by T. A. Miles
Merran conceded with a taut nod and then said to Ersana, “That leaves Dacia to you. Try to reach her, else you’ll surely lose her.”
Ersana looked down at the crystal in her hand, then closed her fingers around it, drawing herself up somewhat as she drew in a breath and settled her attention calmly on her daughter.
Cayri wondered if she should return to Irslan’s but she felt compelled to stay with the governor and his family. She knew that eventually she would have to regroup with the others, though knowing Vlas, if he had needed her or investigated his own thread to its end, he would come directly to find her. She contented herself with that for now and determined that if Tahrsel appeared stable enough to survive the night, she would return to Irslan’s before dawn.
“Lady Mage,” someone beckoned and she pulled herself back from her mental wandering.
The sprawled blanket of lights that lay over Indhovan at night returned to her conscious view, along with her own reflection and that of the man who had come to stand behind her. The deputy governor appeared quite exhausted with the evening’s affairs. He’d spent much of the night in conference with Deitir, no doubt preparing him for the worst possible scenario. Cayri believed that, in spite of his emotional instincts, Deitir was a reasonable man. Even through pain of loss, he would be able to function as the city needed him to.
“Any change in the governor’s condition, Fersmyn?” She asked the deputy.
“No,” he answered, taking her question as invitation to step further into the room—the governor’s study, where she’d been looking for any traces of presence other than the humans inhabiting the manor. Soaking in the emotional leavings of all who Tahrsel lived and worked with was making her feel heavy and also somewhat familiar with them. She anticipated what Fersmyn said next, “Raiss is a very old man. This may be the end of his rule in Indhovan.”
Through her hours lingering in the presence of the household, she understood that Fersmyn wasn’t a pessimist, but a pragmatist. It was one of the reasons Tahrsel had appointed the man. Cayri appreciated his lack of panic and she was certain that Deitir did as well, though he may not have expressed as much under the current circumstances.
“If I’m to believe Ilayna,” Fersmyn continued. “This could not have come at a fouler time.”
“Believe her,” Cayri advised, looking over her shoulder at the man, who met her gaze in that moment. The meeting was tentative as he sought to anchor his trust, so that he may formulate a plan of action. Cayri turned to face him fully. “There’s been a dire misstep in communication in this city, Fersmyn. The population is fragmented awkwardly by it.”
“That,” Fersmyn said, raising a hand slightly. “I am aware of. As is Raiss.”
Cayri tilted her head in silent beckoning for the man to expound on that. Personally she felt that if they were aware, they should have resolved it.
“We feel that these various groups have been dignified enough. Both the purists and the activists are as greedy as children where they see there are sweets to be had. Give them each something and they want something more.”
“Do you have children?” Cayri asked him, her head still angled as it had been and her eyes looking him over.
This didn’t seem to make him uncomfortable, but the apparent randomness of the question made him hesitate before answering. After a moment, he said, “Yes. And grandchildren.”
The answer enabled her to picture Fersmyn’s analogy of ‘greedy’ children gathering around their grandfather for sweets that he would never admit he was too liberal in giving them. It drew a small smile to her lips, one that didn’t linger. She sighed with some remorse as well as weariness when she said, “Morenne won’t spare them.”
There came a silence after that. He seemed to understand what she may have been referring to with his eventual response. “I know that ignoring the war won’t make it disappear or move around us, but we’re not defenseless nor are we entirely unprepared. Part of the reason we’ve been less generous replenishing the Alliance army has been to keep a reserve for ourselves.”
“A reserve against Morenne?” Cayri asked. “Or against your own citizens?”
Fersmyn smiled, though there was no amusement behind the expression. “Rebellion has occurred to us, though it’s nothing Raiss or I fear. We have people in place to monitor both groups. The constabulary regularly observes the meetings of the purists and we have agents attending the activists’ meetings.”
“Konlan Ossai?” Cayri presumed.
