by T. A. Miles
Such thoughts inspired Korsten to reach for Merran’s hand. He folded his fingers loosely around his friend’s and avoided whatever look Merran might have given him by shifting his focus to the sea once again. He turned his head and lowered it onto his arm as he folded it over his bent knees. The only response he received from Merran was a tightening of Merran’s hand over his own.
Supper at Irslan’s was not to be a quiet affair. Vlas and Cayri had spent the day performing their own investigations and feeling out political connections with Irslan’s assistance. While Irslan held no actual station, he was a man who kept himself aware and who others felt inclined to keep aware, perhaps so as to know for themselves that he had truth in his hands rather than rebellious concoctions. As it turned out, Irslan’s father and uncle had both been men of action and of politics; his father formerly a soldier under the Cities Alliance—as it had come to be called at some point during Korsten’s Seminary days—and his uncle not only a soldier for a time, but also a political agent encouraging an aggressive response to Morenne which included not only keeping contact with mages and the Seminary, but also measures such as exploration outside of Edrinor in search of potential allies. The sea to Edrinor’s east was quite an expanse and not well or frequently traveled beyond some few islands to which trade channels had been opened. To the south lay great mountains which very few had endeavored to venture into, let alone across. And, of course, to the north and west lay the ever-expanding lands of Morenne. Edrinor was effectively being pushed off of the map, nudged less than gently to the ends of the world they knew and perhaps soon into the sea. And what would that leave? A country ravaged and controlled by demons and their misguided allies. What plans did the Vadryn have afterward? Would they then launch themselves upon a world unsuspecting? That was one of the many deep fears Ashwin harbored. Korsten understood that now more certainly than he had before.
Apparently Vlas did as well; he could scarcely keep himself seated as he diligently panicked over the state of affairs. “We are running out of positions from which to make a stand against Morenne.”
“We may simply have to do so here,” Cayri said. Her gaze pinned locations on the map that lay unrolled across the table, moments before her fingers followed through. “The loss at Eastmark lost us Sarily as well. It’s reasonable to assume that the Morennish troops will make use of the coast, descending on Vynndoran from land as well as by sea.”
“Yes,” Korsten agreed as he watched her slender hand move from places along a northern peninsula down toward the coastal city of Vynndoran. A deep red damsel fly hovered in the wake of her movements, holding Korsten’s attention for a moment while he said, “Indhovan is next in line.”
Cayri’s light eyes lifted from the map to meet Korsten’s darker gaze and she nodded while Vlas continued their dialogue.
“Ceth and Ashwin obviously hold this city as a defensive key, which is why we’re here and not there.”
Korsten could tell that the very young looking blond would rather be ‘there’. Irresistibly, Korsten wondered how old Vlas actually was or if it was helpless that his zeal would appear as perpetually youthful as his body. In regards to the matter at hand, Korsten said, “This city is vast, both in its spread and its population.”
“That could go two ways,” Vlas replied. “Too many areas to defend with not enough militia among its population … or it could mean enough soldiers to organize into a reasonable defense at the critical locations.”
“If you’ve looked around you,” Merran finally put in, “you’ll have noticed that the people of Indhovan are builders. That may give us an edge.”
Korsten and Cayri were both nodding, and while Vlas’ expression conceded the point, he would not be comforted.
“With Vadryn working as deliberate agents within this city, Morenne already has a greater edge,” he said.
“Korsten and I will resolve that,” Merran replied, his own blue eyes resting on their colleague.
Vlas looked back at him, not with defiance or indignation, but with contemplation behind his gaze as he clearly worked out all that needed to be done against all any of them had the ability to accomplish. Eventually, he nodded. “Cayri and I will continue navigating the city’s political channels. It seems as if there’s a solid foundation of activists here. That can only work in our favor.”
Activists. It was a regional political term—at least it was a term that Korsten had not heard outside of this region. Korsten considered Lilende and how the men at the keep were considered Kingdom soldiers, servants of Edrinor’s ruling family still holding out for a future they believed in. Activists, as Korsten had come to understand them—the term had not existed as such when he entered his near thirty year seclusion at the Seminary—were those who opposed Morenne for the sake of Edrinor, but who or what entity they would see it unified under was not unanimously known or agreed upon. He supposed that the current politics would have rendered Ithan Camirey idle, no longer concerned with the Old Kingdom and certainly not an activist, as he’d done nothing to assist with the war against Morenne save hold his own station and keep a trained amount of soldiers. In the end, Haddowyn was taken from within. The governor’s own son had betrayed all of them.
