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

by T. A. Miles

Deitir and his mother both looked toward him. Deitir expected to be delivered more of the battle’s status, but that their deputy governor was looking not at Deitir, but toward the doorway.

  “Raiss,” Ilayna said on a breath of elation.

  Deitir stood in shock at the sight of his father hunched in the doorway. Emalrik was trying to offer assistance, but Raiss kept a hand on the other man’s shoulder with the clear intent to keep him at arm’s length.

  Raiss struggled to get air enough to speak, which inspired both Deitir and his mother to approach him. He clearly should not have been out of bed yet. Deitir was glad to see that he was awake, though. It almost made him smile, but then his father spoke.

  “Konlan’s dead,” he said, and it seemed so sudden as to also seem irrelevant, even though it wasn’t. Konlan’s disappearance remained an urgent topic.

  “Where is he?” Ilayna asked. “How do you know?”

  “Did he return?” Fersmyn asked, though his tone seemed to doubt that if the man had returned he would have been able to place himself within Raiss’ presence.

  “He’s dead…” Raiss said again, and again Emalrik attempted to get a hold on him and was continually denied. “He wasn’t alone.”

  Everyone paused in that moment, glancing about at each other and then returning their attention to Raiss. Why could Cayri not have gone later? Deitir would have rathered she was here to decipher his father’s sudden dialogue.

  “What do you mean?” Ilayna pressed. “Maybe you should go back to bed.”

  “Betrayer…” Raiss stammered, pushing Emalrik back once more, and that was his last word before he fell forward.

  Ilayna and his physician both hurried to catch him. Deitir rushed to provide further support, panic racing through him as his father’s body leaned heavily against him and became a lifeless weight. There was barely a last breath before he…before…

  Deitir clutched the back of his father’s shirt, eyes burning. “He’s gone back into his sleep,” he decided, looking to his mother as if to enforce it, then to Emalrik with a desperate plea for it to be true that he could feel. It stiffened in his chest before it became tears.

  Deitir held his father tightly, aware that his mother had her arms around both of them. The thundering of battle in their harbor became strangely distant. He might have drifted from the present altogether, but that he felt a hand on his shoulder. It was a gesture of comfort, but also one for summoning strength. Looking up at Fersmyn, Deitir realized that the elder was asking that of him. In that moment, the sounds from the battle grew louder to Deitir, and more present. He squeezed his eyes shut against the tears, then kissed his father’s head and his mother’s afterward. Drawing in an unsteady breath, he withdrew from his parents, allowing Emalrik to take his place, keeping his father from collapsing fully to the floor.

  “Return the governor to his bed,” Fersmyn instructed, his voice exhibiting some weakness in that moment.

  The men present seemed still stuck in the moment, and looked to Deitir, as if a wrong movement might offend him or even his father, who was beyond offense now. Deitir confirmed the deputy governor’s command with a nod, and the men acted.

  “You should go with them, Mother,” Deitir said to Ilayna, who allowed the men to collect her husband with a look of gathered strength. He’d watched his mother take on such a look for some time now.

  Ilayna said nothing to him, or to anyone, and walked slowly from the room with the men carrying his father.

  “Word of this is not to leave this house,” Deitir said. He said it to Fersmyn first, then looked at the other officers present and repeated the order firmly. Morale was already a questionable affair. News of his father’s death would only set about a decline.

  Deitir felt eyes on him and looked to one of the far doors, where Firard Mortannis stood. He hoped that the man understood that he was also expected to carry out the order of silence on the topic. He may not have been a citizen of Indhovan, or an officer of theirs, but he was present and privy to events and information. Discretion had become an obligation and to disregard it would be tantamount to the actions of an enemy at this stage.

