by T. A. Miles
Vlas slowed, stopping altogether when he had come to stand beside the constable. Irslan came along a moment or two afterward, while Imris was in the process of pointing to the boat. She looked to Vlas afterward, frowning while she awaited confirmation that Vlas had located what she was indicating. He had.
A form lay motionless along the short railing. It was nearly impossible to see blood in the unsure light, but by the manner in which the individual’s hand and arm dangled, it had been nearly severed.
“Oh….” Irslan mumbled when his vision caught up to theirs.
“Yes,” Vlas replied, turning his head at the sound of shuffling behind them. The corpses were rising unsteadily from their various poses which had simulated death. In a way, they were dead—ghouls were certainly in a state of dying. Life could not persist long in that form. It would be long enough to spread the illness and misery of the Vadryn, however. It looked as if they had their answers, at least regarding the stillness of the site.
Irslan had taken a step back, which was a good position for him to take in the moment. Imris already had her weapon drawn. While she yet retained her constable’s club, she had been issued a short sword for the defense as well, and that was her selection for the pending confrontation with the Vadryn’s grotesque castings off.
“The fire’s still strong,” Vlas said to her, unsheathing his own blade.
Imris only issued a taut nod, prepared to deal with their magic-poisoned adversaries.
Vlas was very glad that she had done so once already.
“Wait here, Irslan,” he instructed and took quick steps toward the nearest threat. The ghoul had scarcely balanced itself on its emaciated legs, making it an easy task for Vlas to put more momentum into his stride and shoulder it into the fire.
Imris followed suit, driving her sword into the side of a would be attacker and pushing it swiftly toward the flames. It crumpled backward with her haste and its predetermined unsteadiness. Imris kicked the weak body from the end of her weapon.
Vlas noted that it fell short of the fire, but still left her to it while he received the next assailant. A quick casting of Megrim saw it to the sand, face first. He went to work hacking at the neck while the ghoul’s sore-mottled hands groped the loose earth. Decapitation had not quite been accomplished when another reached over its fallen companion for Vlas. He drove the tip of his sword into the sand, by route of the remains of the neck at his feet, then used both hands to perform a Wind spell, enough of one to push the ghoul back and over one of its own that had failed to fully rise.
Taking advantage of the moment’s pause, Vlas quickly scanned the area and saw that there were indeed not many of them. A part of him expected that their numbers would have increased somehow while their backs were turned, which prompted him to glance over his shoulder at Imris. She was in the process of taking down another ghoul with wide swings of her short blade. They would be finished with this altercation shortly.
And it was with that realization that Irslan shouted to them. “A ship!” he announced.
For some reason, that was not at all what Vlas was prepared to hear, in spite of knowing of the patrol ship that should have been in the area. He looked, and felt his spirits plummet. It was indeed a ship—too large to be one of Indhovan’s vessels, and one which had plainly circumnavigated the main point of conflict in Indhovan’s harbor. Perhaps it had already dealt with the constabulary’s patroller. It skulked in the deeper waters, well endowed with light, with the silhouettes of many soldiers, and undoubtedly fire tactics.
The frantic darting to and fro of Zesyl in the air beside him, issued Vlas all the warning he required. “Clear away from the fire!” he shouted to his companions.
Imris moved immediately, back toward the shadowed slope they had come from. Irslan had begun to run toward Vlas, which was the wrong way. A sudden thundering sound from the ship startled Irslan nearly to falling. Vlas rushed toward him and caught him by the arm during an extended and maddening instant of a whistling sound that could only mean disaster. Images of the caves coming down attacked Vlas as surely as if it had been an ambush of men with swords. His heel slipped in the sand, nearly bringing both him and Irslan down onto the mindlessly advancing body of a ghoul. Though the creature grasped at Vlas’ shirt sleeves in an attempt to pull him to the ground, he gave it no further attention, making his focus escape from what could only have been death screeching in their direction. Though off balance, he did not once let go of Irslan’s arms. He used the other man’s weight and the chance that he had maintained his balance for support enough to shift his own momentum and direction, pushing his legs against the pull of too soft land and dragging Irslan with him.
To Vlas’ surprise, Irslan had indeed maintained his footing, and he kept it throughout their urgent and awkwardly balanced flight to a destination as far from the only area the enemy could see to target. The high-pitched scream of whatever materials had been used to incase the fire tactics ended with a shuddering thud upon the earth. The ground reverberated with the impact, sending the sensation of the vibrations up Vlas’ legs and into his spine. At that point, he and Irslan gave in to the uneven ground and stumbled forward half on their knees during the moments when sand pelted the shore. It rained around them, some of it in overheated pellets, which reminded Vlas to cast a Barrier.
He hurriedly checked to see that Irslan was still living. Detecting that was Vlas’ interest, Irslan gave a nod between heavy draws of air.
Within moments, the hot sand and other debris had dissipated from the air. Vlas dropped the Barrier spell and grabbed hold of Irslan’s arm once again. “Let’s go, before they set another one against us. Imris!”
“I’m here!” the constable responded at once.
