“The magic user you were talking to referred to a master,” he remarked, pacing around the corpse, eye taking in every detail.
“Yes.” She had noted that, too, and knew it would not escape his attention.
“The lady?” he asked, green eyes bright in the poor light as he held her gaze.
“No. She is not strong enough,” she answered definitely and saw both Kallish and Orlis stiffen in shock.
“The lady is one of the most powerful mages in the Erith lands,” Orlis said with a touch of something that might be anger.
“The magic user who created the spells, who called down and trapped not one but two surjusi is far more powerful than the lady.” Arrow sidestepped the heart of the matter.
“Power or skill?” Kallish asked, dark eyes watchful. Arrow nodded her head at the excellent question.
“Both.”
“Older than the lady, perhaps?” Kallish was clearly keen to attempt a list of likely suspects.
“Impossible to tell.” Arrow spread her hands. “There are junior students who can craft runes more skilfully than a graduate, and older mages who seem to come into extra power with age.”
“Gilean says so, too,” Orlis put in, in an effort to be helpful, “and says that there should be a requirement for testing every so often for every mage as matters can develop over time.”
“But probably older?” Kallish pressed.
“At a guess, perhaps older, or perhaps a contemporary of the lady. The lady has had her time much occupied with teaching duties, and her other duties to the Court and Academy. She had not the time to hone her skills to that degree.”
Kallish frowned, seemingly dissatisfied, but did not press her. There was a short silence as the Erith absorbed the information. Zachary, who had been content to observe the by-play, turned his attention back to Arrow.
“How powerful is the lady?”
“One of the stronger mages the Erith have,” Arrow conceded, not liking to divulge too much information, loyalties oddly torn, “and also skilled.”
“A war mage?”
“No. She has not taken the Trials.”
“Would she pass them, do you think?” the Prime asked, a predator stalking information.
“No,” Arrow answered baldly, drawing more shock and protests from Orlis and a quiet, searching look from Kallish. Kallish, she thought, had lived long enough to see beyond the obvious while Orlis had not lived long enough amongst the intrigue of either the Court or the Taellaneth to know to question everything. Popular wisdom at the Academy might be that the lady had not taken the Trials because she disapproved of their brutality, but Arrow was fairly certain that was a rumour started by the lady herself, and the lady, who was wise enough to know her own limitations, knew well that she would fail the Trials. Better by far to have the Erith believing she was capable, rather than be proved a failed war mage.
“Not as powerful as you,” Zachary concluded. It was not a question, so she did not answer, waiting quietly. He was thinking hard, and she was intrigued as to where his thoughts might take them. “And yet she managed to harm you.” That was not a question either, but she stirred herself to answer.
“Skill and practice,” Kallish put in unexpectedly in the common tongue. “Make up for lack power.” The warrior frowned as she shaped the words, but whether from searching for the right words Arrow could not say. The Prime accepted her assessment with a nod and paced around the corpse again.
“What have you learned?”
“Whoever called down the surjusi has at least two powerful mages working for him,” Arrow thought carefully as she spoke, “the lady and another, who has enough power and skill to hold a connection over some distance. The lady …” she paused, worked through her instinctive revulsion at the thought that she would betray the Academy so thoroughly, and continued, “is a woman of intelligence and strong principles. She would not easily become involved in surjusi.”
“Has she strong family ties, friendships, people who may have an explanation?” he asked.
“Very little family, and none of it close,” she answered at once, “and the only close friendships I am aware of are the Preceptor and one or two of the teaching staff at the Academy.”
“We must question the Preceptor,” Orlis said, clearly not looking forward to the prospect.
“Yes,” Arrow agreed, and looked around again. Whatever power had been here was gone. There was nothing more to learn. “Svegraen,” she turned to Kallish, reverting to Erith, “this place should be burned. None of the bodies can be returned to their families, but I trust identification has taken place?”
“Even so.” The warrior nodded. “The shifkin have taken details and will deal with the human authorities to make notifications. The same story as with the dead in the underground. Remains cannot be returned. A misuse of magic was the tale told. And us on the hunt for the perpetrator.”
“A fair story,” Arrow said. It was close enough to the truth. It was also likely to draw keen interest from the human media when they heard of it.
“The Taellaneth is monitoring the media,” the warrior added, her thoughts clearly travelling in the same direction.
“Good.”
“Was there any connection found between the dead?” the Prime asked, Xeveran providing a translation.
“Not so far,” Kallish answered.
“It would be helpful to see if there is a connection between the dead, here and at the underground.” Arrow broke into the discussion whilst they were each pleased with themselves. Orlis was following matters with wide eyes, listening and observing for all he was worth. Arrow wondered what he would report back to Gilean vo Presien after the day was done.
“We can look into it.” Zachary looked down at the headless body. “They are well preserved,” he commented, doubtless remembering another body that had been well preserved.
“A trace of spell work,” Arrow confirmed his suspicion, “laid by a magic user.” Who she could still not identify, she reminded herself, temper rousing again. She looked around. There seemed to be no more power at work, and nothing more to learn here. And yet the experience of being watched through dead eyes had unsettled her.
