Reliquary of the Faithless: Bastards of the Gods Dark Fantasy (Enthraller Book 3)

by T. A. Miles

  She was silent, but that was her way.

  They carved a path up the soft hill from shore, but rather than head in the direction of the well, they made a path that better paralleled the water, toward the location Imris believed her fellows had made landing to begin their investigation while another ship patrolled nearby. They would soon learn what the soldiers and constables had found, or what might have found them. The reality appeared to be that this was all so much larger than Indhovan had anticipated. The activists had grand notions that seemed to address every subject except for war. The purists appeared so ready to avoid war that they were willing to conspire with the enemy in order to ensure their own safety. Or, at least, the crone had made that decision for them. Meanwhile the cultists actively conspired against the city and had plotted its invasion and annexation as yet another extension of the northern border over Edrinor. What they needed was time to organize a fuller search of the Islands, an attack on them if necessary, in order to root out the dangerous members of their population.

  Looking to Imris, Vlas felt immediately remiss for having the thought, but at the same time…what else could be done? He had no desire to see her native people caught up in the warring, but they were already, even without battles taking place in front of their homes. If Morenne had succeeded in subjugating them, then the worst was surely pending arrival. They might already have had demons among their population; they certainly had traitors handing over their land and resources, such as Konlan. Vlas would still have liked to know what became of the man and whether or not they could expect to see him again. He doubted the latter. Konlan was no fool, nor was the Morennish army commanded by fools. He would not be back to Indhovan before its overtaking. Vlas felt certain of that.

  They reached a high point along the sloped route among sparse growth and Vlas took the opportunity to look out across the water, at the lights over Indhovan. A low layer of smoke and some clouds held the glow close, highlighting the shape of the buildings, and of the ships. He didn’t imagine it would be much longer before the core of the invading fleet made its way, and their soldiers took to shore.

  Zesyl’s wings thrummed near his ear, drawing his focus back to the island. They were close enough to the fire to see its wavering light now. Vlas slowed and signaled for his companions to do so as well. Irslan took up a position to one side of him while Imris stopped just ahead. The setting below appeared to be of the constabulary’s arrived vessel, seemingly untouched, possibly unmanned. There were signs of a battle several yards from shore. The fire looked to be started either intentionally or by accident over a stockpile of some kind. Fire tactics, perhaps. Had Rahl’s men come upon something so quickly and also had the good sense and fortune to render it useless to the enemy so immediately?

  Vlas felt somewhat optimistic in just that moment. Looking at the spread of some few bodies, he felt premature in a celebratory mood. Unless the bodies belonged entirely to the enemy, the unit sent may already have been down somewhat in number.

  “What should we do?” Irslan asked, undoubtedly having made similar assessments to Vlas’. He may not have been eager to get involved in war, but he was intelligent enough to discern what easily could have happened and what that might mean for the battle at hand.

  “We investigate,” Vlas said to both Irslan and Imris.

  Imris gave a nod of agreement and readiness. “But be careful,” she said to Irslan foremost. “The enemy may have been the victor and may be preparing to take our own ship back to Indhovan.”

  “Which would be a risk, if they didn’t properly coordinate with their people,” Irslan said, relaxing in the presence of logic and rational thinking. Vlas imagined it was a great comfort for the man.

  “Yes,” Vlas said of Irslan’s statement. “That’s true. They may also have their own smaller fleet poised to leave from another side of the island, or the next island over. This is where the cultists were mining, however, so I believe that if Morenne made a visit here at any recent time, it was to lay claim to the fruits of those efforts.”

  “That makes sense,” Irslan said.

  “The very last thing Indhovan requires is more enemy ships in its waters. Let’s begin with searching the area below and looking for definitive evidence of what may have gone on. With any luck, we’ll find that a man or a few men have been left behind to keep watch over the ship. Then we should be able to obtain answers through simple dialogue.”

