Concealed_The Taellaneth

by Vanessa Nelson

  “Not now.” The past was another matter. There were businesses in Hallveran that made their way by robbing out old, abandoned residences. She had seen fireplaces like this before, the decorative surround removed for selling in barely-legal warehouses.

  “The dealers were here.” Matthias shrugged slightly. “So?”

  “I am not sure. Something.” Some piece of information was stirring at the back of her mind, wanting attention. Something seen or heard. And this was a building that bore a name all Erith knew. Possibly the dealer had been entirely innocent, simply robbing an abandoned building. Possibly they had known the connection, and there was something more sinister at work.

  “Another sacrifice?” Zachary had seen the ash pile too and called her attention away.

  “Yes.” She abandoned the fireplace and returned to the spell, crouching by the nearest set of runes. They were flat in first sight, rounded and shadowed in second sight.

  “This magician needs stopping.” He joined her, staring at the runes, close enough that the clean scent of shifkin, crisp winter and pine forest, cut through the remnant of unclean magic. “That’s Erith magic.”

  “Yes.”

  “Still think he’s not Erith?”

  “Any magic user can be trained to wield Erith magic. It is simply magic. A power.” She paused, trying to tuck her hair back behind her ears. “As far as I know this spell was only known to the Erith. So somewhere an Erith has been involved.”

  The rest she held behind closed teeth. Not just any Erith. A highly trained magician, which narrowed the numbers down considerably. Humans had their own ways of summoning demons, usually involving a lot more blood than had been spilled here. The summoning spell laid out on the floor was now only taught to fifteenth cycle graduates. Nausea rose at the thought that a war mage had been involved in this. With the graduation came blood oaths, a solemn declaration of protection and vow to hunt out and destroy forbidden magic. If a war mage had been involved, they had betrayed their cloak, something she had not thought possible.

  “Is the circle shape significant?” Tamara asked, crouched on the other side of the room. Her eyes were keen on the floor. With her ready smile it was easy to forget that she had a sharp mind, more than a match for her mate.

  “It is. A shape with no beginning and end allows for more power to be held. And there are two circles.” Arrow straightened, pointing. “The white chalk was done first. Then the green second. See the strength behind the lines?”

  “Same magician?”

  “Yes.”

  “Two circles?” Zachary was quick. “Two demons? There were two here?”

  “There was only one left. The first came through, and helped the magician bring the second. Then one was left to watch.”

  “Where’s the other?” Matthias had one hand on a weapon. She did not blame him, even if his human-made weaponry was useless against surjusi.

  “Not here. Beyond that, I do not know.”

  “Can you track it?”

  “No.”

  Soft growls of displeasure met that one word. She spread her hands, seeking the right words.

  “A surjusi is a being out of phase with our reality. It was brought through enough to have a presence here, enough to do harm, but it is … a negative. A space that makes no sense. Even outside,” her voice cracked a moment, “it was only when it was bound that I could see it. Not fully, but enough. Unbound it is like trying to trap smoke.”

  “How do we find it?”

  “The Erith will want it caught, Prime. The last incursion claimed hundreds of Erith lives before it was stopped.”

  “I remember,” he said quietly, all anger gone. “The Erith were in a panic for months.” Many Erith, a long-lived race, remembered first-hand living through incursions. If the Erith population discovered a new incursion, no matter how far from their borders, the panic would be worse. Arrow swallowed, all too easily imagining the damage that could be done when a population panicked. The devastated city all around them held many examples.

  “So how do we find it?” Tamara pressed.

  “There are signs to look for. Disturbances. People acting out of character. Unexpected or unexplained violence. Reports of ghost sightings.”

  “Violence?” Matthias’ voice was heavy. He looked across at his father. “The muster’s reported more fights than usual.” Arrow remembered that they had lost a young one the night before and bowed her head.

  “The muster house is not far from here. Could the demon’s effect reach that far?”

  “Yes, Prime. The longer it was here, the further it would reach.”

