bloodied heap of Morennish armor. Korsten’s weapon, not standard by any means, had cleanly cut through whatever guard dressed the man’s neck.
Korsten quickly took his mind from the deed, glancing around to assess where his allies were, as well as his enemies. He decided where to give his attention next, just beginning another spell when he felt an abrupt thump against his back, almost as if someone wearing a heavy gauntlet had struck him. A sharp, tearing sensation followed. The ground struck him after that and rapidly spun away.
No victory came with ease. No victory came without sacrifice. No victory was actually a victory at all. It was nothing but a dela
y. In this instance, being extended another breath meant very little to Merran. It should have been over, long ago.
“I apologize about your friend.”
Merran glanced back at Captain Grisch, but otherwise didn’t acknowledge the condolences being extended to him. It was a shallow gesture anyway. There were other things to be concerned with at the moment.
“Is General Aetrix positive that Morenne withdrew their forces?” Merran asked while returning his gaze to the forested horizon below the keep. He’d been watching for almost a day now, vainly hoping to catch a glimpse of Analee on her journey back to the Seminary. So that he would know for certain.
“It’s the only thing he’s positive about,” Grisch replied, joining Merran at the battlement. He too was scanning the distant woods. “I believed that it would be the presence of a mage that turned them around, but according to Bheld’s report, it seems more as if it was the disappearance of one that hastened their retreat.”
Merran looked at him directly now. “What do you mean?”
Grisch waited, then said, “It was after Korsten fell that the Morennish withdrew. Bheld’s men still have not found the body. His should have stood out, being that he was the only man out of armor and with hair an unearthly red.”
“He’s been captured,” Merran deduced, understanding now why he had not seen Analee departing from the site where her bond mate had fallen.
“We’re going to keep looking,” Grisch informed. “He may have been badly wounded, and staggered deeper into the forest, disoriented.”
Merran knew better. He knew Korsten and that his fellow mage was quick to faint under duress and otherwise he was as stubborn as Hell’s depths. He would not have left even a losing battle as he would be too busy blaming himself for the predicament he had gotten the others into. He would have tried to correct the situation, even if it were impossible to do so.
The Morennish had taken him, and Merran didn’t have to wonder why.
Pain seemed an academic term in comparison to what Korsten currently felt. It seemed as if his muscles were pulling apart, the fibers of his physical being slowly unraveling. As he opened his eyes he was aware that he was neither lying down, nor standing of his own volition. He’d been hung upright by his arms, bound at the wrists. His feet were spread a bit and shackled to a dusty stone floor. He felt air all around him, burning him with its soft caresses, indicating that he was in the center of the room he’d come to occupy, a cell undoubtedly.
He remembered being struck in the fray and falling. He learned well after the fact that it had been an arrow that put him down. With his awareness coming and going, he knew that he had been found and moved at some point, possibly more than once. It must have been his enemies who discovered him ultimately. Did that mean the attack had failed? What had become of the others? What of the keep and Lilende? What of…. A heavy door moaned open with the efforts of an unseen individual. The sound resonated from behind Korsten, whose view was of a grimy stone wall and lit torches braced in the corners. There were no windows within sight. Korsten might have turned his head to look behind him, to see who had visited him, but the pain was too great.
“You’re awake,” someone noted in a voice that was not far from the texture of satin, and not comforting at all. “I can hear your conscious breathing and the altered rhythm of your heart as fear and the stress of injury returns.”
Korsten closed his eyes again and opted not to speak. He could only assume that his enemies had kept him alive this long for information. He could only hope that he died before the torture they would likely resort to became too terrible.
“Very bold of you,” the nameless speaker continued, sounding closer. “To ambush us like that. To be completely honest, I never would have suspected such a preemptive move on your part. Forgive me if I presumed you more cowardly.”
Korsten opened his eyes a little. He elected not to say anything.
A slender young man stepped in front of him, lips smiling sweetly while a dangerous mischief gleamed in his pale eyes. The face was fair in spite of its demented expression, framed with a short, sand-brown mane. It was not a face that Korsten recognized.
Laughing quietly, perhaps to himself, the handsome stranger began to slowly circle the captive mage. “You may have rooted out our source for information a little sooner than we would have liked, but we still gained enough intelligence on matters and individuals at the keep to have confidence in our attack. Perhaps we should have paid closer attention to some of the information concerning you. Apparently, neither it nor you were as worthless as I had originally believed.” He stuck out one hand and touched Korsten’s skin, which was bare from the waist up. That touch made Korsten shudder, and then cry out as it drifted with purpose over the place the arrow had struck him. The youth’s prodding fingertips felt like tiny knives in his wounded flesh. “Oh, look. You’re bleeding again.”