  His father’s final word came to mind, causing him to look over all who were present in the office. He believed it was true, that there was a betrayer and that it was that truth which awakened his father, out of necessity, so that he could warn them. Cayri’s prior warning, paired with his father’s, was all the suggestion Deitir needed to take care in who he trusted. His father had long been suspicious of Konlan’s group, and so had Deitir. If there was one man among his father’s…his officers…who had associated in secret with Konlan and his agenda, that man would be brought forward and he would be detained until this battle had been decided. As far as he was concerned, whomever the betrayer was, that man was equally responsible for Raiss’ death. If by no other means than failing to reveal Konlan’s magic practices. He would be tried for conspiracy against the office of the governor, and that meant that the office had to survive this night, if for no other reason than to bring some justice to his father.

  Aware that his destination was moving, Korsten selected the individual he would Reach to carefully. He would not have considered Dacia a possibility in the remotest sense, especially for his unconscious habit. He scarcely knew the girl, but he understood after the fact that it wasn’t the girl; it was her birthmother. His altercation with Serawe had made them intimately connected and through the relationship of the host’s blood and the demon’s spirit, Korsten connected with Dacia. Logically, it should have been a simple choice to focus on Sethaniel, but Sethaniel was not aligned with the emotional map which lies had laid across his mind and heart. The father he had lately met and the one he had believed that he knew were not the same man. He would not consciously make such an attempt. By the same logic of Serawe to Dacia, he relied upon Ashwin’s relation to Lerissa, paired with his love for Lerissa and their familiarity, in spite of the length of their recent distance. He found it more difficult to concentrate solely on Lerissa, with thoughts of Ashwin hovering at the fringes of his affection. His sentiments about his life mentor nearly overshadowed his recent memory of Lerissa, but he recalled the trouble Indhovan was in and how much it would not do to place himself at the Vassenleigh Citadel. The delay could have proved vital.

  Ultimately, his Reach found the individual he most needed to find in the moment of its casting. He stepped from one ship onto another, the atmosphere of damp darkness and the wafting odor of recent death and of fire lingering in the more comfortable space, enough that Lerissa seemed to have noticed.

  “Hell’s depths,” the blond complained, all but leaping out of the chair that held her in the small cabin that had been leant to Sethaniel. It was the same chair Korsten had been sitting upon earlier that evening. “I’ve been looking all over for you, Korsten. I was beginning to think you’d gone over the side.”

  Sethaniel was awake now as well. His expression seemed to support Lerissa’s absurd theory, though admittedly, through the eyes of a parent who knew nothing of how his child’s grace had manifested over the years, it was a more rational verdict to have come to than leaving by way of spell.

  And then there was Sharlotte, stood between the chair and the small window, leaning against the wall. “Where did you go?”

  So, he had Reached to all three of them, regardless of his focus. That was fine. In fact, it was ideal. “I apologize for causing worry,” he said, particularly if not exclusively for his father’s benefit. “My mind wandered in the midst of falling asleep, and I placed myself back in Indhovan.”

  Sharlotte seemed confused to the point of offense. “You what?”

  Lerissa merely took on a slightly puzzled expression. “What do you mean?”

  “I performed a Reach unconsciously,” he explained, in an abbreviated sense. “That’s not important now. What matters is that Indhovan is under attack.”

  “It’s begun?” Lerissa said.

  “Yes,” Korsten replied. “Morenne
is heavily equipped with a new style of weapon and the Vadryn are with them in number.” He looked specifically to Sharlotte. “We need you there, desperately.”

  Lerissa took Sharlotte’s hand in that moment, perhaps unconsciously.

  Sharlotte maintained her stubborn frown, but she seemed willing to set aside personal issue. “What are you proposing?”

  “That we Reach back to Indhovan. I know where to take us. We must assist that city in any way that we can.”

  Lerissa was nodding while he was speaking. Sharlotte’s expression gave her the look of deliberation, though she didn’t argue or refuse.

  Korsten accepted that for now and turned his attention to Sethaniel. “You and this ship can go no further.”

  “Nonsense,” Sethaniel said immediately, as if he had been holding on to the word since the conversation began, waiting for the moment to spit it onto the floor in distaste.

  “The battle began on water,” Korsten told him. “Morenne is using a method of attack that literally tears a structure apart. This ship has no defense.”

