by T. A. Miles
“I’m glad you weren’t on the water,” came the voice of Cayri.
“As am I,” Vlas said. “Though I would still like to make way. And, because it should be noted, I have no intention of getting there by water.”
“No?” Irslan inquired with a casual air that was awkwardly paired with trepidation.
“No,” Vlas confirmed simply. He had responded as automatically to Cayri, and it was only afterward that he realized her arrival should not have been expected.
“Why?” Cayri asked of him, before he could inquire anything of her.
“To assist…” His words trailed in the realization that Cayri had not happened to find him, and had not done so alone. She had a fellow priest in company, one whose relationship with red probably led them directly to Vlas, as surely as it would have led the Vadryn, if their souls were exposed.
The occurrence of the thought had him instantly wondering if it was Korsten’s presence, the fact that he had not been destroyed by an archdemon, or how eerily similar his enthraller methods were to those of demons that held his voice in a knot that was presently lodged in his chest. He untangled it by sheer force of his own will and continued his statement. “To assist Rahl’s men in undermining this assault and its potential prolonging.”
He was fairly certain they had already discussed this. He understood the climate had changed, but that only made the task he had in mind for himself and Irslan more relevant. “If they lose whatever resource they may have on the Islands, they’ll have to withdraw sooner.”
“That may only cause them to fight harder with the resources they have,” Cayri pointed out, and Korsten nodded agreement.
“Neither option is pleasant or ideal,” Vlas admitted, “but we cannot allow them to fully establish an encampment so near to the city. They’ll overtake Indhovan before there’s been any time for support to arrive.”
“If any is to arrive,” came Cayri’s next point in pragmatic opposition.
Throughout their conversation, the three citizens of Indhovan in their presence merely listened, though at the mention of support and whether or not it might arrive, the man and woman at arms exchanged a look with one another.
And it was for their benefit that Vlas said, “I believe it will.”
“All right,” Cayri conceded. “I’m going to stay here to assist the governor. First, Korsten and I intend to look for the potential of possessed enemy soldiers.”
Vlas gave a nod, satisfied to have it explained why she had left the manor without having to ask. For the moment, he avoided giving much attention to Korsten; seeing him delivered images of the well to the front of his mind and he would rather not have them at the moment.
It was Irslan who had a question. “How is it that you managed to find us, or was it purely happenstance?”
“It was mostly happenstance, Master Treir,” Cayri answered. “But Myrrh does have a way at finding Zesyl.”
“I…. see,” Irslan said, perhaps because he legitimately had no other idea what was to be said.
Vlas met Cayri’s brief glimpse and secret smile before she turned to leave, trailed by the ever present scarlet damselfly she had referenced in both evading Irslan’s curiosity and taking a moment to reach out to Vlas with something familiar. Though he appreciated it, he could not feel entirely comforted. He said to their confused Master Treir, “Never mind, Irslan. I shall explain it to you if it ever becomes dire for you to know. Now, Captain Oshand, you should report back to your superiors, should you not?”
Oshand’s gaze was back on the water, tracing a path along the docks between them and the ongoing assault to the north. Eventually, he said, “Yes. But I don’t know that you should go to the Islands.”
“It’s quite possible that we should not,” Vlas replied.
Oshand looked back at him.
Vlas said, “But if we leave it to only Rahl’s men, and they do happen to discover more of the Vadryn, not only will Morenne maintain whatever resources they may have there, but we will be forced to fight your fellow soldiers as well. And if not them directly, then possessed soldiers empowered by the vitality they will have taken from your peers.”
Oshand held on to Vlas’ gaze for a lengthy moment. Whatever passed through the young soldier’s mind in that span, it led him to nod. “All right,” he said. “I can take you to a boat.”
Oshand must not have heard the previous part of the conversation regarding smallish craft on water and Vlas’ willingness to be aboard them.
Before Vlas could voice the thought, Irslan volunteered, “We’ll be traveling by magic, I believe.”
“You’re correct in that belief, Master Treir,” Vlas told him.
Oshand made no inquiry of the elected method. “Do you know which island you’re set on?”
“Yes,” Imris said, in the very instant Vlas had intended to say it himself.
He took that to mean that she was again volunteering—insisting, rather—to accompany him. At least this time, he could be assured that it was not over distrust of the present Treir and that Irslan would not turn out to have fathered a child with a demon who had lain in wait for intruders with an ambush of ghouls. An ambush may still have been a risk, however. In this instance, Vlas considered himself better prepared.
There was plenty to occupy Korsten’s mind, else he might have been more self-conscious about Vlas’ odd mixture of dismay and relief at seeing him. He might also have been dismayed himself to consider his immediate instinct to take such things personally. He understood that what happened in that cave with Serawe was harrowing, and would have been, no matter who the priest. Vlas seemed the type to sort himself out, which was admirable.
Walking swiftly with Cayri toward the northernmost section of the city, he gave his attention as much to what lay ahead as he could. There was a dangling mental thread that threatened his concentration, however. “I won’t take the time to go into detail about how I arrived back here,” he said. “But, depending on how this looks and what goes on here, I may have to depart by Reach long enough to warn a coming ship to change course.”
