by T. A. Miles
“Well…” Rahl was saying, somewhat taken by the unspoken suggestion that Oshand and his men had done anything other than the only option available to them beyond blatant and senseless sacrifice. “It’s not as if men can fight demons.”
For some reason that irritated Deitir further, and he snapped, “Can’t they?”
And it was then that Cayri said, “No, they cannot.”
“Then we’re doomed, aren’t we?” Deitir said, realizing even as he was doing it that he was lashing out. “Why should we do anything at all? What is there to do except flee or die?”
Cayri should have been disappointed or angry, he felt, but she looked at him in such a way that he couldn’t tell what she was feeling toward him in just that moment. Ever calm, she said, “Some of the enemy are mortal men. Many of them are. My fellows and I are here to fight the demons, and to advise you in how best to turn back their efforts.”
Deitir held back any further response that would have been inspired by anger. He knew it was anger over his father, and over the full reality of having to take his place. He also knew that it was unfairly aimed at Cayri, since she didn’t know what had happened in her absence and could not have predicted it would have happened just when it did. No one could have.
“I’m sorry,” he eventually said, to Cayri and to everyone else.
No one dignified the outburst any further by saying anything. Instead, Cayri walked across the room to the table, returning to Deitir’s side. She said to him specifically, “There are more priests coming.”
Deitir had not been expecting to hear that. It shook him from his angst. “When will they arrive?”
“Soon,” Cayri told him. “I predict that within the hour we will have them here with us, and we can make plans to continue Indhovan’s defense.”
Deitir accepted this, reminding himself that it had been priests who uncovered a horde of the beasts within the city and routed them, and that it was priests who had turned back the wave. The priests were their allies, and they were present to assist with matters and enemies that ordinary men and women couldn’t combat alone. Their primary task was to maintain vigilance in what they could accomplish and to otherwise keep faith in those equipped to contend with what they could not.
“Captain Oshand,” Deitir began, looking to the young man as he took a further step forward in waiting to receive his orders. “Return to the harbor and resume your command. Guide your men away from the peril of the Vadryn in whatever way you’re able. Stay focused on our human opponents. I trust you have some better idea of what to look for in a soldier who might be influenced or possessed.”
“Yes, sir.” Oshand turned briskly from the table and went to the doors.
On his departure, Deitir gave his focus to the elder of the men at arms. “Constable Rahl.”
“Yes, Governor.”
“Has there been any word back from your unit on the near island?”
“There has not been,” Rahl replied. “Though, given the circumstances on the water, there’s scarcely been time or opportunity to return. I imagine they will have to take a roundabout channel in order to relay their findings safely, if they haven’t encountered trouble.”
“There was trouble,” a new voice said. The familiar voice of Priest Vlas. Deitir appreciated their timing, though it was a tad uncanny, even for priests.
“Have you been listening outside of the doors?” Fersmyn asked somewhat dryly, making it apparent that Deitir wasn’t the only one to notice this trait among the priests.
It was Irslan Treir who innocently replied. “We’ve only just arrived,” he said. The man seemed so harmless that Deitir could not feel exasperated with his manner. He did find him somewhat odd, however. He always had. Eccentric, perhaps.
“Thank you for coming,” Deitir decided to say to him, and to both Priest Vlas and Constable Imris as well. “What do you know of the contingency force?”
“As far as we could tell, it was eradicated by the enemy,” Vlas said, sparing them nothing, as was his typical manner.
Deitir glanced toward Cayri, who issued no visible response, then gave his attention back to Vlas.
The blond priest came directly to the table, though both of his small party lingered nearer the doors for the time present.
“What did you see?” Deitir asked him.
“Firstly, we came upon what appeared to be a significant cache of fire tactics being collected, perhaps for transfer, by what may have been Islands cultists. The supplies had been destroyed and there were bodies of the cultists strewn about, as if there’d been some manner of altercation.”
“Had there been?” Deitir asked.
“We have no idea,” Vlas replied. “There weren’t any weapons about and the constabulary men were not to be found in the immediate vicinity.”
“Where were they?” Fersmyn wondered openly.
“Who can say?” was the priest’s reply. “Except, that it was observable from the shore, in the dark, that there were at least some brutally slain bodies upon their boat.”
“That must have been our men, then,” Fersmyn presumed.
