by T. A. Miles
Ultimately, his Reach found the individual he most needed to find in the moment of its casting. He stepped from one ship onto another, the atmosphere of damp darkness and the wafting odor of recent death and of fire lingering in the more comfortable space, enough that Lerissa seemed to have noticed.
“Hell’s depths,” the blonde complained, all but leaping out of the chair that held her in the small cabin that had been leant to Sethaniel. It was the same chair Korsten had been sitting upon earlier that evening. “I’ve been looking all over for you, Korsten. I was beginning to think you’d gone over the side.”
Sethaniel was awake now as well. His expression seemed to support Lerissa’s absurd theory, though admittedly, through the eyes of a parent who knew nothing of how his child’s grace had manifested over the years, it was a more rational verdict to have come to than leaving by way of spell.
And then there was Sharlotte, stood between the chair and the small window, leaning against the wall. “Where did you go?”
So, he had Reached to all three of them, regardless of his focus. That was fine. In fact, it was ideal. “I apologize for causing worry,” he said, particularly if not exclusively for his father’s benefit. “My mind wandered in the midst of falling asleep, and I placed myself back in Indhovan.”
Sharlotte seemed confused to the point of offense. “You what?”
Lerissa merely took on a slightly puzzled expression. “What do you mean?”
“I performed a Reach unconsciously,” he explained, in an abbreviated sense. “That’s not important now. What matters is that Indhovan is under attack.”
“It’s begun?” Lerissa said.
“Yes,” Korsten replied. “Morenne is heavily equipped with a new style of weapon and the Vadryn are with them in number.” He looked specifically to Sharlotte. “We need you there, desperately.”
Lerissa took Sharlotte’s hand in that moment, perhaps unconsciously.
Sharlotte maintained her stubborn frown, but she seemed willing to set aside personal issue. “What are you proposing?”
“That we Reach back to Indhovan. I know where to take us. We must assist that city in any way that we can.”
Lerissa was nodding while he was speaking. Sharlotte’s expression gave her the look of deliberation, though she didn’t argue or refuse.
Korsten accepted that for now and turned his attention to Sethaniel. “You and this ship can go no further.”
“Nonsense,” Sethaniel said immediately, as if he had been holding on to the word since the conversation began, waiting for the moment to spit it onto the floor in distaste.
“The battle began on water,” Korsten told him. “Morenne is using a method of attack that literally tears a structure apart. This ship has no defense.”
Sethaniel held his face in his hands briefly, then drew away from them as if he had planted the stress there, though not all of it. His tone was forceful. “My son,” he said, looking at Korsten too directly. It made Korsten’s heart stumble mildly, especially when Sethaniel continued with, “Your brother. He’s there in that attack you just witnessed.”
“Yes,” Korsten said, turning away any emotional response he may have had in that moment. He wanted to acknowledge Sethaniel’s paternal concern, but he was not going to adopt fraternal obligation solely over that. There was an entire city of souls at risk, and where his familial duty was concerned … it was all for his father, whom he had wrongly vilified … who he had demonized and regarded as no better than dead. Sethaniel was very much alive, and he was going to live until the years took him … not the Vadryn. “I’m going back. Other mages are present, one in particular, is at his side. With Lerissa and Sharlotte accompanying, there will be five Mage-Adepts doing everything possible to turn Morenne away.”
“I’m going,” Sethaniel tried to enforce.
“There’s nothing for you to do,” Korsten argued, “save put your life at risk.”
“I will not go back,” Sethaniel insisted, as if acceptance of his decision was eminent.
“You will,” Korsten said, defiance leaping forward in the face of Sethaniel’s stubbornness.
Sethaniel glared. “I will not turn from—”
“You’ve no other choice!” Korsten found himself unexpectedly shouting.
Simultaneously, Sethaniel finished his statement with volume of his own. “I will not turn away from my children!”
Silence came abruptly, and just for a moment. It wasn’t the shouting, so much as the breaking in Sethaniel’s voice, that quieted Korsten. He watched his father’s eyes glaring through unshed tears and watched his jaw clenching between sobs he refused to relinquish. He looked as if he wanted to pace, but there was no room for it in the small space. It had him half turn toward the bed, then back toward Korsten, whom he continued to glare at.
“I will not go back,” Sethaniel said, still loudly. “I will proceed to Indhovan to be with my sons!”
Korsten stood still and quiet now. He looked his father in the eye, and watched the man’s controlled weeping. It was in that moment that a truth was renewed. He loved his father. He loved him, and he had missed him. The very last thing that he wanted was for his father to be killed in Indhovan. But he also had no desire to have him return to Cenily, to cut short this precious time they’d been granted and to perhaps never see Sethaniel again, to condemn him to his years and to rob him of an opportunity that might never come again; the opportunity to be in the presence of his surviving children at the end of his days, and perhaps to be assured that his legacy was one of hope and contribution of hope to their faltering world.
Sethaniel was the victor in this moment, and not because Korsten had run away, but because Korsten agreed with him.