Cayri glanced at him. “Who are they?”
“Neither soldiers nor supplies, with the exception of the two other priests onboard.”
Cayri slowed, looking over her shoulder at him.
“Lerissa and Sharlotte,” he answered, before she had to ask. Whether or not she knew them or recognized either name, Korsten didn’t take the time to provide detail. “It’s a lengthy explanation, so I’ll suffice it to say that I wound up where they’ve been spending most of the last three decades. We commissioned a ship to carry us here, not knowing what state the city would be in.”
“A Reach would have been dangerous,” she agreed, without him having to argue it.
“Yes, though I managed to perform one blindly anyway.”
“It’s something you should work on,” she suggested.
“I intend to,” he said, and meant it. The potential hazards had already been made clear to him over the years; this was simply one more incident. Too many more could be considered inexcusable, not only to himself, but to other priests and to the Superiors as well. He had no idea what that would amount to, save perhaps a period of internment at Vassenleigh while he was monitored and retrained in a spell that he had somehow misinterpreted and was apparently doing all wrong. Reaches were supposed to take individuals to places, not people…and they weren’t supposed to occur sporadically or unconsciously.
“Regardless of that,” Korsten continued. “There’s an elderly man of some political experience who insisted on traveling with us. I won’t have him sailing into his death.” However, much Sethaniel might have been cheating it during his time.
“I understand,” Cayri said. “And I suspect it would be unwise to allow them to continue at this point. When the opportunity is right, you should seize it.”
Korsten nodded. “Yes, and bring back one or both of our colleagues. Lerissa’s specialty is in strategy and Sharlotte…”
“Sharlotte is a warrior,” Cayri interrupted.
And Korsten’s best response was, “Oh.” He had no further questions. In point of fact, many questions he might have had about Sharlotte’s style and her tactics could well have been answered just then.
“It will be advantageous to have both of them here,” Cayri said, concluding the topic incidentally when she slowed them to a stop beside an abandoned pier.
The eruptions from the ships at the far end of the city had quieted somewhat for the time present, which more than likely meant the enemy was preparing to invade by ground.
Cayri pointed out to the water, at a shallow angle from where they stood. “I believe the fire trap was laid out approximately there. Oshand’s vessel must have been sunk nearby.”
Korsten scanned the water, now black with night’s settling. There were lights cast onto it from both the city and the fires started several streets away by the enemy. He was able to descry several forms that appeared not quite correctly set on the scene. “I see at least one mast above the water over there.”
While he pointed Cayri’s sight to what he saw, she nodded. “The water is probably not deep enough this close in to fully submerge them.”
“Probably not,” Korsten agreed. “Still, I don’t see another, and I can’t see any flag or marking indicating whose ship that mast belonged to.”
“Look there,” Cayri said, directing his attention closer to the harbor, further along the city’s edge toward the battle, which was still experiencing a mild lull.
Korsten looked, and saw a vessel floundering with portions of it afire. In the poor lighting, he had taken it for a reflection, or an illusion of something in the proximity of the battle itself appearing to be closer than it was. But as he studied it, he could see that it was neither a reflection, nor an illusion. It was a ship on fire, listing heavily to one side.
“You heard Captain Oshand mention that the constable had set fire to the deck of their ship?” Cayri said.
“Yes,” Korsten replied. “And it looks like our hidden enemy soldier may yet have been able to utilize it getting to shore.”
“Shall we check for survivors, then?” Cayri asked.
Korsten gave another nod, knowing full well that neither of them were expecting to find a legitimate survivor.
The crippled vessel was far enough out to not be reachable from the docks, which was too the advantage of the city for more reasons than a demon stepping off in the body of one of their own soldiers. If it tilted onto the pier, it could begin a fire that no one had time for, though that threat was diminishing somewhat, even as they observed. Conditions must not have been proper for a thorough burning of the vessel.
Korsten and Cayri Reached, since it was well within view, bringing themselves onto the sloped deck. Fire had taken the sails and crashed the central mast, which was largely to blame for the damaged side and its awkward posture. Some areas of the deck floor had been eaten by flame and smoke rolling upward in some areas suggested that it was still feeding in places.
Stepping toward a section of gaping, charred wood not far from the railing, Korsten cast a Lantern and crouched down, peering below deck. He saw embers glittering indecisively…and bodies heaped upon one another. He made a face of revulsion that Cayri must have seen; she looked at him very deliberately, and then into the hole.
The stench was active and vile.
“There aren’t many of them,” she noted, and that was true.
“No,” Korsten said. “Enough to have thoroughly fed a certain type of invader, though.”
They both felt the weight of that implication and began to stand, but halted when a form among the corpses moved. It could easily have been a rat or an injured man in need of assistance. Korsten would keep his mind open to either option, though he had already come to terms with the fact that removing one nest of demons from the city did not eliminate the problem of infestation. He consoled himself with consideration of how much worse it would have been had he and Merran not discovered the population gathering in the caves when they did.