It was Korsten’s uncle, Fand Brierly, who could have become an activist, perhaps. He had always been very concerned for Edrinor’s unity, hence he had moved so far north to take the deputy position so near to the border. Unfortunately, he had passed on well before Haddowyn’s fall, before anyone came back to realizing just how much of a detriment it was for their country to not have a recognized leader. Nearly four decades ago, Edrinor seemed a very different place. The land was already broken, but for a long enough time to have begun an improper mending … like a broken limb that had set itself crooked without necessary attention. Regional lords had all but given up on an ascendant and the official steward in place had never managed to garner full support. From Temstead, the man and by now his successor had set all of their focus on defending the southwestern border—on defending the Seminary, Korsten now realized—and the task of tracking the intended ascendant of Edrinor’s empty throne had been left in the hands of mages. Too many decades had passed. Faith fell to the wayside. People became accustomed to governing themselves, but a collection of city states could not possibly withstand such a cohesive and tremendous force as Morenne. The enemy took advantage of the lame-limbed country in its shadow. It enlisted the aid of the shadows themselves to make a slow but inexorable march into Edrinor and soon over it altogether. Korsten very much understood Vlas’ urgency. It was something Korsten had had no hope of fully realizing before becoming a mage. Communication between the individual cities had not been well practiced thirty years ago. Neither Ithan nor Korsten—prematurely advanced to his uncle’s position—had received the idea of mages or the Vadryn well. They had bred their own ignorance and openly denied what worked directly in front of their eyes. Directly and deliberately. Korsten had been a fool then, for more reasons than one.
Indhovan at night was as impressive as Indhovan during the day. The many roads and walkways wending up and through the terraced city were lit with rows of lamps. They and the moonlight caught threads of the water that coursed toward the sea, creating a glittering tapestry beneath the cliff face. This was like a cache of riches for Edrinor; rich in beauty, rich in population, and rich in resources. According to Vlas and Cayri, along with Irslan, it was not impoverished where soldiers were concerned either. Ashwin and Ceth were right in sending them here; Korsten felt assured of that. This city was as strategically valuable as Haddowyn had been considered three decades ago—as Lilende still was—representing a new border that they hadn’t felt was necessary to seriously consider before. But now Morenne’s encroachment had rendered an approach by sea all the more imminent. The Morennish were not a sea faring people, coming from deep inland and the heavily wooded terrain Haddowyn had shared with them along the northwest border. They would learn, th
ough. They would learn from those they conquered and if not from them, then undoubtedly with the help of the Vadryn, some of which held ancient intellects.
Korsten couldn’t help but to wonder how different things might have turned out had Haddowyn been as alert as Indhovan seemed to be politically. People in Haddowyn had been—and people elsewhere seemed to also be—firmly mired in their disillusionment, to the point that people rejected not only the role of mages in Edrinor, but also their very existence, along with the existence of the Vadryn. Failure a century ago that resulted in the loss of their king and all of his immediate family had also resulted in disenchantment and denial that became an inborn ignorance. Thinking back, Cenily seemed no different. While he’d been raised with tales of magic and demons in the world, they were only tales to Korsten. No one impressed upon him their dangerous or essential reality. People were coming back around, though. The Seminary had held onto some support and now it was beginning to flourish again, like a forest recovering after a catastrophic fire. They could save themselves … all of them. The people of Edrinor could be united once again and push back their attackers, human and not.
Even as the thoughts formed, Korsten couldn’t help but to wonder if he truly believed this, or if it was a desperate hope. The Vadryn were here already.
It was in the midst of his swaying optimism that Korsten felt Merran’s eyes on him. He slanted his fellow mage a glance in return, looking away again before ultimately meeting the other man’s gaze fully. “My thoughts would not be anywhere near so loud if you would have unruly thoughts yourself.”
Merran’s expression seemed to challenge that, but then he spoke and Korsten wondered by the words whether or not Merran had been detecting his mood or if the look meant something else altogether. His friend said simply, “I’m sorry?”
Korsten glared slightly and he looked away once more. “I take my comment back. Well, not entirely. Your thoughts are still particularly ordered and … quie….”
Merran drew to a stop and held an arm out, prompting Korsten to do the same.
“What is it?” Korsten asked him.
Merran’s gaze slid toward a section of close doorways along their route. Two of them had peculiar lights, or etchings of light upon the timber. After closer study, it was evident that the light was a refraction as the glow of night passed through crystals hung above the entryway. It was in precisely the same manner the Cambir home had displayed such adornments.
“I wonder what their purpose is,” Korsten said.
“I should have asked Irslan before we left the house,” Merran answered. “I’ll do so when we return.”
Korsten nodded, agreeing with the decision. Since the arrival of their fellows, a word with their host was more sparsely come by. It was easy for that reason, and owed to habit, for Korsten and Merran to go about their business unannounced, forgetting that Irslan had placed himself and his resources at their disposal.
Merran continued forward. “Tell me about Ersana Cambir again.”
Falling into step with his colleague, Korsten took a moment to reconsider the woman, to search his memory for any bits he might have left out in his earlier account. “She seemed cold, but in attitude and demeanor, not in nature. In nature she felt—I wonder how I should word it….”
“Precisely as it felt,” Merran helped.
Well, it didn’t actually help all that much. Still, Korsten summoned the most relatable word to the front of his mind regarding the feeling Ersana inspired and let it out into the open for his friend to analyze. “She felt plain.”
