by T. A. Miles
Korsten waited until he felt that Sethaniel was either finished or to a point of pause that would allow for response beyond puzzled staring. “That would have been over sixty years ago,” he considered verbally. “The siege on Vassenleigh would have still been recalled by the fathers of the men your age at the time.”
Sethaniel nodded, resuming a more natural volume. “Your grandfather had been a Kingdom soldier in his day.”
Korsten recalled. “Yes.” He remembered that he was named for the honorary title his grandfather had received; a title derived of a northern word for a champion. If he’d ever thought of it deliberately, it would have been a horrendous burden to add to those he had already spent his youth collecting. Even now, he would consider it with an air of irony. His intellectual pursuits were certainly not the material of a military hero.
“It was your grandfather who established a relationship with your mother’s house,” Sethaniel explained. “It was something that Fand and I rekindled as adults, in league with others in our generation who hoped to find a diplomatic end to the war. A group of us crossed over the borderlands, which was at the time forbidden. Morenne considered any Edrinorian foot on their soil further attack—further justification for them to attack us—and Edrinor considered such a venture an act of abandonment, political conflagration, and ultimately treason.”
“When you say that of the Morennish point of view, you’re referring to the common government,” Korsten said for clarification.
“Yes,” Sethaniel answered. “Morenne was involved in a political civil war, an insurrection against the ruling families. We knew that if we could get to one of those houses, there would be at least some chance to speak our side of it, in hopes that our willingness to come to peaceful terms could be used as leverage for the houses to regain order.”
“But there was no chance for that,” Korsten said knowingly, drawing his father’s gaze. “There was never any hope for that, because the Vadryn had already infected their population.”
Sethaniel remained silent for an extended moment, then turned his gaze to the sea. “Whether or not that’s true…”
“It is,” Korsten enforced.
And Sethaniel’s words followed directly on the heels of his own. “Whether or not it is, we certainly were not aware of it at that time. Our own ruling family had been murdered. We’d been without a true center of power for decades. We…”
Korsten felt his expression taking on the weight of a frown that only grew heavier as realization settled on him. He didn’t let Sethaniel finish. “You hoped to join the countries…to promise the old houses continuation of their bloodline and recognition of a married sovereignty in Edrinor. Without the Rottherlens, you planned to begin a new legacy and—”
“And do away with the borders,” Sethaniel said with a defensive note. “Yes, we did. Influential families among the cities of Edrinor had united for this cause. Our family was only brought in because of your grandfather. Our station was to be elevated with our agreement—your uncle’s and my agreement—to attempt a diplomatic union. At the time, the governor of Cenily had no children old enough to ensure sincerity to the Morenne family leaders.”
“But the Brierlys are not considered true nobles in Cenily,” Korsten reminded.
“No,” Sethaniel said. “We were granted land to live on because of your grandfather’s service militarily. Modest wealth was acquired because of the earnest efforts that were made, but since the political endeavor ultimately failed, our status did not change.”
“How many of your peers were successful?”
“In marrying from a northern house?” Sethaniel gave a small shake of his head. “There was an uprising. Some of us were taken prisoner, some of us killed. Fand and I were fortunate enough to find our way back across the borderlands. We had the youngest daughter of an all but slaughtered family with us. Officially, she was a refugee. We were caught in our own country, where we appealed to the mercy of Edrinor’s steward. The mercy we pleaded for was granted…”
“By a priest,” Korsten finished, nearly whispering.
Sethaniel nodded.
And Korsten stood at a temporary loss, the notions and presumable facts passed to him by his father swirling around him like a storm wind. The pending unrest to the atmosphere of…well, of everything was both alarming and exhilarating. He stood at the precipice of discovery…of rediscovery of what he thought he knew. Yet another layer of fresh light had been cast into the gloom of his mind and heart, a home he had dwelled in for far too long without truly knowing. Rectification was at hand.
The words his mother had spoken to him in dream returned. Come home…
Korsten’s gaze drifted from Sethaniel, out across the water and gradually north. Indhovan lay distantly ahead, but he envisioned less of it as his mind wandered inland, toward Haddowyn and Lilende, and the uppermost regions beyond both towns.
Come home…
He understood what his mother wanted.
“A traitor working with Konlan,” Cayri pondered aloud.
Vlas nodded, then habitually gave a glance around the sitting room of the Lady Ilayna Tahrsel to be certain no one else had made themselves present. He preferred that his and Cayri’s conversations remain private, by now if not before. The circumstances were growing more sensitive by the hour, and now with the possibility—the likeliness that Konlan had an accomplice—it was even more essential that they take care in not only their words, but where and to whom they were issued.
“Of course, there must have been someone,” Cayri said. She had taken a seat on an overstuffed round bench, perched there with a delicate yet ready manner that marked her as a person of experience and alertness.
Electing to stand—a trait which may have comparatively identified Vlas as a person of little patience—another nod was given. “Of course,” he said in agreement.
“At first, I had considered that such a someone might have been Irslan,” Cayri admitted.