  “And it’s been here perhaps as long as four months, if Marianne saw it,” Zachary nodded, looking around the ruined room. “We’ll need to update Justin,” he named the Hallveran ‘kin leader. Arrow kept her eyes on the runes. The Erith would want this kept secret from the other races, dealt with in secret, not wanting their greatest weakness exposed. And yet. This was, as far as she knew, the first incursion in human territory. More than the Erith were in danger and the ‘kin had a right to know and be warned so they could be vigilant.

  “The effects should fade now that the surjusi is gone,” she added.

  The ‘kin were no longer paying attention, focus going towards the front door. A moment later and Arrow heard the sound of raised voices and felt the hum of ‘kin anger.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  “It seems you’re wanted,” Zachary told her, moving to the house’s main door. Matthias slipped out ahead to stand on the steps barring the path between the oncoming Erith warrior and the Prime. The warrior was striding impetuously towards the house, a pair of ‘kin following him, trying to get him to stop. A young warrior she knew slightly, but who had not been part of Kallish’s cadre. The ‘kin had not laid hands on the warrior yet. Which was good as the warrior was flushed with urgency, hands twitching for weapons as he faced Matthias.

  “Release her at once!” the warrior commanded. Matthias folded his arms across his chest and stared back, unmoved. Arrow was not sure how much Erith any of the ‘kin understood, hoping they were not fluent as the warrior launched into an incoherent curse.

  “Svegraen,” she cut through his words as he turned his bitterness on the ‘kin. “I am here. What is required?”

  “Come now.”

  “What is required?”

  “The lord is tainted. You must come now.”

  “Very well.” Arrow’s shoulders bowed, the weight of expectation back upon her. Little wonder the lord was tainted, infected by the black of the surjusi, as he had been in the process of throwing himself at the surjusi last she had seen him. “Where is the lord now?”

  “At the Taellaneth. Come.”

  “It will take me days to reach there,” she protested.

  “The Preceptor is holding the mirror relay for you. Come.”

  “Very well.” Her stomach twisted. Her least favourite method of travel. She ducked back to pick up her bag then stepped out into the cold.

  Her small absence had given the warrior time to notice the vicandula. It should have been the first thing he noticed, Arrow thought. Any older warrior would have stopped to pay their respects at a fresh death site, no matter the urgency. The young warrior was staring fixedly at the plant.

  “Who fell?” His voice was quiet, part of him broken.

  “Etan nuin Sovernis,” she answered, equally soft.

  “The rites?”

  “No ritual has been performed. I gathered his soul stone, and the shifkin nation have taken charge of it to transport back to the Taellaneth.”

  “I will go with them.”

  “As you wish, svegraen. I will advise the ‘kin.”

  “Problem?” Zachary asked.

  “Lord Juinis was tainted by the surjusi. My presence is required. This is Geran vo Sovernis. He wishes to accompany his kinsman’s remains back to the Taellaneth.”

  “Of course. Matt, make the arrangements. Ask Justin for extra for the escort if need
ed.” Matthias accepted the command with a brief nod. Zachary turned back to her. “Can we give you a lift somewhere?”

  “I should make my own way, thank you.” Eyes wide, she tried to imagine the dismay of the White Guard learning that the shifkin nation’s Prime had been led directly to their mirror relay point in Hallveran.

  “It’s no trouble.” An unexpected, wicked, glint was in his eyes. “The old Wicksham department store, the metal working shop at the river crossroad, or the residence on Oak Street?”

  “The department store, if you please,” she said, voice small. The White Guard were not going to be pleased to learn that the Erith safe houses in Hallveran were so well known among the ‘kin that even the Prime knew them. He had not given her a complete list of Erith properties in the city, but from the gleam in his eyes she thought he knew exactly where the others were, too.

  ~

  She left the Erith warrior in close guard of the ‘kin, the warrior seemingly bemused at the care the ‘kin were taking of him and the precious cargo that he had insisted on carrying, eyes damp as he had taken the box from the ‘kin.