“We should discuss any other matters outside,” she suggested, realising that enough secrets had been spilled near the dead, not surprised when the others agreed at once. They walked in silence to the chill outdoors. Across the road, the shifkin were searching, some in their animal forms, padding silently on four paws, larger and far deadlier than the wolves that humans often compared them to. White Guard were scattered here and there, seeming at random, but their weapons were ready.
“Food and rest,” Kallish prescribed abruptly as they left the building, startling her. The warrior was looking at her with narrowed eyes. “You worked day and night, mage, and are injured again. Useless until you are healed a little.” Arrow opened her mouth, to say what she had no idea, and was rescued by Matthias.
“It’s going to take us a while to get the identifications and notifications set up.”
“I need more information from the Academy,” Arrow said, sluggish mind catching up, frowning, “if the lady and the other magic users involved can walk into this other realm, we need to know more.”
“It explains how they were able to escape before,” Zachary agreed, frowning, casting a quick glance around as though expecting more invisible magicians to appear.
“One can move more quickly in that realm.” A glimmer of an idea was forming. There would be a trail to follow.
“Food and rest,” Kallish said again, sternly, “and then a way to bring us into the realm, too.” Arrow suppressed a sigh; somehow the warrior knew the direction of her thoughts.
“I do not know if that is possible.”
“Then ask the Archivists to find out,” the warrior said implacably.
“And the Preceptor needs to answer some questions.” The Prime was equally implacable, a glint in his eyes that promised trouble if he did not get his ans
wers.
“I agree.” Arrow shocked her Erith companions, but drew a slight smile from Zachary. He was thinking hard, she saw, and wondered, with a slight sinking sensation, what might result from that.
“We should speak with the Preceptor,” Orlis suggested. “Back to the Academy?” he asked uncertainly.
“See if the Preceptor is in residence, please,” Arrow requested. He looked surprised, but did not question her, moving a little distance away to activate one of the communication disks from his satchel.
Arrow, Kallish, Matthias and Zachary passed the time by exchanging information about the dead who had been found at the underground, and what they knew of those found in the warehouse, carefully avoiding discussions about other realms and treacherous Teaching Mistresses. There were more limbs than they had bodies, so the shifkin had taken photographs and numerous samples for forensic analysis from the underground and would do the same here. They would search the human databases and see how many dead they could give name to. It was a depressingly long list all the same, and a diverse group who at first glance had nothing in common.
By the time Orlis returned, frowning, they were discussing possible intersections for the group of dead. One glance at the young mage’s face confirmed Arrow’s suspicion.
“The Preceptor has left, has he not?”
“How did you know?” he asked, astonished.
“He knows more than he has revealed,” Arrow repeated her earlier assertion, uneasy feeling churning her stomach. He knew a lot more than he had revealed, and only something vital would take him away from his residence now, with Vailla at the Taellaneth.
“The clerk who answered said he had taken a small satchel, dressed in travel clothes, and opened a portal. He did not know where to.”
“Someone will need to review his papers.” Arrow could not hide her distaste.
“The Erith will be reluctant to investigate,” Zachary pointed out, a quiet understatement that drew a sharp sideways look from Kallish.
“They will require proof before they look for proof,” she agreed. The Prime had a plan, she was sure. And a wise person would be far from the Erith when he revealed his plan.
“You will return to the Academy?”
“Yes. A little later,” she said, seeing no reason to conceal that.
“I will contact you later to learn your findings,” Zachary promised, nodded his head to the warrior and left without further ceremony. Arrow stared at his back for a moment, wondering what the ‘kin’s leader had planned. His mind was working on something, she was sure.
CHAPTER TWELVE
She was pulled from sleep far too few hours later, Xeveran coming to wake her. She could not make sense of his words at first, thick-headed and bleary, sore from various wounds, a line of pain running up her back where she had collided with the wooden partition in the warehouse. The tight expression on Xeveran’s face held back her questions. The warrior had faced surjusi with less outward concern. A lifetime of habit had her up and dressed before her brain had fully come to life.
She came fully awake only when she was settled beside Kallish in the back of one of the Erith vehicles, abruptly wondering what further use the Erith had for her now, in her exile. Kallish’s face was as tight as Xeveran’s, the warrior tapping an impatient rhythm on the arm rest of the door. Orlis was settled in the front passenger seat, pelting the driver with a dozen questions, none of which seemed to be answered.
“Svegraen?” Arrow asked Kallish.
“We are summoned, all of us, to the Taellaneth, with all haste,” the warrior answered, voice clipped. “That is all I know.”
Flashing lights outside disturbed Arrow for a moment and she blinked, realising that they were surrounded by humans on motorcycles, garish livery and the blue and red lights denoting human law enforcement. Erith rarely wished to make such a fuss. A cavalcade escorted through the city would draw a lot of attention.
“For what reason?”
“None was given.”
Apprehension coiled through her as she considered a number of scenarios. A reversion of her exile. The Preceptor’s return, with news. The Taellan wanting a report. Very possibly the latter. The Taellan were not known for their patience and she had no doubt they would overlook her exile when it was convenient to them. But the escort of human law enforcement vehicles suggested something more. The Erith did not like calling on humans for aid.