Vlas almost nodded a third time, but then withheld the gesture in order to fully digest it. It made perfect sense, obviously, but for some reason Irslan, in his utter example of a man of benign nature, eluded Vlas’ suspicions. He said, “I would have sooner anticipated Deitir Tahrsel. Perhaps even his mother.”
Cayri arced an eyebrow in interest over his selections, but avoided delving deeper into the topic. “Regardless of early assessments, it’s clear that Konlan’s associate is someone subtler.”
“Deeper embedded, perhaps,” Vlas returned, beginning to pace a short path between Cayri’s bench and a window.
“Deeper embedded in what way?” Cayri invited.
When Vlas came to the window, he scanned lightly for evidence of the enemy invasion. Satisfied with a view of Indhovan’s troops preparing without challenge or assault thus far, he looked behind him at his colleague. “Irslan and any of the Tahrsel family would be a more personal connection; something that, with the proper information, can be readily if not easily assessed. I’m thinking of a connection that would be purely political…someone who perhaps may not have been ally or friend to Konlan at all, but who might have worked with him under necessity or perhaps because it was convenient.”
“I see,” Cayri said, her expression one of consideration. “Doubtless there are several acquaintances with a less present relationship to Konlan, who could have and may still be working against this office.”
“And ultimately against all of us. But who it could be?” Vlas continued, turning back around to fully face his fellow priest, “I have no idea. It isn’t easy to determine who might be in league with Morenne. Really, it could be anyone, considering the nature of the situation. If an individual isn’t swayed by temptation over promises of power, he might easily be swayed by fear of a torturous death. The involvement of this individual might even have been incidental, such as…”
“Such as Vaelyx Treir’s,” Cayri finished, looking at him directly.
Vlas folded his arms in front of him and didn’t deny what h
ad so quickly come to mind.
Cayri studied him for a considerable moment, one during which Vlas almost began to feel the inklings of contempt for Cayri’s talents. The fact of the matter was that his sentiments toward Vaelyx—a hapless man who’d foolishly allowed control of his own life to be wrested from him by demons—had caught him quite by surprise. Vlas wasn’t aloof to such things as friendship or care for others, but he’d known Vaelyx for a fraction of his overlong life and during that brief span he didn’t feel as if he’d had any sympathy for the man, yet when he died…
Events had played out swiftly. It was so abrupt, the manner in which he had begun to feel some sense of friendship toward such an awkward and difficult individual, and the moment during which that individual had been killed, violently. There was more to it than that, of course. Vaelyx didn’t seem to care whether or not he survived. The man had been bent on rectifying wrongs he’d committed or allowed and apart from that he seemed weary of life. He had given up. It was as simple as that.
There was no real need for explanation of the situation, not in the verbal sense, at any rate. Vlas had grown to like the man—doomed as Vaelyx may have been—and there had been no opportunity to legitimately express that or even to really experience it. In retaliation, he had resorted to befriending Irslan. That was the whole of it. Vlas imagined that Cayri would argue the whole of it being more to do with—or at least including—his evident trauma over the experience. Trauma was a more dramatic word than Vlas preferred.
They must have had the argument in silence, for Cayri continued the conversation without mention of any emotional consequences that Vlas might have been experiencing. “We know that Vaelyx was not in league with Konlan,” she said.
“Yes,” Vlas agreed. “He was quite the opposite, believing that Konlan disrupted his friendship with Governor Tahrsel. It was his goal to unveil Konlan’s duplicity.”
“So, then our task is to consider who might be in a position of political advantage, who Konlan might have been associated with in a way that benefited both parties.”
“Not necessarily to the benefit of both parties individually,” Vlas offered. When Cayri tipped her head in questioning, he said, “It need only serve the cause which both of them supported.”
“The cause being the infiltration and eventual invasion of Indhovan,” Cayri said with an agreeing nod. “It could be any one of the city’s officers.”
That did happen to be the unfortunate fact. “Yes,” Vlas said, “and I’m presuming you haven’t detected any such motivation, since you haven’t mentioned it.”
“I have not,” Cayri confirmed. “It makes me wonder whether or not the governor or his son are in more immediate danger.”
“Assassination?” Vlas considered the subject as it was presented. Admittedly, he had not considered it before. “I imagine an accomplice was aware of the efforts Konlan made against Governor Tahrsel, and I also imagine that individual became aware of how those efforts were thwarted and by whom.”
Cayri’s gaze lifted to Vlas, but she said nothing. There was not much to say. Anyone in witness to their presence knew that they, as priests, had methods that exceeded and could circumnavigate those of an ordinary person and in this instance, those of an individual practicing wild magic.
It was Vlas’ belief that the individual who had unpleasantly charmed Governor Tahrsel with witchcraft, or by means of potential poisoning—or both—was Konlan. Vlas and Cayri had both concurred that the possession-like similarities between Tahrsel’s out of character behavior was similar to what Vlas had witnessed with Vaelyx and his daughter.
Vaelyx had been using spells derived by the Islands cult and Konlan was not only a natural child of the Islands, but a frequent emissary between his home territory and Indhovan. He could easily have been a member of the cult and furthermore, discoveries Irslan had made within Konlan’s home seemed to strongly evidence that fact. Without question in Vlas’ mind, Konlan Ossai was a member of the Islands cult, working in opposition both to Indhovan and to its coven of witches. Both were resources were to be used and discarded.
