Another pair of hands appeared by hers, holding the bloody arm to the floor, and she glanced up to find Zachary’s face set and determined even as the tip of a sword appeared through his shoulder from a possessed Erith warrior behind him. Another body slammed to the ground on her other side and she saw Kester, thin slice above one eye bleeding freely, bodily pinning Nuallan to the floor. Behind Kester and Zachary stood Kallish, her blade a mere flicker of steel as she defended their position, Xeveran and another pair of warriors struggling to reach her side. Orlis was holding his own position nearby, a pair of Kallish’s cadre keeping the tainted at bay as he sent out sharp bolts of mage fire, knocking the tainted from their feet.
The spell formed in the air around them, crackling with power, the brilliant silver of her power battling with the taint. Almost there. Almost.
With an effort that nothing natural could make, the tainted Erith writhed under their combined weight and a crack of dark power slammed against his captors. They tumbled away from him, sliding across the blood-slick floor.
Arrow scrambled back to her feet, calling mage fire to her hand, moving back towards the tainted lord.
“Runt.” The lord’s lips curled back to reveal shockingly white teeth, incisors curving, cloud of dark power around him.
“Surjusi,” she replied. She had power enough for one final throw. Just one. She needed to be closer. She kept walking forwards. He stood and waited, power gathering in his hands.
Close enough that she could smell the taint, mouth coated with it, and she still needed to be closer.
But the lord had had enough. With a single word command, he set the magic in his hands into a spear and heading towards her. She did not stop. There was one chance. One chance.
A heavy body slammed into her side, tearing her out of the path of the spear. She hit the ground, hard, weighted by another, and pinned.
“Let me go.”
“He will kill you.” Kester’s voice.
“He will kill everyone!” Arrow wriggled out from his grasp and ran forward, gathering power.
Nuallan waited, laughing, twisted bit of dark mage fire in one hand.
“Come on, then, little thing. Let us-”
Arrow did not stop. She ran straight into the rogue, grabbed his bloody arm with her bloody hand and screamed the last of the spell as he shoved the dark mage fire into her ribs. Her wards flared, and she cried in pain, the agony of another magician’s power scorching her skin, her wards failing as her power drained.
The howl of rage burst her ears, hot liquid coursing down the sides of her neck, silver eyes blind so she did not see the lord’s body crack, twist into impossible shapes as it collapsed to the floor, surjusi gone.
Vision cleared enough to see the ruined body of Nuallan, face turned towards her, both eyes shading back to amber.
Cracked and bleeding lips formed a phrase in Erith before life faded from the lord’s body and the sweet scent of death cut through the surjusi taint.
Rough hands grabbed her, turned her on her back, and Orlis’ face, pinched with concern, came into view. He was saying something that she could not hear, then put his hands on her ears, a wave of healing power making her hiss as the damaged bits of her ears came back together.
Her ears popped with a loud crack that made her wince.
“You are not dead,” Orlis was saying, over and over.
“No, I am not.” She sat up, wincing. Ribs. Yet again. There must be some kind of spell she could use to stop that. Or perhaps ask her opponents not to hit her in the ribs. Her hand came away covered in ash from the unclean mage fire. Which had somehow not burned her to death.
“You are alright,” Orlis said in relief.
“Probably,” she agreed, and managed to get to her feet, looking down at the body nearby. Another death at her hands.
She took a few steps away, knowing she could not outrun her action but still wanting distance, and swayed a little, light headed. Kester gripped her shoulders, tight enough to bruise and gave her a little shake. Startled, she looked up at him, finding him tense, mouth set in a flat line.
“I have never seen anything so foolish. You could have been killed.”
Temper coursed through her, scorching and welcome, stiffening her back, lifting her chin so she met his gaze without hesitation.
“It was my task to see him killed. The risk was worth it.”
“Idiot,” Kester muttered, then dragged her forward and pressed a hard, brief kiss on her mouth.