Vlas searched through the heavy screen of smoke and darkness, unable to find her. He couldn’t linger over it. She sounded distant enough to have at least made it to the slope. Guiding himself and Irslan further inland was his priority. “Head for the tree line!” he shouted to Imris.
And she came back with, “I am!”
A breath of relief escaped Vlas, though it was Irslan who said, “Good girl.”
The demon sat between Korsten and Cayri did so almost docilely. Likewise, it became almost conversational while its fate was delayed by unusual circumstances. It reminded Korsten a good deal of Bael … of the demon that had taken Bael, exuding personality only because it had adopted that of the host. That was what Korsten had believed then. But this demon was not in a body at all.
There are more of us, Master.
“How many?” Korsten asked, exchanging a glance with Cayri in order to assess how she might have felt about this, about conversing with a demon. He suspected his voice was the only part of the conversation his fellow mage could hear. Silently, he had another question for the demon. Why do you persist in addressing me that way?
You are one of the Masters, it replied, too simply for Korsten’s tastes. And there are many. So many….
“How many?” Korsten demanded, looking at it directly. It had no form, but it still had shape … characteristics such as the notion of eyes and a mouth … a face looking back at him.
More than can be counted. We are so many.
“Where did you come from?” He asked next. As it seemed more relevant, he changed his wording, “How did you get here?”
By blood. The blood of men.
Is there another Master with you?
There is another, other than you, Master.
Korsten had not been referring to himself. It was a nettling detail, but he let it go. Song’s charms were evidently saturating and thorough. Korsten did not have to be Morennish or one of the Vadryn in order to….
The thought struck him to mental silence. It was Sethaniel’s voice that penetrated that silence, the memory of his words about Zerxa
“Your mother was Morennish.” Sethaniel had said. “You’re her
legacy, and her heritage is yours.”
While Korsten was standing on the threshold of revelation, the Vadryn before him slunk forward. Cayri brooked no tolerance for error, and swept her blade through the insubstantial form of the beast, eradicating it in such a way that it would not be coherent in this plane of existence for a substantial period of time, if ever.
With no remorse or pride over the deed, Cayri asked, “Did it speak to you?”
Korsten did not allow himself to dwell in the moment, any more than she had. He gave a nod and said simply, “Yes.”
“How?” she wondered aloud. The look of curiosity on her face just then omitted any shock or disgust that may have accompanied it.
And it was with her asking that it became very clear to Korsten. “It seems in many ways to be very like spell-touching. Thoughts and feelings are transferred effortlessly, once contact by spell has been established.”
“And that spell is Siren,” Cayri determined.
“Yes,” Korsten answered. That was the only sensible explanation for the moment. And it made sense, enough that Korsten might be able to better navigate the peculiar shift the casting he had performed against Serawe and her followers had done to his landscape.
Cayri seemed as willing as he to accept that explanation for the time being. “I see,” she said. And then she put away her sword. “Shall we look for more of them?”
“There are no more aboard this vessel,” Korsten said knowingly. “There are several with the invading army, however. We won’t be able to track them all; most of them will be among the enemy soldiers.”
“I agree that that would be beyond our capabilities right now,” Cayri said.
“I believe it best to warn the coming ship to turn around, and to bring Sharlotte and Lerissa here.”
“Yes,” Cayri agreed. “I’ll return to the Governor’s manor.”
Korsten gave a nod. “Right. I’ll meet you there.”
On those words, they parted, each by their own spell that would take them in separate directions.
Deitir knew better than to worry over Cayri the way he’d indicated he would when she left. Above that, he knew better than to demonstrate that worry so openly. That had been a foolish moment that he was determined not to allow again. Unfortunately, the inability to withhold his reaction earlier had concerned his mother. None of it was important enough to be so present on his mind, but he felt exposed with Cayri absent. He felt at the mercy of himself and his own inexperience.
“Deitir,” his mother began, but he wouldn’t allow himself to take a turn back now. He wouldn’t allow anyone else to turn him back around.
“I’m fine, Mother,” he said. He looked at her directly, to let her know that he intended to make it so, even if it wasn’t.
Ilayna wasn’t so easily thrown off her maternal mark.
He averted her gaze by looking about the room. “Where has Firard gotten to?”
Ilayna looked for him after the fact, then lifted both shoulders. “He must be hunting for information from the guards.”
“As long as he isn’t trying to collect gear and join the soldiers at the waterfront with his injury.”
“He’s not that illusioned,” his mother said flatly. “He understands that he needs to take more care at his age.”
He didn’t believe that his mother was in the habit of lying, but he knew well that she tailored words. “That was most evident with the injury done to his arm, after he and a handful of activists foolishly tried to slip a vessel north.”
Ilayna arched one white eyebrow. “You say that as if….”
“Governor,” Fersmyn said suddenly.
Deitir and his mother both looked toward him. Deitir expected to be delivered more of the battle’s status, but that their deputy governor was looking not at Deitir, but toward the doorway.
“Raiss,” Ilayna said on a breath of elation.
Deitir stood in shock at the sight of his father hunched in the doorway. Emalrik was trying to offer assistance, but Raiss kept a hand on the other man’s shoulder with the clear intent to keep him at arm’s length.