Naturally, Merran questioned the choice. “Plain?”
Korsten felt settled on that description and nodded. “Yes. Not lacking, necessarily, but … simple … hmm, that’s really no better.” He took a few paces to contemplate further, then said, “Like a twig, or a leaf … or the earth … in essence an uncontrived element that you wouldn’t give a second thought to. It’s simply there … a bit of plain, ordinary nature that has not a solitary care whether you exist or don’t.”
Merran seemed to consider this at some length before giving an eventual nod. “I see,” he murmured.
“I hope so, because I’m not certain how else to explain the woman.” As it occurred to him, he added, “It was as if she had nothing at all to hide, but as if I had no hope of understanding what was directly in front of me. On reflection, I felt rather ignorant in her presence.”
“You remember Ecland,” Merran said next.
“Of course.” He was never going to forget the mage who had hidden himself among the soldiers at Lilende, disguising himself as a … simple boy. Korsten looked at Merran, who was nodding as if perceptive to Korsten’s internal revelation.
“There are three known ways to tap into the world’s Essence,” Merran said in reminder. He once again drew to a halt, this time nearer the wall that separated the walkway from the waterway. “Our system at the Seminary….”
“Yes, the blood lilies,” Korsten said.
Merran nodded and continued. “The Vadryn’s method….”
Which was to take it from bodies directly, they both knew too well. “And to siphon it from nature itself,” Korsten finished.
Again, Merran nodded, tucking his hands into his coat pockets as he put his back to the wall. The barrier rose above both of their heads but was carved out in fanciful oval shapes periodically, offering a view of the water rushing past. “A rogue mage can sustain themselves through either blood or nature—blood being a specific aspect of nature, as we’re all a part of it. It depends on the level of Essence already inside of them, how aware they are of it, and what their level of discipline where channeling and utilizing magic is concerned.”
“It depends upon their scruples,” Korsten said, considering the method Ecland might have gone with. Perhaps he’d done both; tapped into his natural environment and into the people who were included in it as well. He wondered if it may have been easier for Ecland with a demon also present at the keep. Perhaps they had come to an agreement, in spite of the demon’s claims at the time that he’d scarcely noticed or been interested in any of the mages present. Korsten wondered now how much of the demon’s behavior had been a performance, maybe as much for itself as for Korsten.
“Ecland, of course, was trained at the Seminary,” Merran said. “Hearing Eisleth’s account after Lilende, I’m led to believe he was near if not a part of the Seminary’s founding generation. His skill level would have been advanced. His knowledge was not lacking, nor was his awareness.”
Korsten took a position beside Merran along the wall, his hand coming to rest within one of the oval windows. He sincerely did not want to think about Ecland, his connection to the Seminary, or what he had become after leaving it. “What does this have to do with Ersana Cambir?”
Merran looked down at the stone beneath their feet, his brow furrowing in consideration.
Korsten left him to organize his thoughts on the matter, peering through the open space in the wall at the water. He knew that Merran was suggesting that Ersana may have been a rogue mage. Not from the Seminary, though. Surely, there couldn’t have been that many to have voluntarily abandoned them … enough that he and Merran would come upon them so easily. They must have been few and spread very far between. Granted, Ersana did seem to have some measurable amount of disdain toward the notion that Korsten was a titled mage … one from a system that perhaps she had rejected.
The cool breeze so near the water brushed across Korsten’s exposed arms, setting a chill across his skin. Merran’s voice accompanied the sensation and brought his attention back to him.
“Witches are not common in Edrinor,” he said. “Since the establishment of the Seminary they’ve been almost unheard of.”
“Why is that?” Korsten asked, though the majority of his attention was caught on the term ‘witches’. Those were stories he’d heard more abundantly in the north. Pe
ople had placed witches and demons into the same basket, a basket that especially got brought out when it was time to entertain the children.
Merran paused as if he hadn’t anticipated being asked ‘why’. But then he said, “One theory is that the Seminary provided a sense of purpose … a lure for some that negated a rogue lifestyle. There’s also the notion that those with the Essence strong in them who weren’t drawn to the Seminary were from or recruited by Morenne … and potentially in league with the Vadryn.”
“Such a stark division between us and them.” Korsten’s gaze had drifted back to the water while he considered all of that, but was coaxed toward Merran once again while his friend watched him steadily. “What started this war with Morenne? Do any of us remember?”
“Does it matter at this point?” Merran asked in return, perhaps because he could not recall even at his age, which was not as ancient as many of the Superiors, but well beyond Korsten, who’d yet to even eclipse a century.
Korsten just began to shake his head when a sound nearby drew his attention; a clacking against stone. He and Merran looked toward it simultaneously.
“We may not be the only souls out beyond sensible curfew,” Korsten said.
Merran stepped away from the wall. “You saw Dacia Cambir home. I’ll assume it’s not her.”
Korsten followed his friend. “I won’t.”