And Vlas shot both him and Deitir a sharp look. “Maybe. Maybe not. I still haven’t sorted out whether or not I believe this was all an elaborately laid trap.”
“For who?” Rahl asked now. “Surely, young man, you can’t be suggesting that they were expecting you three?”
“No?” Vlas challenged, and in that challenge seemed also to be reproaching Rahl for his choice of words, perhaps in labeling the priest a young man, or perhaps in questioning the viability of the three referred to as an impactful resource that the enemy could take as such. That they would take as such.
Rahl blustered a bit in organizing his further response, but Deitir held up a hand to silence him before the two went after each other.
Vlas continued with his accounting of events. “Regardless of whether or not it was, the cultists had been afflicted by the poison of the Vadryn and attacked us. In the process of defending ourselves from them in their ghoulish state, a ship arrived. A rogue from the main fleet, or member of a supporting fleet, I don’t know. It launched its fire tactics upon us and perhaps now believes us to be crushed and burned amid the debris on the shore of that island. We chose to return rather than to search for further evidence of precisely what might have gone on there.”
“We appreciate that,” Deitir said, and meant it. Information in the hands of dead people was quite useless. And they needed whatever information they could find, however gruesome or unfortunate. He drew in a breath and let it out evenly, looking down at the map on the table before looking upon the others again. “Well, I think it’s obvious what we’re to do in this battle, and that’s to regard it as a land battle. Withdraw forces from the waterfront and make them come to us. We cannot withstand against their fire tactics.”
Silence took the room for several moments, but eventually Fersmyn gave a nod, repeating the gesture to Rahl, who immediately set off with his task of informing others.
“A wise choice,” Vlas said, and Deitir elected to take it as praise, since it was difficult to grasp how to take the priest most often. The young-appearing man in blue, cast his bright eyes in Alledar’s direction suddenly. “Wouldn’t you agree, Alledar?”
Alledar seemed taken by the direct address. He quickly looked about at everyone, then to Vlas said, “I…well, I suppose it’s as sound a decision as any at this time.”
“You seem underwhelmed,” Vlas told him, then dismissed the topic altogether by taking steps around the table, toward Cayri.
“I trust you have a reason for that behavior,” she said to him when he was nearer.
“None, except that the man has been bothering me form the beginning with his lack of focus and energy.” The blonder of the pair of priests shrugged.
Cayri merely looked at him for a moment, then said nothing more of the topic.
In light of the behavior of both priests, Deitir gave his gaze to Alledar, who looked back
at him briefly, then proceeded to recollect his dignity after the sudden attack from Priest Vlas. It seemed that nerves were strained all around.
There was little to do since Vlas’ return, except to wait for Korsten. Cayri had no way of knowing just how long he should be expected to take; Reaching back to a ship that was in motion, and then returning to…well, presumably to wherever she happened to be, since he had not before been in the governor’s manor. She hoped that he had not found it for some reason impossible to designate her as a target for his unusual expression of the spell. She had witnessed the ease with which he performed the task, with targets such as Ashwin, who was his life mentor, and Merran, whom she believed he loved. It seemed clear to her also that Merran reciprocated that affection. Perhaps they were partners in a fuller sense, but not announced as such.
The subject drifted from her mind while she accompanied Deitir to his father’s room. She had been detecting a certain uneasiness from the young man since her return. She expected to learn that Governor Tahrsel had taken a worse turn in his health. She was not surprised to learn that he had, in fact, passed away in her absence. Hope for his recovery had never left her, but the complicated and peculiar nature of his affliction created room for anything at all to result.
Standing in the doorway of the room with Deitir, she let him know with a careful taking of his hand that she understood his behavior before and that he should stay strong. And then she slipped away from him and approached the bed, where the Lady Tahrsel sat in mourning. There was little time for it now, but she had every right to take what few moments circumstances allowed her.
Cayri put a hand on the woman’s shoulder, knowingly. The minor Healing she cast in that moment went unnoticed for what it was by all but herself.
Ilayna emerged somewhat from her sullenness after its casting, which was the aim of the spell. The woman looked up at Cayri with tears in her aged eyes, and placed her hand over Cayri’s fingers. “Thank you,” she said quietly.