“All right,” Korsten finally said. “But we can’t risk the lives on this ship. We’ll inform the captain of our intentions and bring you with us, directly to the governor’s manor.”
Sethaniel held silent for a moment, during which Lerissa and Sharlotte seemed to visibly relax. And then the elder nodded. After further pause, he also said, “Thank you.”
To which Korsten replied in earnest, “I love you, Father.”
Vlas and Irslan arrived at the tree line in the same moment a second projectile crashed upon the shore. Worse than the noise was the sensation of it hitting the ground. It made the very earth seem fragile. Such destruction was not meant for the hands or the judgment of men.
“Are you all right?” he quickly asked Irslan once they were in the relative concealment of branches and the shadows they cast.
“I am,” Irslan replied, and together they set about looking for Imris.
Keeping low, they took hurried steps in the direction of the slope. The darkness made it more difficult, but it also had them fortuitously run into one another before too long.
Vlas put his hands onto the constable’s shoulders, descrying her features as only their very near proximity would allow. “Are you hurt?” he asked her.
“No,” was her answer.
“Good,” he said, and he hadn’t realized her hand was on his arm until he felt her fingers tighten over his sleeve. He turned back toward Irslan while staying close to Imris, bringing the three of them to huddle together, so that they might sort their circumstances. “Now, we know the state of things here, and that it’s unhappily against us.”
“What happened to Rahl’s men?” Irslan wondered for all of them.
“I suspect the absolute worst,” Vlas replied. “Though it is possible that they were attacked after sacking the enemy supply and continued inland to make a thorough job of it. Granted, with the lack of bodies bearing constabulary uniform, it’s also possible that they took care of the weapons supply, then returned to their boat to head back, where they were then ambushed by the enemy. In that case, it seems as if no one could have survived.”
“Right,” Irslan said while Imris nodded.
“While I dislike the idea of leaving men stranded here, we have to consider whether or not it’s wiser to return to Indhovan and inform the governor and his officers of what we’ve witnessed.”
“I dislike the way that stray ship has come in,” Irslan noted. “The manner in which it appears to be patrolling this island, I place of the one we should have had here.”
“It does seem odd,” Vlas agreed. “Uncomfortably so.”
“Is it possible that they have another fleet in hiding here?” Imris asked.
Yes, that was entirely too possible. Still, Vlas took a moment to consider the strategy. They knew for fact that Morenne had been planning on Indhovan as a battleground for years. Long enough for the crone to have been summoning a wave to come ashore and obliterate the city, or its defenses at any rate. Of course, they also knew that the crone had been planning to obliterate the resident Vadryn population as well. And the population of demons had been not only lurking behind and beneath the city, but on the Islands as well, along with the local people, some of whom had committed themselves to a cult which served a Master Vadryn. That Master—bizarre as it was to consider—was an acting agent among the demons…a political and tactical body that was very likely put in place to organize arms and an army. With all that considered, Morenne could well have taken all the Islands over from afar. The presence of a demon alone would have begun to suppress the population. The following takeover would have been little trouble…less with individuals such as Konlan helping. The man had deliberately hampered the will and capability of the governor. Vlas imagined Morenne had been damned near prepared to declare victory over Indhovan upon their very arrival in their waters.
“I had considered that the ship was of their arriving fleet,” Vlas mentioned. “And that it may have gone around the far side of things.”
“That’s possible, too,” Irslan said. “But, then I suppose what really matters now, is what we do. We can pass theories about it all night.”
“Very true, Master Treir.” Vlas drew in a breath and let it out quickly. “I had hoped for more time, but the situation is what it is. I say we return. It’s better that we survive to share the information we have, rather than to risk having it lost to our deaths over exploring circumstances that are evidently too complex for the time we have.”
“I agree,” Imris said.
“Seems more than wise,” Irslan added.
And Vlas said, “It’s less than foolish, at least.”
“Our word from the cliffs is that no one has come so far,” Fersmyn said, bringing the information to the central table after a soldier passed it verbally to him at the doors. His current use of ‘so far’ sounded remarkably grim. At the moment, everything fell darkly onto Deitir’s ears.
“They’re maintaining their positions?” Deitir asked and had it confirmed with a sure nod from the man that was now his deputy … no longer his father’s, in spite of any official ceremony or declaration of the transition. None of this was happening with it in mind that his father would be handed everything back anymore, his son having made do and kept order during his unnatural slumber. Everything felt eerily final now.
He asked next, “How are things at the waterfront?”
Fersmyn began to answer, but was interrupted by the arrival of both Chief Constable Rahl and Captain Oshand, who may have been better equipped to answer anyway. Deitir gave his attention to them instead, as did everyone else at the table.
“Demons have been sighted,” the elder of the pair informed while he approached the table, Oshand following near. “They boarded one of our vessels and forced abandonment.”
“Forced abandonment?” Deitir asked, perhaps unfairly in his tone.
It would naturally be in that precise moment that Cayri would return. She came through the doors as if she’d literally come from another world just on the other side of them, and she must have heard his uncharitable tone, for she fixed him with an immediate look, one in which he struggled to decipher. And in spite of it, he felt a fantastic amount of relief at seeing her. He was unsettled by the way it measured darkly against a feeling of unhappiness for the fact that she was gone when his father might have been benefited by her presence.