Fersmyn nodded. “Yes, and the governor’s own family members—whether or not Ilayna would consider herself a spy. Her interest and attendance keeps us informed regardless. They’ve been particularly harmless since the imprisonment of their most enthusiastic member.”
“And that would have been Vaelyx Treir,” Cayri said, drawing in a breath when the deputy nodded.
For emphasis, he added, “Yes, it would.”
Cayri leaned against the window sill behind her. “And now he’s escaped.”
“He will be brought back,” Fersmyn assured her.
Cayri had no doubt that Vlas would find him. “Why would he have waited twenty years to make his escape?”
Fersmyn furrowed his brow and lightly shook his head while he undoubtedly searched for plausible scenarios.
Cayri continued. “On the same night a girl is attacked by one of the Vadryn. Shortly thereafter, the governor falls ill.”
“Are the incidents connected?” Fersmyn seemed to genuinely want to know.
“I can’t say,” Cayri admitted. “I believe that they are. Others of the Vadryn are active within this city as well, and have been for some years. Mages are hunting them as we speak, and investigating Indhovan’s coven as well. They’re magic users, did you realize?”
Whether he did or he didn’t, Fersmyn cast her a weary if not antagonized look. “What exactly are you suggesting?”
“I’m not certain,” Cayri said truthfully. She tilted her chin up while she analyzed the man’s stance—more incidentally as she concentrated on the pieces of information she’d laid out for him. “But I do know that Indhovan’s become very suddenly quite active, and quite the place of interest. Strong leadership is going to have to come from this house.”
“And it will,” Fersmyn let her know, if she should doubt it.
She didn’t. However … “I fear it may come too late. We have to think and prepare to act ahead of Morenne’s movements, not in response to them. That’s the reason my partner and I have come here … to help you do that. When we arrived, only by the allowance of Irslan’s private lifestyle, we were quickly let know that should Tahrsel learn of our presence, he would have us escorted from his city. That tells us that he doesn’t doubt our existence.”
“No,” Fersmyn confirmed.
“He isn’t allied with our enemy,” she said next and received a more emphatic confirmation from the deputy. In light of that, she asked, “Is he afraid of us?”
Again, “No.”
“Then what is it?” Cayri demanded, managing to rile herself somewhat with the topic. It was frustrating to watch these politics spinning senselessly around her. She’d dealt with similarly stubborn men in other places, but at least she understood that they were afraid.
“Mage Cayri,” Fersmyn began, and he found a random place on the floor to settle his gaze for a moment—perhaps it was to allow himself or both of them to compose themselves internally before the conversation continued. “We’re well aware of the presence and practice of witches in this area. It was, in fact….”
He hesitated and Cayri allowed it for a space, though when the silence carried on for too long, she said, “What?”
Fersmyn looked at her. He drew in a breath that seemed to fortify him and continued. “During the governor’s younger days, he had a prominent interest in our neighbors out to sea.”
“The Islands,
yes. He’s from there.”
Fersmyn nodded, accepting what she knew and seeming grateful to not have to explain. “His mother brought him here when he was young. There weren’t many of her people living in the city then—most were rogue traders or wanderers, some of which had been chased off early on. Raiss’ mother had been arrested trying to sell trinkets by the docks. It was by the gods’ will alone that our former governor happened to the constabulary on other business and took notice of her. She wasn’t fighting with them, but simply begging that if she was to be sent back that they keep her son. She implored that he be put to work in or near the city and promised that she would go back peacefully. Her dialect was nearly impossible to understand, I’m told, but as the story goes, the governor was intrigued by it and by her situation. He ordered she be put up at a nearby inn and over the season that followed, she became of increasing interest to the governor. Some believe that—having lost his wife and unborn child prematurely—he grasped at the opportunity to replace that and fell in love. Others believe that….”
“That she enchanted him,” Cayri finished.