The warm anger disappeared. Arrow could only stare up at the Halsfeld lord, not one single word available to her. Her improper imaginings had never conjured up that. She wanted to run away, overwhelmed by unfamiliar sensation. She wanted to cling closer, such an odd impulse it made her want to run again. He was still glaring at her, amber bright, the planes of his face in sharp relief.
Arrow pulled herself out of the lord’s hold, heat scorching her face, and over his shoulder saw Zachary trying to hide a smile.
“What?” she demanded, voice sharp.
“Nothing.” The Prime bit his lip then gave vent to a full-throated chuckle, eyes dancing. His mirth did not dim even as Kester turned and added his own glare to Arrow’s.
“Stupid males,” Arrow muttered under her breath.
Seeking distraction, something she could understand, anything to avoid meeting Kester’s intense stare, she looked around the room. Kallish’s cadre were still on their feet, a few slices of blood and at least one broken limb. The tainted Erith, possessed by the rogue, had not fared as well, nor had the humans. More than one body lay too still, and of the others there was so much blood the healers would be busy for days to come. Not far away Charon’s head lay separated from his body. The ‘kin were still and quiet around their Prime, a few of them bloodied, Zachary apparently not in the least bothered by his shoulder wound, eyes still sparkling with humour and the aftermath of a good fight.
A soft groan called her attention closer. She turned to find the Preceptor, curled around his wound, normally bronzed skin an unhealthy shade. She ignored the various bruises clamouring for her attention and knelt beside him, rolling him onto his back with as gentle a hand as she could manage.
The bandages were soaked through, and from the way he trembled she guessed he had been wounded again.
“We need healers, svegraen,” she said to Kallish as the warrior joined them, face grave. Kallish gave orders, producing some of the warriors’ salve from within her coat, kneeling by the Academy master.
“He’s dead?” The Prime wanted to confirm, standing a few feet away, hand twitching reflexively towards his sword as he eyed the corpse at the centre of the room.
“The room holds some of the strongest containment and banishment the Erith can work,” Arrow told him. A last resort. A final protection the Erith had never thought that they would actually need.
Zachary lifted an eyebrow, mouth flat.
“Yes, he is dead. The surjusi is gone.”
“Evellan!” A shriek from the door caught all their attention. Vailla.
“What happened?” Seggerat vo Regersfel was at the door, ashen pale, Eshan beside him with tears openly coursing his cheeks.
No one had much attention to spare for the infuriated elder. There was a clutch of healers around Lord Evellan, White Guard were moving about the room, some very stiffly indeed, checking on the fallen Erith and humans, with a few more healers scattered about. Orlis, for once not wide-eyed or spouting questions, was standing near the Preceptor, watching in concern as he was treated. Near one of the doors Gilean vo Presien was still, the folds of his cloak motionless around him, looking around the room with a blank expression, skin pale. Arrow frowned slightly, wondering when the war mage had arrived, and what had held him back. She did not remember him during the fight.
“Orlis, the place needs cleansing, and there are many more wounded in the corridors. Tell the Archivists to marshal the Academy.”
“The Archivists?” His eyebrows lifted.
“They are next senior to the Preceptor and Lady Seivella,” she confirmed, sending him off. She was swaying on her feet and opened her bag, searching for something to keep her standing.
“Here,” Kallish handed her a small vial, “this should help.”
“What is the tally?” Arrow took the vial and downed it in one swallow, nearly choking on the bitter taste, thankfully finding a contraband chocolate bar stuffed into her bag. She offered some to Kallish, who took it with a lifted brow and spark of curiosity in her dark eyes.
“All the humans are dead. We have three dead guard.” The warrior would mourn later, her voice all business as she continued. “Numerous tainted. The young mage has gone for assistance?” Arrow nodded. “Good, we will need cleansing rituals for the Steward and his staff before healing.”
“The warriors?”