Raiss struggled to get air enough to speak, which inspired both Deitir and his mother to approach him. He clearly should not have been out of bed yet. Deitir was glad to see that he was awake, though. It almost made him smile, but then his father spoke.
“Konlan’s dead,” he said, and it seemed so sudden as to also seem irrelevant, even though it wasn’t. Konlan’s disappearance remained an urgent topic.
“Where is he?” Ilayna asked. “How do you know?”
“Did he return?” Fersmyn asked, though his tone seemed to doubt that if the man had returned he would have been able to place himself within Raiss’ presence.
“He’s dead….” Raiss said again, and again Emalrik attempted to get a hold on him and was continually denied. “He wasn’t alone.”
Everyone paused in that moment, glancing about at each other and then returning their attention to Raiss. Why could Cayri not have gone later? Deitir would have rathered she was here to decipher his father’s sudden dialogue.
“What do you mean?” Ilayna pressed. “Maybe you should go back to bed.”
“Betrayer….” Raiss stammered, pushing Emalrik back once more, and that was his last word before he fell forward.
Ilayna and his physician both hurried to catch him. Deitir rushed to provide further support, panic racing through him as his father’s body leaned heavily against him and became a lifeless weight. There was barely a last breath before he … before….
Deitir clutched the back of his father’s shirt, eyes burning. “He’s gone back into his sleep,” he decided, looking to his mother as if to enforce it, then to Emalrik with a desperate plea for it to be true that he could feel. It stiffened in his chest before it became tears.
Deitir held his father tightly, aware that his mother had her arms around both of them. The thundering of battle in their harbor became strangely distant. He might have drifted from the present altogether, but that he felt a hand on his shoulder. It was a gesture of comfort, but also one for summoning strength. Looking up at Fersmyn, Deitir realized that the elder was asking that of him. In that moment, the sounds from the battle grew louder to Deitir, and more present. He squeezed his eyes shut against the tears, then kissed his father’s head and his mother’s afterward. Drawing in an unsteady breath, he withdrew from his parents, allowing Emalrik to take his place, keeping his father from collapsing fully to the floor.
“Return the governor to his bed,” Fersmyn instructed, his voice exhibiting some weakness in that moment.
The men present seemed still stuck in the moment, and looked to Deitir, as if a wrong movement might offend him or even his father, who was beyond offense now. Deitir confirmed the deputy governor’s command with a nod, and the men acted.
“You should go with them, Mother,” Deitir said to Ilayna, who allowed the men to collect her husband with a look of gathered strength. He’d watched his mother take on such a look for some time now.
Ilayna said nothing to him, or to anyone, and walked slowly from the room with the men carrying his father.
“Word of this is not to leave this house,” Deitir said. He said it to Fersmyn first, then looked at the other officers present and repeated the order firmly. Morale was already a questionable affair. News of his father’s death would only set about a decline.
Deitir felt eyes on him and looked to one of the far doors, where Firard Mortannis stood. He hoped that the man understood that he was also expected to carry out the order of silence on the topic. He may not have been a citizen of Indhovan, or an officer of theirs, but he was present and privy to events and information. Discretion had become an obligation and to disregard it would be tantamount to the actions of an enemy at this stage.
His father’s final word came to mind, causing him to look over all
who were present in the office. He believed it was true, that there was a betrayer and that it was that truth which awakened his father, out of necessity, so that he could warn them. Cayri’s prior warning, paired with his father’s, was all the suggestion Deitir needed to take care in who he trusted. His father had long been suspicious of Konlan’s group, and so had Deitir. If there was one man among his father’s … his officers … who had associated in secret with Konlan and his agenda, that man would be brought forward and he would be detained until this battle had been decided. As far as he was concerned, whomever the betrayer was, that man was equally responsible for Raiss’ death. If by no other means than failing to reveal Konlan’s magic practices. He would be tried for conspiracy against the office of the governor, and that meant that the office had to survive this night, if for no other reason than to bring some justice to his father.
Aware that his destination was moving, Korsten selected the individual he would Reach to carefully. He would not have considered Dacia a possibility in the remotest sense, especially for his unconscious habit. He scarcely knew the girl, but he understood after the fact that it wasn’t the girl; it was her birthmother. His altercation with Serawe had made them intimately connected and through the relationship of the host’s blood and the demon’s spirit, Korsten connected with Dacia. Logically, it should have been a simple choice to focus on Sethaniel, but Sethaniel was not aligned with the emotional map which lies had laid across his mind and heart. The father he had lately met and the one he had believed that he knew were not the same man. He would not consciously make such an attempt. By the same logic of Serawe to Dacia, he relied upon Ashwin’s relation to Lerissa, paired with his love for Lerissa and their familiarity, in spite of the length of their recent distance. He found it more difficult to concentrate solely on Lerissa, with thoughts of Ashwin hovering at the fringes of his affection. His sentiments about his life mentor nearly overshadowed his recent memory of Lerissa, but he recalled the trouble Indhovan was in and how much it would not do to place himself at the Seminary. The delay could have proved vital.