Fersmyn acknowledged her with another nod, looking at her. “None of this surfaced fully until Raiss became governor and took a fresh interest in the Islands. His adoptive father seemed more concerned with his newfound family than with where they had come from. There were conflicts over it, but more disgruntlement that people overcame as time passed. Raiss’ desire to fully open the channel to his heritage uncovered more than he was prepared to know. As it went, his natural father had been a witch. According to his aunt—Konlan’s mother—his own mother had run away from his father to protect him from the Island coven. There was some local debate as to whether or not she’d killed him before she left. Also according to the aunt, the Island coven had almost completely died out. With Vaelyx’s help, Tahrsel researched deeper, simultaneously encouraging a developing relationship between Indhovan and the Islands. At the time, I advised him to let the history lie and to concentrate on the future. The past didn’t matter. I didn’t want him to upset himself or his own newly acquired family with findings of an unpleasant history. It haunts me a little that my words then may have directly inspired the attitude of the activists.
That aside, Raiss ignored my advice and dug as deeply as he was able. What he learned of his father must have been truly awful; he stopped abruptly, abandoned his personal efforts with the Islands and even forbade his best friend at the time from returning. Of course, Vaelyx is a Treir, and didn’t listen. His persistence was viewed by Konlan as invasive and callous, insensitive to Raiss. It formed a swift grudge between them. That extended to the relationship between Vaelyx and Raiss before too long, but Vaelyx persisted as a man with an obsession. Until he was arrested.”
“We were told that Vaelyx joined Indhovan’s coven,” Cayri said.
Fersmyn didn’t appear interested. “Raiss has distanced himself from magic users ever since. He believes they’re a menace and will bring this entire country to ruin.”
“So, it’s personal,” Cayri said. It was important to know that. It was important to realize that Raiss hadn’t shared everything with Ilayna, or Ilayna had skillfully left what she knew of it out of their conversations.
“Yes, it is,” Fersmyn answered. “Fortunately for you, he’s not in a state to have you or your fellow mages arrested.”
“Fortunately for this city, you mean,” Cayri said, on the heels of his words. She enforced again, “We’re here to help you. If you sincerely believe that it was the gods’ will that brought your former governor to Raiss when he was a child, then believe it’s their will that we’ve come to you now. The Vadryn would corrode this city with the efficiency of a plague. Morenne will deal it a swifter blow.”
“You seem to have the ear of our future governor,” Fersmyn pointed out. “I’m certain….”
“You’re certain what?” The youthful voice of the very person mentioned interrupted Fersmyn.
The deputy governor looked to the study doorway, greeting Deitir with a nod and opting not to finish his statement. Within an evening the conversation between them had grown tired and strained. Perhaps it was often this way, though Cayri felt that the tension in this regard was all very recent. In many ways Indhovan was ill prepared for what approached.
As if alert to her thoughts, Deitir looked directly at her, his dark eyes seeming to express that it was worse before his words confirmed as much. “Word has arrived from the north. Our enemy has taken to sea.”
The walkway extended to a natural shelf. Along the way a section of scaffolding had been battered down by the rockslide. They each managed the gap and once they arrived at the shelf, Vlas stopped to look for ways to separate the walkway. If Fire had been one of the spells his talents allowed for, he’d have simply incinerated the gods damned thing. However, having twice the emphasis on blue and with white from his predecessor, he was far better equipped for thinking than assaulting. The Megrim spell was easier for him than most, but he’d never tried it on ghouls. It was useless on demons and dangerously effective on people. Perhaps on something that existed between the two the spell would yield a mediocre effect. Wind might tear down some of the platforms, but more than a breeze would require more time. Blast, for a mage of his nature, manifested as little more than a flare. In fact, it might just as well have been called that, but that the mechanics to casting it were the same. At a time like this it was painfully clear that the gods, his predecessor, and himself were all agreed that he was not meant to be a soldier or a hunter. He hadn’t slacked in his weapons training, but there were a few too many opponents present than he wanted to chance, especially with others present who he would hold himself responsible for.
“This way!” Vaelyx urged.