“All those who were at the hut yesterday are clean. The silver dust,” Kallish lifted a hand to demonstrate, the faintest glimmer of silver visible, “has protected us. Most useful.”
“I hope it fades eventually,” Arrow said, dismayed. She could not imagine Erith warriors being happy dusted silver for the rest of their lives.
“There was no sign of it until we encountered the taint.”
“There was so much damage.” Arrow heard the pain in her voice.
“Much can be repaired,” the warrior said practically, turning her head slightly as a lowering presence descended on them. “My lord.” She bowed to the elder.
“I asked a question.” Seggerat was not used to being ignored. He had clearly had time to access the situation further and continued. “And why are there shifkin in battle gear within the Taellaneth, Arrow?” It was a sign of how disturbed he was that he identified her, she thought.
“The Taellaneth was attacked by the rogue magician who brought surjusi taint with him.”
“There is taint?” The elder stilled, eyes wide as he looked around.
“Very little now,” Arrow reassured him. “The surjusi is gone.”
“Gone? Not dead?”
“Banished,” she confirmed.
“This is unacceptable,” the elder pronounced, glaring at her, “another failure.”
“Another one?” Arrow was beyond being polite.
“He’s defeated,” Zachary pointed out. Xeveran appeared nearby and made a rapid translation for the elder.
“Prime.” The elder recovered bare courtesy for a moment and bowed slightly. The Prime lifted an eyebrow in response, sword point on the priceless wooden floor, hands resting on the hilt. Arrow was sure he had sheathed the sword a few moments before. He was making a potent statement, a ‘kin weapon bared in the heart of the Taellaneth and not lifted in threat.
“Seems to me you’ve got some serious house cleaning to do,” Zachary continued.
“I do not clean,” the elder said stiffly.
“The surjusi has been sheltered and protected,” Kester put in, “and for a long time. Conspired with others. Gesser was not possessed on his own. We must investigate.”
“What did he say to you at the end?” Zachary asked.
Arrow opened her mouth to lie, to say that she had not been able to understand because she could not hear. His eyebrow lifted, and she swallowed.
“He said: this is not over.”
Silence.
“Unacceptable,” the elder said again. “You will not permit this,” he told Arrow.
“I am no longer at your command, my lord.”
Before the outraged elder could answer, Zachary lifted his sword, sheathing it with a quite unnecessary flourish, unholy gleam of amusement still in his eyes. She bowed slightly, “Thank you, and your kin, for coming to our aid, Prime.”
“We haven’t had a good fight for a while.” Zachary’s smile was full of white teeth, and she could not help but smile back.
“You called them?” Seggerat was astonished.
“It was necessary, my lord.” Kester managed a polite tone. Arrow could feel heat scorching her face as he came closer. Had he really kissed her? She was no longer certain. Perhaps her imagination was better than she had thought, or the freedom from the Erith’s spells was turning her mind.
“Always a pleasure,” Zachary said, pure mischief across his face. Arrow bit her lip to hide her own smile.
“Your residence is available,” the elder told Arrow. She thought about the pair of rooms, the ice on the inside of the windows in winter, the permanent draft, and shook her head.
“You will stay,” Eshan hissed at her from the elder’s elbow. She opened her mouth to refuse.
“You should stay,” Kester said quietly. Arrow lifted a brow. “You need training,” he reminded her. Her teeth ground together. “And you have no home to go to.”
“I will manage.” She clamped her jaw shut before she could say more and turned away, halted by his hand on her arm. He was far too close and touching her again.
“Stay.” The sharp note made it a command. Her spine stiffened, and she shook out of his hold.
“My lord.” She bowed her head and stalked away, trying to tell herself that she was not running away, somehow not surprised to hear his footsteps coming after her. She made it out of the Receiving Hall before he caught her.
“Arrow, wait. This is foolish. You need to stay here where it is safe.”