  They were all agreed, and proceeded down the slope toward the fire-lit landing site. It became quickly clear, the nearer they came to it, that the fire was a collection of crated wares. Vlas felt assured that Rahl’s men had arrived on a scene of the enemy preparing to collect or deliver fire tactics. There was a confrontation, won by the constabulary’s small contingency force, and they pushed on to ensure they had thoroughly extinguished one of Morenne’s sources for weapons replenishment.

  “These bodies are not in uniform,” Irslan reported as he ventured across the area. “Not most of them. They also look to be Islands people.”

  “More cultists,” Vlas presumed.

  “Or people forced to help,” Imris submitted.

  Vlas conceded that possibility. “Perhaps. Though I doubt that your colleagues would have slaughtered a group of people who might have been willing to run or surrender at the sight of armed soldiers.”

  “It depends on whether or not they were armed themselves,” Imris said.

  “They may have been convinced to view us as enemies,” Irslan posed, in support of Imris’ theory.

  Vlas allowed them both that scenario, as it was quite possible. He made a path over to one of the bodies, observing the civilian attire and darker skin than most Edrinorians. The set of the features were similar to both Imris’ and Konlan’s. They were indeed Islands people. “I see no weapons nearby any of them,” Vlas observed. “But that doesn’t mean they weren’t confiscated. The boat will likely have the answers we’re after.”

  Imris was nearest to the craft and made her way in that direction while Irslan hovered over one of the bodies. Vlas studied the man’s pondering expression and soon felt the need to join him. He’d taken no more than a step toward Irslan, when Imris called out to them urgently. Vlas and Irslan both abandoned their previous study to join the constable. Vlas’ hand went to the hilt of his sword, but didn’t linger since Imris was plainly in view at the shoreline and neither injured nor being assaulted.

  Within wading distance, the small vessel the constabulary unit had taken to the island floated quietly and apparently unmolested.

  Vlas slowed, stopping altogether when he had come to stand beside the constable. Irslan came along a moment or two afterward, while Imris was in the process of pointing to the boat. She looked to Vlas afterward, frowning while she awaited confirmation that Vlas had located what she was indicating. He had.

  A form lay motionless along the short railing. It was nearly impossible to see blood in the unsure light, but by the manner in which the individual’s hand and arm dangled, it had been nearly severed.

  “Oh…” Irslan mumbled when his vision caught up to theirs.

  “Yes,” Vlas replied, turning his head at the sound of shuffling behind them. The corpses were rising unsteadily from their various poses which had simulated death. In a way, they were dead—ghouls were certainly in a state of dying. Life could not persist long in that form. It would be long enough to spread the illness and misery of the Vadryn, however. It looked as if they had their answers, at least regarding the stillness of the site.

  Irslan had taken a step back, which was an appropriate position for him to take in the moment. Imris already had her weapon drawn. While she yet retained her constable’s club, she had been issued a short sword for the defense as well, and that was her selection for the pending confrontation with the Vadryn’s grotesque castings off.

  “The fire’s still strong,” Vlas said to her, unsheathing his own blade.

  Imris only issued a taut nod, prepared to deal with their demon-ta
inted adversaries.

  Vlas was very glad that she had done so once already.

  “Wait here, Irslan,” he instructed and took quick steps toward the nearest threat. The ghoul had scarcely balanced itself on its emaciated legs, making it an easy task for Vlas to put more momentum into his stride and shoulder it into the fire.

  Imris followed suit, driving her sword into the side of a would-be attacker and pushing it swiftly toward the flames. It crumpled backward with her haste and its predetermined unsteadiness. Imris kicked the weak body from the end of her weapon.

  Vlas noted that it fell short of the fire, but still left her to it while he received the next assailant. A quick casting of Megrim saw it to the sand, face first. He went to work hacking at the neck while the ghoul’s sore-mottled hands groped the loose earth. Decapitation had not quite been accomplished when another reached over its fallen companion for Vlas. He drove the tip of his sword into the sand, by route of the remains of the neck at his feet, then used both hands to perform a Wind spell, enough of one to push the ghoul back and over one of its own that had failed to fully rise.