  She had no more attention to spare for his difficult journey as she entered the hollowed-out interior of the old department store. She had spent the previous night here, performing the spells necessary to create the sword, the building quiet, the air stale. Now the building’s wards hummed from recent activity, the air thick with exhaust fumes as the White Guard had left their vehicles here, warded and locked, the vehicles small in the vast space, the warriors themselves doubtless travelling direct through the mirror.

  Arrow made her way to the enormous sheet of mirrorglass set against one of the few remaining internal walls, surprised to find such a precious object left unguarded. There were wards, but this was Hallveran and magic was not always straightforward. The sheet was at least as large as the one in the Preceptor’s study, tall and wide enough to accommodate the largest Erith warrior, its surface rippling with amber and the Preceptor’s personal sigil.

  She did not touch the surface immediately, pausing to draw in a deep breath, trying not to choke on the exhaust, trying to calm her stomach, squaring her shoulders, before she reached out, mirror surface warm and sticky to touch.

  The surface shimmered and cleared at once, revealing the Preceptor impatiently pacing back and forth in a chamber of pale stone. Arrow’s stomach lurched again. She knew that room.

  “There you are. Where have you been? Get through here now.” He snapped his fingers to her and held his hand out through the mirror. Another deep breath and she took his hand, his fingers closing sharply around hers, pulling her forward with enough violence to take her off her feet so that she stumbled through the mirror in Hallveran and into the stone chamber in the Taellaneth.

  Huddled on the floor she concentrated on her breathing for several moments. Mirror travel was being torn into tiny pieces, shaken, then shoved back together again. Her mind and body were still trying to work out if she was back together in the right order when she became aware of a third of White Guard carrying the Preceptor’s precious mirror out of the room, and the Preceptor himself standing over her, an expression she could not read on his face as he stared down at her, taking in the surjusi ash, the torn clothing, and the sword.

  “An incursion.” His dismay was evident.

  “Yes, my lord.”

  He had nothing to say for a long moment, staring into middle distance while she breathed, convincing her stomach that it was back inside her body and in the right place. There was no need to throw up. No need at all.

  “Juinis wants healing,” he said at length. “See to it. We will talk tomorrow. Prepare yourself for cleansing.”

  Arrow nodded and scrambled to her feet as he left, allowed out of the room’s only doorway by the third of White Guard stationed there. The third were implacable, backs to her in a sliver of courtesy.

  Sighing, fingers trembling, she undressed, shoving her clothes into the messenger bag, making sure all the stray bits of stuffing from her ripped coat were tucked inside. Her boots did not fit so she had to leave them next to the bag against the wall. Stripped of clothing she moved to stand in the amber circle marked in the centre of the room, back to the doorway and began the second part of the process, the part she truly loathed. Setting aside all her wards and defences, pushing her magic down until she was helpless, utterly naked. She would rather go through the mirror again.

  Once her wards were down, there was a rustle behind her. She did not need to look to know that a robed and masked magician had entered the room. Senses open, defenceless, she shuddered as the first score of magic striped across her back.

  The cleansing magic was brutal, scouring every pore, rattling her teeth, stinging her eyes, sending her hair in all directions from her head, cleansing in the first world and the second. Biting her lip held in a moan.

  The Erith probably had an actual ritual they used for their own kind, one which she suspected did not hurt. She could not see Lord Juinis, or any of the other Taellan for that matter, accepting a command to “strip, take down your wards, and stand there” which had been her first experience of this room.

  Satisfied that she was clean, any possibility of surjusi taint removed, the unseen magician left the room and one of the White Guard on duty threw something through the open doorway which landed on the stone with a soft hush of air. She turned and found the expected plain robe, confirmation to any who cared to know it that she was clean of taint.

  The robe was thin, and, despite the fine Erith weaving, scraped against her too-sensitive skin. She gathered up her bag and boots and went to the door. The White Guard moved away without a word, leaving the building, their duty done.

  In the corridor outside the Chief Scribe was waiting, pacing up and down with restless flicks of his robe, movement stirring the flames of the five vigil candles that always burned here.

  “At last. Come.”