“Safe? Foolish?” She whirled on her heel to face him, abruptly face to face as he stumbled to a halt with a bare hand’s width between them. “There is no place for me here,” she nodded past his shoulder towards the elder, “and I am banished, if you recall. I will manage perfectly well. I always have.” He was holding her again, hands on her shoulders, a much gentler touch than before, anger in his face. She was angry too. “Unhand me, my lord. I am not your kin.”
“I am aware of that,” he snapped back, but removed his hands, flare of colour in his face. Amber bright eyes glared down at her. “I had no notion you found me so distasteful,” he bit out.
Arrow frowned in confusion, having no notion what he was talking about.
“I had not …” she began, not certain what she would say next, but footsteps behind him drew her attention.
“Arrow.” Never had the Prime’s voice been more welcome. She took a step away from the Halsfeld lord and turned to find Zachary coming towards them.
“We can give you a lift back to the workspace, if you like,” he said.
“I can still use it?” she asked, trying not to sound too eager. Warm, safe, familiar.
“As long as you wish,” he confirmed, gleam in his eyes. “We finally have Marianne’s killer. You have done the shifkin nation a great service.”
“Thank you, Prime, that would be most welcome.” A smile rose on her face, dying as she turned to the seething Erith lord. “My lord.” She inclined her head slightly in farewell and stepped away, walking towards the exit.
She did not look round but felt the ‘kin close by.
“He is young yet,” the Prime said, warmth in his voice. Arrow had no idea what he meant and shook her head slightly. Zachary glanced across at her. “Do not fret, young thing,” he said, smiling, “these matters have a way of working themselves out.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The knocking at the door eventually caught her attention from the scattered items on the workbench. She hissed in irritation as she saw her sleeve already spattered with the contents of one of the pots. Turning down the burner, she went to the front door, bare feet making no sound on the frozen concrete. She needed to remember to buy more socks. The small magnifying lens in the door showed her a pair of White Guard, identities obscured by the poor-quality reflection.
Opening the door, she found Kallish and Xeveran waiting, in everyday uniforms. Behind them, neatly parked on the otherwise empty street, was one of the Erith’s large, black vehicles.
“Svegraen, good day. Would you come in?” She stepped back, holding the door as they passed by.
“Mage.” Kallish acknowledged as she stepped into th
e building.
“If you would come with me,” Arrow suggested, “I have left something brewing.”
“Of course. Lead the way.”
Taking the warrior at her word, Arrow turned her back and led the way through to the workspace. She went straight to the burner and saw with relief that she had caught the mix in time. Taking it from the heat, she set the pot aside to cool and turned back to her visitors to find them looking around the room with open surprise.
“Three days only,” Kallish murmured to Xeveran. Arrow looked around, too, trying to see the place through their eyes.
The room was a luxury of space never available to her before and, despite the temperature, she had made full use of it. There was a shelf or two of books, herbs hanging, various pots, jars, cloths, knives, spoons and other utensils on other shelves, and an open cupboard which showed several shelves with a collection of sealed jars. And tucked away on a shelf, carefully hidden from casual eyes, was a map of the human world, various points of interest marked with human symbols, tempting her.
“You have been busy, mage,” Xeveran commented, tone making it a compliment.
“Thank you, svegraen. I was not permitted before,” she explained her enthusiasm with a shrug, “and the freedom to do so is quite heady.”
“Not permitted?” Kallish lifted a brow, glancing back at the open cupboard. “To prepare basic spells?”
“To use any of my powers or learning in a way not directly connected with the task assigned to me,” Arrow clarified. It had been a restriction that had chafed badly over the years. “However, svegraen, I doubt you came to inspect my medicine cupboard. How may I serve?”
“We are sent by the Taellan.” Something in Kallish’s words, and the high colour on her face, the way she would not meet Arrow’s eyes, cued her that this was to be unpleasant. “To gather in what materials you may have left from the Taellaneth and the Erith.”
Revealed: The Taellaneth - Book 2 Page 30