“Well….” Rahl was saying, somewhat taken by the unspoken suggestion that Oshand and his men had done anything other than the only option available to them beyond blatant and senseless sacrifice. “It’s not as if men can fight demons.”
For some reason that irritated Deitir further, and he snapped, “Can’t they?”
And it was then that Cayri said, “No, they cannot.”
“Then we’re doomed, aren’t we?” Deitir said, realizing even as he was doing it that he was lashing out. “Why should we do anything at all? What is there to do except flee or die?”
Cayri should have been disappointed or angry, he felt, but she looked at him in such a way that he couldn’t tell what she was feeling toward him in just that moment. Ever calm, she said, “Some of the enemy are mortal men. Many of them are. My fellows and I are here to fight the demons, and to advise you in how best to turn back their efforts.”
Deitir held back any further response that would have been inspired by anger. He knew it was anger over his father, and over the full reality of having to take his place. He also knew that it was unfairly aimed at Cayri, since she didn’t know what had happened in her absence and could not have predicted it would have happened just when it did. No one could have.
“I’m sorry,” he eventually said, to Cayri and to everyone else.
No one dignified the outburst any further by saying anything. Instead, Cayri walked across the room to the table, returning to Deitir’s side. She said to him specifically, “There are more mages coming.”
Deitir had not been expecting to hear that. It shook him from his angst. “When will they arrive?”
“Soon,” Cayri told him. “I predict that within the hour we will have them here with us, and we can make plans to continue Indhovan’s defense.”
Deitir accepted this, reminding himself that it had been mages who uncovered a horde of the beasts within the city and routed them, and that it was mages who had turned back the wave. The mages were their allies, and they were present to assist with matters and enemies that ordinary men and women couldn’t combat alone. Their primary task was to maintain vigilance in what they could accomplish and to otherwise keep faith in those equipped to contend with what they could not.
“Captain Oshand,” Deitir began, looking to the young man as he took a further step forward in waiting to receive his orders. “Return to the harbor and resume your command. Guide your men away from the peril of the Vadryn in whatever way you’re able. Stay focused on our human opponents. I trust you have some better idea of what to look for in a soldier who might be influenced or possessed.”
“Yes, sir.” Oshand turned briskly from the table and went to the doors.
On his departure, Deitir gave his focus to the elder of the men at arms. “Constable Rahl.”
“Yes, Governor.”
“Has there been any word back from your unit on the near island?”
“There has not been,” Rahl replied. “Though, given the circumstances on the water, there’s scarcely been time or opportunity to return. I imagine they will have to take a roundabout channel in order to relay their findings safely, if they haven’t encountered trouble.”
“There was trouble,” a new voice said. The familiar voice of Mage Vlas. Deitir appreciated their timing, though it was a tad uncanny, even for mages.
“Have you been listening outside of the doors?” Fersmyn asked somewhat dryly, making it apparent that Deitir wasn’t the only one to notice this trait among the mages.
It was Irslan Treir who innocently replied. “We’ve only just arrived,” he said. The man seemed so harmless that Deitir could not feel exasperated with his manner. He did find him s
omewhat odd, however. He always had. Eccentric, perhaps.
“Thank you for coming,” Deitir decided to say to him, and to both Mage Vlas and Constable Imris as well. “What do you know of the contingency force?”
“As far as we could tell, it was eradicated by the enemy,” Vlas said, sparing them nothing, as was his typical manner.
Deitir glanced toward Cayri, who issued no visible response, then gave his attention back to Vlas.
The blonde mage came directly to the table, though both of his small party lingered nearer the doors for the time present.
“What did you see?” Deitir asked him.
Oh, I’ll tell you what we saw, Vlas’ expression said, which was all for the better, since Deitir wanted to know.
“Firstly, we came upon what appeared to be a significant cache of fire tactics being collected, perhaps for transfer, by what may have been Islands cultists. The supplies had been destroyed and there were bodies of the cultists strewn about, as if there’d been some manner of altercation.”
“Had there been?” Deitir asked.
“We have no idea,” Vlas replied. “There weren’t any weapons about and the constabulary men were not to be found in the immediate vicinity.”
“Where were they?” Fersmyn wondered openly.
“Who can say?” was the mage’s reply. “Except, that it was observable from the shore, in the dark, that there were at least some brutally slain bodies upon their boat.”
“That must have been our men, then,” Fersmyn presumed.
And Vlas shot both him and Deitir a sharp look. “Maybe. Maybe not. I still haven’t sorted out whether or not I believe this was all an elaborately laid trap.”
“For who?” Rahl asked now. “Surely, young man, you can’t be suggesting that they were expecting you three?”
“No?” Vlas challenged, and in that challenge seemed also to be reproaching Rahl for his choice of words, perhaps in labeling the mage a young man, or perhaps in questioning the viability of the three referred to as an impactful resource that the enemy could take as such. That they would take as such.