Vlas looked toward the man, then back toward the ghouls, who were gaining ground quicker than he would have liked. He still considered what he might do, and then Imris took his arm, insisting that they follow Vaelyx. With a last glance over the wooden construction—solid even in its connection to the rock—he abandoned the matter and went with Imris.
His legs were long and Imris was an able runner. The both of them quickly reached Vaelyx and threatened to overtake him. Assuming he was the one who knew where they were going, they slowed their pace enough to allow him to continue to lead.
Their route was sloping downward, into a tunnel that required light, so Vlas provided it. Orbs glinted high along the wall at the same time and Vlas barely had a moment to curse their luck before several figures leaped down at them. Vaelyx swore loudly enough for all of them and took a short knife quickly from his belt. The man immediately set about defending himself.
Vlas sent the Lantern toward the ceiling to grant them enough light to see their opponents and drew his sword in time to slice the blade across the arm of an attacker. The once-man’s flesh was weak from his curse and gave readily, enabling the thin weapon to cut well deeper than it might have normally, which provided swift though jarring passage to the ghoul’s shoulder and chest. It took the damage and continued in its reckless lunge. Vlas put his free arm between them and shoved the ghoul backward, into the one behind it. While both opponents stumbled, Vlas instructed his companions. “Do not lose blood to them!”
His words went unacknowledged, but hopefully not unheeded. Beside Vlas, Imris had taken a narrow club of sorts from off her own belt and he feared worse for her. She wouldn’t be able to afflict them enough to bring them down with a weapon like that. He barely trusted his own weapon to do enough damage to such creatures.
The wounded ghoul and its fellow were recovered and lurching at him again. He abandoned the Lantern and a hastily cast Megrim confounded the attackers’ sense of direction. One of them fell directly while the other attacked the air beside Vlas as if he had a twin standing at his shoulder. Vlas quickly put the tip of his sword into its exposed side and drove it toward the wall. It impaled with the ease of rotted wood and Vlas’ wea
pon pulled out of it as easily. Gruesome as it was he had to continue hacking at it until it was damaged beyond further useful movement. In the process the one that had fallen managed to crawl at him and was grasping the air in anticipation of reaching him. He kicked the reaching hand, hard enough that the arm was flung and bent awkwardly in the process. The ghoul’s weakened bone splintered, rendering the arm useless. He saw to the rest of the creature and quickly flinched aside when a third dove at him, this one with a torch. The others must have caught up to them, then.
While Vlas dodged the errantly flung fire, Imris stepped in and leveled a haltingly abrupt blow to the attacker’s lower back. The ghoul went splaying to the floor and afterward Imris pivoted sharply and with precision, swiping her club across the jaw of another attacker. There was a methodic pause, an intake of air and then a grunt of force accompanying the crack of her weapon against an enemy’s skull. Vlas took the opening her efforts provided to retrieve the torch of one of the fallen. He held the flame to the ghoul’s prone body until it smoldered and lit. He hurried to do the same to any others that had been taken down. A handful of stragglers hesitated to attack as the smoke and fire rose.
The ones nearby were accounted for. “See to Vaelyx,” Vlas instructed and Imris went to the aged man, who was still standing, albeit somewhat bent and out of air.
In the meantime, Vlas sheathed his sword and took one of the fallen ghouls by the ankle, dragging its limp form toward where the majority of the others had gone down. He deposited it there, then sought another and did the same, pulling it by the arm, which felt as if it dislocated at the shoulder along the way. When the body was near enough, he rolled it over with his foot, so it was directly beside the rest, then set the low mound on fire. The surviving ghouls watched emotionless, save for a vaguely antagonized glare. Their poisoned minds were doubtlessly pondering whether or not they could charge through the flame and survive long enough to fulfill their duty to the demon who’d bound them literally until death with her foul toxin. She must have fed from them regularly, extending their existence but also prolonging a slow death. Their minds and bodies were literally deteriorating.