Undoubtedly, this accomplice shared that goal, but Vlas did not believe this individual had any training in or in depth understanding of magic. Vlas believed he, or she, left that to Konlan and that their task was far more political than Konlan’s, or perhaps merely a task less ornate in its design and execution. They had surely witnessed Cayri’s presence, and knew that it was a priest who had interfered with and for the most part overcome Konlan’s spellcasting. Vlas didn’t believe they would make any further attempt on the governor’s health now that the opportunity—or the success of that opportunity, at any rate—had been dismissed by Cayri’s presence.
With that thought, Vlas reminded himself that his partner was also part of the conversation. “As to whether or not any further designs would have been made against the office….” He lifted both shoulders. “Perhaps they consider Deitir’s inexperience detriment enough. That isn’t to mention the impending attack.”
“Which we weren’t supposed to be aware of,” Cayri reminded, purely for the sake of their conversation; it was certainly nothing that either of them had forgotten.
“But we are aware,” Vlas said, “and counter measures have been taken…which could mean that those plans have been witnessed and exposed by this traitor.”
“That could render the fire trap useless.”
“But would a traitor have had time to make contact with the enemy yet? They would have had to depart and hope to meet their allies along the way. Has anyone gone missing?”
“No,” Cayri answered. “No one.”
“So, perhaps they haven’t found their opportunity yet,” Vlas suggested.
Cayri nodded. “Perhaps.”
Vlas allowed them both a space to mull the matters at hand over, then stepped out of his small pacing rut and toward the sitting room doors. “I shall leave that to you.”
Cayri’s gaze followed him. “Where will you be?”
“The Islands,” Vlas replied, and though the decision was spontaneous, he had delivered his answer as if the plan were long forming. Perhaps that was not far from the truth, considering how prominently the well and the cult had both been on his mind since returning.
Stopping at the doors to look back at his partner, he could see that Cayri’s expression appeared to question and advise against simultaneously.
Before she could form any words, however, Vlas said, “My goal is not to mourn incomprehensible losses, but to assist Rahl’s men in their investigation and patrol. Ensuring that neither the cult nor the Vadryn had a contingency plan against the coven’s betrayal or Konlan’s failure is paramount. We can’t afford any further shocks at this hour.”
Cayri let out a strained breath, but nodded. “Agreed. Take care, Vlas.”
“I intend to,” Vlas assured her. And as it occurred to him who might be of assistance to his investigation, he said, “I shan’t be going alone.”
Water rolled in voluminous yet gentle sighs beneath the floor of simple planks underfoot. Oshand nudged a mound of sacks to test their stability. They appeared anchored by their own weight. Still, he bent forward and jostled the ropes holding them by hand. The knots felt secure enough. He straightened slowly and contemplated the simple bags which contained the volatile contents that constituted the fundamental core of the fire tactics. Fire was the catalyst to which the material within the bags reacted, with force.
A demonstration had been given to both prove their use and help in determining just how much would be needed to disrupt the enemy ships. Oshand had been impressed. He was still impressed after the fact, and it made him unsure. The nature of his unsureness was nothing he could fully explain to himself, so he had been pushing it off to the side of his thoughts throughout the development of their plan to use this weapon against Morenne.
It was strange to think that this material had been discovered on the Islands and that their inhabitants had been mining it, apparently under
the supervision of Morenne. If allowed to carry on for long, Oshand imagined it might have been possible for an attack to be launched from the Islands, one they surely would not have been prepared for. It occurred to him, always as an afterthought, that that could still be possible. And then he reminded himself that a unit of men had been sent to determine that for certain.
His gaze travelled from the fire tactics at his feet, toward the Islands. They appeared small in the distance, not a threat of any kind. But then, so did the ocean at the moment and not but days ago it had risen against them as if by will of its own.
By magic….
The reflection of the sun on the water streaked across his vision and he squinted, looking past the brightness for a moment before transferring his gaze elsewhere. A tight row of skiffs stretched back toward the harbor. They’d left the one nearest to the docks well enough away that fire wouldn’t catch off the water. The northernmost section of the city had been evacuated, but it would still be disastrous if too many structures caught flame, and transferred that flame to others.
He wondered how much time they had left to prepare. He presumed that night battles were dangerous, but regardless, Oshand hoped for cover of darkness to conceal their trap. Bowmen from a ship behind the line would have to memorize their marks.
“Captain,” someone said. “The skiffs are armed and ready.”
Oshand accepted that with a nod and a glance back at the woman. He recalled at that glance that she belonged to the constabulary. She’d also been in recent company with one of the priests the governor was currently hosting, on an informal assignment. That was how it had been relayed. While he harbored no grudge against something he barely comprehended, it felt somewhat strained to be in her presence, knowing that she knew much more than she could—or would—share.
He’d also watched Constable Imris and Priest Vlas looking at each other. It was as if they held onto secrets, but perhaps it wasn’t that. He wasn’t committed to a negative perspective, but again…it felt strained.