To keep her mind off the prospect of the facing the Taellan again, she turned the subject. “I thank you and your cadre for the clothing, svegraen. It is most fine.”
“It seemed more suitable than your previous garments,” the warrior commented, not looking at her. As with many of Kallish’s comments, it was not an insult, just the warrior’s observation. Arrow appreciated the honesty.
Her mouth twisted in a rueful smile as she glanced down at the clothing. In truth, fine was an understatement for the clothing Xeveran had left for her. A long-sleeved tunic and some trousers, the Erith wear was not new, but finer than anything the Taellaneth laundry mistress had provided for the awkward half-breed resident. The fabric was densely woven, with subtle detailing at the sleeve cuffs, and straight, even, seams, each stitch perfectly placed despite the fact it was handmade. Even though all trace of House markings and personal identifiers had been removed, it was evident that the tunic and trousers had been carefully and lovingly made by warriors’ Houses. Perhaps by mothers, or aunts, proud of their kin, and wanting something to keep their family members warm and comfortable when not on duty. The clothing was odd against her plain, serviceable, human-made boots, scuffed toes peeking out beneath the perfectly straight trouser hems. She did not care. She was already regretting the future necessity of handing the clothing back and hoped that Kallish understood how grateful she truly was for the consideration.
There was no further conversation until they arrived at the Taellaneth, their human escort sliding expertly away, motorcyclist’s heads turning as they rode to better see this gateway to the Erith.
Decanted from the vehicles, Arrow saw at once why the motorcyclists had been so interested. Both the great gates to the Taellaneth, usually solid barriers against the world, had been swung open, permitting outsiders a rare, precious glimpse at the Erith land beyond. Just beyond the gate a series of carriages, harnessed to tall, Erith horses, waited, along with a set of dark vehicles she was certain she knew.
“The Prime is here,” she said in surprise. Kallish seemed equally surprised but recovered rapidly.
“Indeed. This may explain the haste.”
“We should keep making haste,” Arrow suggested, walking rapidly through the gates. The White Guard on duty, an entire cadre rather than the one or two pairs normally stationed there, twitched as she passed but made no other move.
“Svegraen.” A slender Erith in middle years bowed slightly before the group, clearly addressing Kallish. “I am sent to conduct you to the main hall.” One of the Steward’s assistants, Arrow thought, a woman she had not spoken with before.
“All of us?” Orlis asked, eyes bright.
Kallish considered the journeyman for a long moment, line between her brows. Orlis tilted his head, unexpected mischief playing across his face.
“You do not think the elder would welcome me to the main hall?” he asked, laughing outright at Kallish’s gathering scowl.
Arrow tipped her head, confused.
“After you learn some manners, young thing,” Kallish said at length, voice clipped, “and not before. I am sure there are things to occupy you in the Academy.”
Orlis grinned, unrepentant, and made a mocking half-bow before he turned and strolled away.
“Now,” Kallish turned to the Steward’s assistant, patiently waiting, “you may take us to the main hall.” The warrior waved Arrow forward to one of the carriages. Lifting her brows a little, both at the imperious command and at the thought of being carried the relatively short distance to the main building, still wondering what Orlis had done to so a
nnoy the elder, Arrow climbed into the carriage, sinking into the comfortable seat. Moments later the carriage surged forward, the Erith horses stretched to their maximum pace for the short journey.
Arriving at the main doors she found they were close behind the shifkin group. Not just Zachary Farraway, she saw, but a collection of other shifkin, some of whom she did not know, picking their rank in the hierarchy from their posture and proximity to their Prime. Both Andrew and Matthias Farraway were there. While Matthias acted as the shifkin’s enforcer, Andrew was in charge of their finances and the least intimidating ‘kin Arrow had ever met. Andrew was close behind his father in a position he would not normally occupy in a shifkin gathering, making Arrow wonder just what the Prime had planned.
Zachary had stopped, apparently to admire the sculpture outside the main doors, but from the keen glance he sent her she wondered if he had been waiting until everyone he wanted was there.
“A magnificent piece,” he commented, coming to stand beside her. They were facing the war mage, his gaze going over their heads, hand lifted in spell casting.
“The title is Fallen not Forgotten. A depiction of the final third of White Guard and the war mage who held back the last incursion on Erith lands.”
“And died for it.” The undertone to his voice suggested a deeper knowledge or meaning she could not catch. She did not think she would ever fully know Zachary Farraway.
A tall, elderly Erith male in plain clothing interrupted them. The Taellaneth Steward. He bowed low, making a lovely speech, in Court Erith, welcoming the Prime. There was a short, awkward pause, the Steward’s face displaying an unusual flush, as the Erith realised that there was no official translator. Xeveran was holding his position within his cadre. With an inward sigh, feeling as though she were stepping back into a role she had thought was behind her, Arrow took a step forward, made a proper bow to the Prime, and a shallower one to the Taellaneth Steward.
“If it pleases you, I can translate, Prime,” she offered.
Revealed: The Taellaneth - Book 2 Page 16