  Taking advantage of the moment’s pause, Vlas quickly scanned the area and saw that there were indeed not many of them. A part of him expected that their numbers would have increased somehow while their backs were turned, which prompted him to glance over his shoulder at Imris. She was in the process of taking down another ghoul with wide swings of her short blade. They would be finished with this altercation shortly.

  And it was with that realization that Irslan shouted to them. “A ship!” he announced.

  For some reason, that was not at all what Vlas was prepared to hear, in spite of knowing of the patrol ship that should have been in the area. He looked, and felt his spirits plummet. It was indeed a ship—too large to be one of Indhovan’s vessels, and one which had plainly circumnavigated the main point of conflict in Indhovan’s harbor. Perhaps it had already dealt with the constabulary’s patroller. It skulked in the deeper waters, well endowed with light, with the silhouettes of many soldiers, and undoubtedly fire tactics.

  The frantic darting about of Zesyl in the air beside him, issued Vlas all the warning he required. “Clear away from the fire!” he shouted to his companions.

  Imris moved immediately, back toward the shadowed slope they had come from. Irslan had begun to run toward Vlas, which was the wrong way. A sudden thundering sound from the ship startled Irslan nearly to falling. Vlas rushed toward him and caught him by the arm during an extended and maddening instant of a whistling sound that could only mean disaster. Images of the caves coming down attacked Vlas as surely as if it had been an ambush of men with swords. His heel slipped in the sand, nearly bringing both him and Irslan down onto the mindlessly advancing body of a ghoul. Though the creature grasped at Vlas’ shirt sleeves in an attempt to pull him to the ground, he gave it no further attention, making his focus escape from what could only have been death screeching in their direction. Though off balance, he did not once let go of Irslan’s arms. He used the other man’s weight and the chance that he had maintained his balance for support enough to shift his own momentum and direction, pushing his legs against the pull of too-soft land and dragging Irslan with him.

  To Vlas’ surprise, Irslan had indeed maintained his footing, and he kept it throughout their urgent and awkwardly balanced flight. The high-pitched scream of whatever materials had been used to incase the fire tactics ended with a shuddering thud upon the earth. The ground reverberated with the impact, sending the sensation of the vibrations up Vlas’ legs and into his spine. At that point, he and Irslan gave in to the uneven ground and stumbled forward half on their knees during the moments when sand pelted the shore. It rained around them, some of it in overheated pellets, which reminded Vlas to cast a Barrier.

  He hurriedly checked to see that Irslan was still living. Detecting that was Vlas’ interest, Irslan gave a nod between heavy draws of air.

  Within moments, the hot sand and other debris had dissipated from the air. Vlas dropped the Barrier spell and grabbed hold of Irslan’s arm once again. “Let’s go, before they set another one against us. Imris!”

  “I’m here!” the constable responded at once.

  Vlas searched through the heavy screen of smoke and darkness, unable to find her. He couldn’t linger over it. She sounded distant enough to have at least made it to the slope. Guiding himself and Irslan further inland was his priority. “Head for the tree line!” he shouted to Imris.

  And she came back with, “I am!”

  A breath of relief escaped Vlas, though it was Irslan who said, “Good girl.”

  The demon sat between Korsten and Cayri did so almost docilely. Likewise, it became almost conversational while its fate was delayed by unusual circumstances. It reminded Korsten a good deal of Bael…of the demon that had taken Bael, exuding personality only because it had adopted that of the host. That was what Korsten had believed then. But this demon was not in a body at all.

  There are more of us, Master.

  “How many?” Korsten asked, exchanging a glance with Cayri in order to assess how she might have felt about this, about conversing with a demon. He suspected his voice was the only part of the conversation his fellow priest could hear. Silently, he had another question for the demon. Why do you persist in addressing me that way?