  “Sir.” Arrow nodded and followed him, stone chill against her feet. She gasped as the outside air bit through the cloth, curling her toes up in a futile effort at protection as the surface changed from smooth flagstones to sharp-edged gravel pieces.

  The Chief Scribe had a carriage waiting, drawn by four Erith horses, prancing impatiently in place, heads tossing at his brisk approach. Eshan pointed to the groom’s perch at the back and stepped into the carriage himself. Arrow got herself onto the groom’s perch, shoving her feet into her boots rather than carry them, then held on grimly as the carriage sprang forward, coursing through the Taellaneth grounds as quickly as the horses could run.

  She was frozen through, teeth chattering, by the time they reached the Halsfeld manor, forced to leave her bag and boots outside and follow Eshan into the manor at a brisk pace, no time or inclination to admire a residence she had not been in before, gathering confusing impressions of a richly furnished residence full of laughter and tension, ending up in a room with a burning fire, the Halsfeld healer in attendance, and Lord Juinis wrapped in a magnificent velvet dressing robe settled before the fire, sipping Erith tea.

  “Heal him,” Eshan barked at her, made a bow to the Taellan, and left the manor.

  Arrow drew a breath, toes thawing out in the plush rug underfoot, and assessed the Taellan. He was pale, cheeks hollow, expression more fixed than normal. She judged that he had had a fright and would likely be the better for it. He had also been cleansed already; there was no residual trace of taint that she could see in second sight.

  “Well, get on with it,” the Halsfeld healer snapped. His personal wards were flaring, nervousness clear. He was worried about being tainted himself.

  “My lord.” Arrow ignored the healer, made a shallow bow to the lord that would have earned her an instant reprimand from most of the Taellan.

  The cleansing spell was unnecessary. Even the healer, with his weak magic, would have been able to tell. And there was an Academy not that far from here full of skilled magicians, most of whom knew far more healing spells than sh
e did. All of that stayed behind her teeth and she spoke the quickest, simplest healing spell, careful to allow only a trickle of power to fuel it, setting the magic over Juinis as a silver net.

  Once it had absorbed into the lord he moved restlessly, more life returning to his eyes.

  “It is done, my lord.”

  “Then why do I still feel so weak?” he asked peevishly.

  “Your personal reserves would have been fighting the taint, my lord. A meal and some rest and you will be returned to yourself.” Arrow bowed slightly. The healer could have told his master, remaining silent instead, twitching, fingers playing with the strap of the bag that lay across his body. More concerned about his own health, she judged, and wondered how he had survived so long in a Taellan’s household.

  “Go,” the healer ordered her. “I will see to the lord.”

  Arrow bowed again to the Taellan, ignored the healer, and walked out of the residence before she was tempted to say something imprudent. Shoving her feet into her human-made boots, she shrugged on her ruined coat, slid the messenger bag across her body and began the long trek back across the Taellaneth grounds to her own residence, hoping she did not encounter any Taellan, White Guard, the Chief Scribe, or the Steward, who would all reprimand her for her attire. She was tired and anticipated a long day tomorrow with the Preceptor.

  As she walked she remembered that she had left her pack in Hallveran, and the only Erith clothing she had in the Taellaneth was the outfit with the coat that had been ruined by snake venom, presently crumpled along with her other laundry waiting for her to have the time and courage to face the laundry mistress to request cleaning and mending. It was possible that the laundry mistress would have some other cast-offs that she could have. The last time Arrow had been forced to ask the laundry mistress for fresh clothing she had spent so long listening to the woman shriek that her ears had rung for the rest of the day.

  Dragging herself across the Taellaneth she realised she faced either the probable wrath of the Taellan and disappointment of the Taellaneth Steward at her damaged clothing or dealing with the laundry mistress. This late in the day she took the coward’s option of returning to her residence to think on it a bit more. To her surprise she found not only her pack leaning against the wall outside her residence, but also a small hemp sack next to it which contained a waterskin and more food than she usually saw in several days. There was nothing to identify where the unexpected gifts had come from. She murmured a thanks to the uncaring air and took her hoard inside, steps lighter.