  Sethaniel held his face in his hands briefly, then drew away from them as if he had planted the stress there, though not all of it. His tone was forceful. “My son,” he said, looking at Korsten too directly. It made Korsten’s heart stumble mildly, especially when Sethaniel continued with, “Your brother. He’s there in that attack you just witnessed.”

  “Yes,” Korsten said, turning away any emotional response he may have had in that moment. He wanted to acknowledge Sethaniel’s paternal concern, but he was not going to adopt fraternal obligation solely over that. There was an entire city of souls at risk, and where his familial duty was concerned…it was all for his father, whom he had wrongly vilified…who he had demonized and regarded as no better than dead. Sethaniel was very much alive, and he was going to live until the years took him…not the Vadryn. “I’m going back. Other priests are present, one in particular, is at his side. With Lerissa and Sharlotte accompanying, there will be five Priest-Adepts doing everything possible to turn Morenne away.”

  “I’m going,” Sethaniel tried to enforce.

  “There’s nothing for you to do,” Korsten argued, “save put your life at risk.”

  “I will not go back,” Sethaniel insisted, as if acceptance of his decision was eminent.

  “You will,” Korsten said, defiance leaping forward in the face of Sethaniel’s stubbornness.

  Sethaniel glared. “I will not turn from—”

  “You’ve no other choice!” Korsten found himself unexpectedly shouting.

  Simultaneously, Sethaniel finished his statement with volume of his own. “I will not turn away from my children!”

  Silence came abruptly, and just for a moment. It wasn’t the shouting, so much as the breaking in Sethaniel’s voice, that quieted Korsten. He watched his father’s eyes glaring through unshed tears and watched his jaw clenching between sobs he refused to relinquish. He looked as if he wanted to pace, but there was no room for it in the small space. It had him half turn toward the bed, then back toward Korsten, whom he continued to glare at.

  “I will not go back,” Sethaniel said, still loudly. “I will proceed to Indhovan to be with my sons!”

  Korsten stood still and quiet now. He looked his father in the eye, and watched the man’s controlled weeping. It was in that moment that a truth was renewed. He loved his father. He loved him, and he had missed him. The very last thing that he wanted was for his father to be killed in Indhovan. But he also had no desire to have him return to Cenily, to cut short this precious time they’d been granted and to perhaps never see Sethaniel again, to condemn him to his years and to rob him of an opportunity that might never come again; the opportunity to be in the presence of his surviving children at the end of his days, and perhaps to be assured that his legacy was one of hope and contribution of hope to their faltering world.

  Sethaniel was the victor in this moment, and not because Korsten had run away, but because Korsten agreed with him.

  “All right,” Korsten finally said. “But we can’t risk the lives on this ship. We’ll inform the captain of our intentions and bring you with us, directly to the governor’s manor.”

  Sethaniel held silent for a moment, during which Lerissa and Sharlotte seemed to visibly relax. And then the elder nodded. After further pause, he also said, “Thank you.”

  To which Korsten replied in earnest, “I love you, Father.”

  Eleven

  VLAS AND IRSLAN ARRIVED at the tree line in the same moment a second projectile crashed upon the shore. Worse than the noise was the sensation of it hitting the ground. It made the very earth seem fragile. Such destruction was not meant for the hands or the judgment of men.

  “Are you all right?” he quickly asked Irslan once they were in the relative concealment of branches and the shadows they cast.

  “I am,” Irslan replied, and together they set about looking for Imris.

  Keeping low, they took hurried steps in the direction of the slope. The darkness made it more difficult, but it also had them fortuitously run into one another before too long.

  Vlas put his hands onto the constable’s shoulders, descrying her features as only their very near proximity would allow. “Are you hurt?” he asked her.

  “No,” was her answer.

  “Good,” he said, and he hadn’t realized her hand was on his arm until he felt her fingers tighten over his sleeve. He turned back toward Irslan while staying close to Imris, bringing the three of them to huddle together, so that they might sort their circumstances. “Now, we know the state of things here, and that it’s unhappily against us.”