Korsten stiffened involuntarily as the young man’s arms slid around him. And then he felt the stranger kiss his wound. Shocked and in more pain, Korsten gasped for air. The kiss was no mere caress. It went deep, causing agony and helpless excitement as the youth’s cruel tongue eagerly probed the open wound upon Korsten’s back. Slender hands explored liberally. The tongue continued prodding, then it was lapping. Korsten wanted to scream, but he held it in and heard the violating youth sigh; a conflicted mix of satisfaction and disappointment.
“Your blood doesn’t do anything for me, but it still tastes sweet. Your pain has a unique flavor as well, and the scent of your fear … I could torment you this way for years and never get bored.”
“Who are you?” Korsten demanded, speaking through his teeth as he was still biting back the urge to scream. The pain had begun to flare in waves beneath his skin, making his entire body quake. He would have collapsed if not for the chains holding him up.
Pressing his face against Korsten’s back, as if he could absorb the blood into his own skin, the youth whispered, “I’m the person who’s going to let no less than four thousand men have their way with you if you don’t tell me everything I want to know about the Seminary at Vassenleigh. I’ll let them in here a dozen at a time to either beat or rape you, whatever their pleasure happens to be.”
The young man’s blood had gone cold. Korsten could feel the presence of demons, at least one in particular that had lain claim to the youth’s soul. Whether he was being influenced or inhabited, he had become the Vadryn’s so completely that he had inherited their cruelty along with their hunger. He’d adopted their cause as well, which Korsten was only just now realizing they shared with Morenne. Both wanted the King’s mages eliminated. Both wanted nothing to do with a unified Edrinor and both wanted what remained of the country for themselves. Of course, it made sense that they would join in that cause. But how could Morenne trust the Vadryn? What assurances did they have that the demons wouldn’t turn against them once they’d reaped all the souls Edrinor had left? Morenne had no defense against the Vadryn’s tainted sorcery. Or did they?
Of course, they do, Korsten reasoned with himself. They must if the Vadryn haven’t enslaved them outright. But those were men on that battlefield, not demons or individuals influenced by demons. They’ve come to an agreement somehow, but…. “Share with me now,” the young man continued. “I’ll kill you myself if you do. I’ll make it quick. You won’t have to suffer.”
Korsten maintained his silence, closing his eyes again.
The youth slipped away from him slowly. “It’s your choice.”
Three days had gone by since Morenne’s retreat. It appeared that the enemy army had abandoned the area. There was no sign of an encampment anywhere, as if they had marched straight back to Morenne; to the latest piece of Edrinor that had been claimed a part of Morenne anyway.
And Korsten was with them. Merran didn’t doubt that, not even a little. He sat in Grisch’s study, studying maps, trying to discern the nearest pos
sible location the enemy would have gone to. They must have had camps hidden throughout the border region, some undoubtedly more sophisticated than others. Korsten, wherever he was, would be well guarded.
The door to the study opened and Lars walked in. He came to the table and stood beside Merran’s chair, bending over the map as if studying it. “No trace of him,” he finally said.
Merran already suspected as much. Still, he said, “It’s been three days. If he was mortally wounded, it would be right to assume he’d died in that span of time without treatment.”
“The dogs found a few stray corpses,” Lars informed. “None of them your friend.”
Merran didn’t know if that should have made him feel better or worse. Neither the Morennish nor the Vadryn were known for their compassion toward an enemy. If they wanted something from their prisoner, violence would be the method of persuasion. They wouldn’t stop until he was dead. Maybe they would keep him alive, suffering, wishing he were dead, willing to speak with the hopes that they would let him die.
Finally, Merran stood. “Keep searching for evidence of further danger to this keep,” he said to Lars. “Inform Captain Grisch that the Seminary will delegate a mage to this outpost on a more permanent basis in the very near future.”
Lars straightened, looking surprised, possibly angry. “What about Korsten? You’re not….”
“No,” Merran said evenly. “However, there’s nothing more that can be done from here and I’m afraid no one here can offer me any further aid. I must communicate what has happened here to my superiors and place the matter in their hands.”
Lars nodded, accepting what he evidently didn’t like. “Gods be with you and him both, Merran. Heaven knows you saved this keep and Lilende from becoming more trampled ground beneath Morenne’s heel.”