“I’ll go down,” Korsten offered.
“We both will,” Cayri said.
Korsten didn’t argue. She was equipped with Release and trained to defend herself, as all Priest-Adepts were. The situation was not uniquely dangerous yet and so didn’t require the specific attention of a hunter.
“I’ll go down first,” he volunteered simply, and set about lowering himself through the hole.
The wood was soft from being both burned and then dampened by the incessantly moist sea air. A portion gave somewhat beneath his hand and threatened to send him down quicker than he intended, but he caught himself, urged caution to Cayri, and slipped down to the floor below. His footing was somewhat uneven, though he managed to avoid the stacked bodies. He made room for Cayri and extended a hand, which she accepted.
When they were both in the exposed cabin space, he swept his Lantern over the bodies, noting that injury was owed to assault by demons. There was nothing to compare to what the Vadryn did to their victims. Korsten had learned that very early on, and still had not let go the vivid memory of Hedren being torn out of his skin by a veritable apparition. These bodies were in similar states of gratuitous mutilation, in a singular horrific state beyond what a bolt or blade, or even fire would have done to them.
The stink was atrocious, a volatile blend of moisture, burning, and rot. A tentative weight set onto the toe of his boot, and he slipped it out from beneath a rat that was nosing its way to the corpses. There were likely several already wending through the heap, making their evening meal. But rats didn’t account for presence, not like what he felt. And he felt it very acutely. Not only within this vessel, but within the harbor, encroaching on Indhovan.
The Vadryn were here, as they had been in the caves. For an instant, the presence of demons seemed so prevalent that it was nearly overwhelming. He had a moment of feeling as if all effort was futile against such an inundating, ceaseless force. It felt in that brief span as frustrating and depressing as attempting to empty a river with a basket. Why were there so many of them?
And then, as instantaneously as the anxiousness arrived, it departed. In its wake, there was a tender mark upon his mind. Words were set there.
We cannot hide from you now.
Korsten glanced toward Cayri, who had stepped further toward the cabin door. As she approached the dark corridor beyond, she brought her own Lantern out. The orb swelled to being, and diminished the shadows to the corner not many steps from her, where a black form sat folded, looking out. Elongated hands were bent over knees that were mere knobs of darkness. Between hunched shoulders of a similar lack of substance, the phantom face of the beast seemed to grin.
Master…
He watched the creature, then looked toward Cayri again, knowing that the demon’s eyeless sight followed. The rest of it might have done the same, but Korsten forbade it.
No. The word isolated itself at the front of his mind for the benefit of the demon.
It obeyed for the moment.
Cayri stepped into the hall with her Lantern, expanding the demon’s hiding place once again. But it wasn’t hidden from Korsten. Beyond knowing it was there now, he could feel it. He could feel how it poised itself, and how it carefully unfolded and drifted toward the door, following the wall low along the floor.
Come here. Korsten issued the command without consideration or deliberation, and felt its path shift toward him. He envisioned its insubstantial form crawling in his direction, and he watched it with an air of indescribable interest. He was aware of it in such a way that to act against it felt in advance like a betrayal of trust…of innocent trust.
But the Vadryn were not innocent. This was no curious animal, exploring. This was a demon. It knew what he was, and why he had come.
You know me, he accused.
It denied nothing with its continued advance.
Stop, Korsten insisted. The need to halt its course was almost stron
g enough to have him vocalize the command.
The demon hesitated to come nearer, and then it was distracted by another priest in the doorway.
“Korsten,” Cayri began, looking at him first. Her gaze slowly lowered to the shadowed space between them. She asked, “Do you see it?”
“Yes,” Korsten answered.
They looked at each other, sentient darkness hovering between them. Korsten didn’t know if questions were forming or answered for her in the moments that passed. It was Song, yes. She was witness to a demon being held enthrall by a priest. What followed should have been simple, but it wasn’t, as it hadn’t been with Serawe and her minions. He had lured all of them to their demise and he had felt them diminish slowly. Song was not simple.
Ten
VLAS REACHED THEM to the precise place they had docked with Vaelyx days ago. The small vessel yet remained where it had been left. Vlas had retraced the path to the well from this location once already. He set about doing so now without fanfare, emotional or otherwise. Imris fell instep as if it were that night all over again, but rather than Vaelyx trudging ahead, they had Irslan not very surely in tow. A part of Vlas felt antagonized by the delay, another part of Vlas had him slow his steps, turn toward Irslan, and gently invite him forward. He did not attempt to explain that part to himself. Mercy and compassion were recognizable. That was not quite either, not as simply as that at any rate.
“There’s a fire,” Imris pointed out, having taken the lead for the moment.
Vlas looked in the direction she had indicated, observing a silhouette of dark clouds streaming upward. “Not the phantom bonfires the cultists had set out the last time,” he speculated.
“It’s different,” Imris agreed.
“A fight perhaps,” Irslan suggested.
“More than likely,” was Vlas’ response. He said to Imris, “Let’s hope that your peers weren’t ambushed and overtaken.”