  “What happened to Rahl’s men?” Irslan wondered for all of them.

  “I suspect the absolute worst,” Vlas replied. “Though it is possible that they were attacked after sacking the enemy supply and continued inland to make a thorough job of it. Granted, with the lack of bodies bearing constabulary uniform, it’s also possible that they took care of the weapons supply, then returned to their boat to head back, where they were then ambushed by the enemy. In that case, it seems as if no one could have survived.”

  “Right,” Irslan said while Imris nodded.

  “While I dislike the idea of leaving men stranded here, we have to consider whether or not it’s wiser to return to Indhovan and inform the governor and his officers of what we’ve witnessed.”

  “I dislike the way that stray ship has come in,” Irslan noted. “The manner in which it appears to be patrolling this island, in place of the one we should have had here.”

  “It does seem odd,” Vlas agreed. “Uncomfortably so.”

  “Is it possible that they have another fleet in hiding here?” Imris asked.

  Yes, that was entirely too possible. Still, Vlas took a moment to consider the strategy. They knew for fact that Morenne had been planning on Indhovan as a battleground for years. Long enough for the crone to have been summoning a wave to come ashore and obliterate the city, or its defenses at any rate.

  Of course, they also knew that the crone had been planning to obliterate the resident Vadryn population as well. And the population of demons had been not only lurking behind and beneath the city, but on the Islands as well, along with the local people, some of whom had committed themselves to a cult which served an archdemon. That archdemon was an acting agent; a political and tactical body that was very likely put in place to organize arms and an army.

  With all that considered, Morenne could well have taken all the Islands over from afar. The presence of a demon alone would have begun to suppress the population. The following takeover would have been little trouble…less with individuals such as Konlan helping. The man had deliberately hampered the will and capability of the governor. Vlas imagined Morenne had been damned near prepared to declare victory over Indhovan upon their very arrival in their waters.

  “I had considered that the ship was of their arriving fleet,” Vlas mentioned. “And that it may have gone around th
e far side of things.”

  “That’s possible, too,” Irslan said. “But, then I suppose what really matters now, is what we do. We can pass theories about it all night.”

  “Very true, Master Treir.” Vlas drew in a breath and let it out quickly. “I had hoped for more time, but the situation is what it is. I say we return. It’s better that we survive to share the information we have, rather than to risk having it lost to our deaths over exploring circumstances that are evidently too complex for the time we have.”

  “I agree,” Imris said.

  “Seems more than wise,” Irslan added.

  And Vlas said, “It’s less than foolish, at least.”

  “Our word from the cliffs is that no one has come so far,” Fersmyn said, bringing the information to the central table after a soldier passed it verbally to him at the doors. His current use of ‘so far’ sounded remarkably grim. At the moment, everything fell darkly onto Deitir’s ears.

  “They’re maintaining their positions?” Deitir asked and had it confirmed with a sure nod from the man that was now his deputy…no longer his father’s, in spite of any official ceremony or declaration of the transition. None of this was happening with it in mind that his father would be handed everything back anymore, his son having made do and kept order during his unnatural slumber. Everything felt eerily final now.

  He asked next, “How are things at the waterfront?”

  Fersmyn began to answer, but was interrupted by the arrival of both Chief Constable Rahl and Captain Oshand, who may have been better equipped to answer anyway. Deitir gave his attention to them instead, as did everyone else at the table.

  “Demons have been sighted,” the elder of the pair informed while he approached the table, Oshand following near. “They boarded one of our vessels and forced abandonment.”

  “Forced abandonment?” Deitir asked, perhaps unfairly in his tone.

  It would naturally be in that precise moment that Cayri would return. She came through the doors as if she’d literally come from another world just on the other side of them, and she must have heard his uncharitable tone, for she fixed him with an immediate look, one in which he struggled to decipher. And in spite of it, he felt a fantastic amount of relief at seeing her. He was unsettled by the way it measured darkly against a feeling of unhappiness for the fact that she was gone when his father might have been benefited by her presence.