  You are one of the Masters, it replied, too simply for Korsten’s tastes. And there are many. So many…

  “How many?” Korsten demanded, looking at it directly. It had no form, but it still had shape…characteristics such as the notion of eyes and a mouth…a face looking back at him.

  More than can be counted. We are so many.

  “Where did you come from?” He asked next. As it seemed more relevant, he changed his wording, “How did you get here?”

  By blood. The blood of men.

  Is there another Master with you?

  There is another, other than you, Master.

  Korsten had not been referring to himself. It was a nettling detail, but he let it go. Song’s charms were evidently saturating and thorough. Korsten did not have to be Morennish or one of the Vadryn in order to…

  The thought struck him to mental silence. It was Sethaniel’s voice that penetrated that silence, the memory of his words about Zerxa

  “Your mother was Morennish.” Sethaniel had said. “You’re her legacy, and her heritage is yours.”

  While Korsten was standing on the threshold of revelation, the Vadryn before him slunk forward. Cayri brooked no tolerance for error, and swept her blade through the insubstantial form of the beast, eradicating it in such a way that it would not be coherent in this plane of existence for a substantial period of time, if ever.

  With no remorse or pride over the deed, Cayri asked, “Did it speak to you?”

  Korsten did not allow himself to dwell in the moment, any more than she had. He gave a nod and said simply, “Yes.”

  “How?” she wondered aloud. The look of curiosity on her face just then omitted any shock or disgust that may have accompanied it.

  And it was with her asking that it became very clear to Korsten. “It seems in many ways to be very like spell-touching. Thoughts and feelings are transferred effortlessly, once contact by spell has been established.”

  “And that spell is Siren,” Cayri determined.

  “Yes,” Korsten answered. That was the only sensible explanation for the moment. And it made sense, enough that Korsten might be able to better navigate the peculiar shift the casting he had performed against Serawe and her followers had done to his landscape.

  Cayri seemed as willing as he to accept that explanation for the time being. “I see,” she said. And then she put away her sword. “Shall we look for more of them?”

  “There are no more aboard this vessel,” Korsten said knowingly. “There are several with the invading army, however. We won’t be able to track them all; most of them will be among the enemy soldiers.”

  “I agree that t
hat would be beyond our capabilities right now,” Cayri said.

  “I believe it best to warn the coming ship to turn around, and to bring Sharlotte and Lerissa here.”

  “Yes,” Cayri agreed. “I’ll return to the governor’s manor.”

  Korsten gave a nod. “Right. I’ll meet you there.”

  On those words, they parted, each by their own spell that would take them in separate directions.

  Deitir knew better than to worry over Cayri the way he’d indicated he would when she left. Above that, he knew better than to demonstrate that worry so openly. That had been a foolish moment that he was determined not to allow again. Unfortunately, the inability to withhold his reaction earlier had concerned his mother. None of it was important enough to be so present on his mind, but he felt exposed with Cayri absent. He felt at the mercy of himself and his own inexperience.

  “Deitir,” his mother began, but he wouldn’t allow himself to take a turn back now. He wouldn’t allow anyone else to turn him back around.

  “I’m fine, Mother,” he said. He looked at her directly, to let her know that he intended to make it so, even if it wasn’t.

  Ilayna wasn’t so easily thrown off her maternal mark.

  He averted her gaze by looking about the room. “Where has Firard gotten to?”

  Ilayna looked for him after the fact, then lifted both shoulders. “He must be hunting for information from the guards.”

  “As long as he isn’t trying to collect gear and join the soldiers at the waterfront with his injury.”

  “He’s not that illusioned,” his mother said flatly. “He understands that he needs to take more care at his age.”

  He didn’t believe that his mother was in the habit of lying, but he knew well that she tailored words. “That was most evident with the injury done to his arm, after he and a handful of activists foolishly tried to slip a vessel north.”

  Ilayna arched one white eyebrow. “You say that as if…”

  “Governor,” Fersmyn said suddenly.