Cayri presumed it was for her presence, not the Healing. “I’m sorry he was unable to stay for this battle. His city will honor him when it’s over.”
Ilayna nodded. “At least, he was somewhat at rest. I thank you for that, Cayri.”
Cayri could not say how restful his sleep had been after his peculiar state of possession, not by demon, but by the travelling soul of another human. She elected to say nothing. Whether or not Raiss was suffering in those final hours, it was more important that his family was at peace about it now.
“Who was present?” Cayri asked after a few tactful moments.
“When he awakened, or when he…”
“When he awakened,” Cayri specified.
“I was,” Emalrik offered from the other side of the bed.
“Did he say anything?” Cayri asked him.
The man shook his head. “No. He simply sat up…he struggled to somewhat. I had attempted to convince him to lie back, but he forced me aside with surprising strength. He continued to do so while I tried to at least assist him in walking to the office. He spoke his last words there, in the presence of his family.”
Ilayna let out a few quiet sobs.
Cayri looked over her shoulder at Deitir, whose dark eyes glistened in the soft light of the bedroom. “What did he say?”
Deitir raised his gaze slowly from the reposed form of his father, to Cayri. “He told us…that Konlan was dead. And then he said he wasn’t alone.”
“Betrayer was his last word,” Ilayna added.
Cayri absorbed the information given, studying the peaceful face of a man who had suffered greatly during his last days. Possession, of any kind, could never be simple or pleasant for the host. She wondered if he’d been a prisoner to his unconsciousness…awake in his mind while his body forced him to stillness. Had he been trying to warn his family since his fall? Perhaps it was his strength of will that finally enabled him to force through his unnatural slumber. It may also have been that his determination saw him to a premature end. There was no way to know for certain. It troubled Cayri, regardless.
She looked across the bed at the physician, whose presence in the room now—beyond preparation of the body for a future burial—must have been for Ilayna’s benefit. “Did anyone else come into the room at any time that you noticed?”
The man shook his head. “No. Not anyone other than the lady, their son, and you. Fersmyn from time to time. The guards would likely have hedged upon letting anyone else in. Alone, at least.”
Cayri nodded, accepting that answer. She had more or less come to the same conclusion herself. “Thank you,” she eventually said to the man, for his answer in that moment.
“We’ll continue on course,” the captain of the Song of the Coast said. If it hadn’t been stated so simply, Korsten might have taken it for some form of defiance.
“But you’re not equipped for battle,” Korsten reminded the man, who stood behind the chair of his desk, in a room that was rather spacious. Perhaps it was the only room with quite so much area.
The captain—Delac was his name—remained in a congenial state while he issued another simple reply. “We have our reasons, and our means.”
Sethaniel let out a breath of citation for stubbornness that he couldn’t reasonably site, considering his own position and attitude on the matter. He said nothing.
“It’s on your heads, then,” Sharlotte said, in her usual lack of diplomacy. “You were warned.”
Lerissa stepped in with her typical form for what Sharlotte lacked in these matters. “If you won’t reconsider going to Indhovan, will you at least take care in your approach? With the most danger being on the water as yet, perhaps you could find a port south of the city itself.”
“We’ll manage it,” the man said, and he gave Lerissa a wink.
Korsten stood there nonplussed, he didn’t know whether over the man’s determination and lack of worry, or the gesture he had just made at Lerissa.
“There isn’t time for extensive debate,” Sharlotte reminded all of them.
She was right. Korsten let the matter go. As much as he loathed to leave a ship of men to a fool’s course, there was an entire city under siege. “If you insist on proceeding, do so cautiously.”
With those words, Korsten cleared his mind of the ship and the possibility of an unhappy fate for its crew. He thought of Indhovan instead, and then of Cayri. He thought of what it felt like to return earlier that evening and find that she was safe and unharmed. He thought of how she had witnessed Song, and how she had expunged the demon caught by the talent. A seed of wonder sprouted just then, but he cast no light on it, envisioning Cayri…restructuring the sensation of her presence. Those thoughts were formed and passed in a matter of moments, the time in which it took Korsten to turn from the ship’s captain and take a brief series of steps from the others. His hands worked the spell. The Reach gate came, was guided over the others, and himself…and the captain’s room became a pallid and dismal space in comparison to their new surroundings.
The walls of the corridor they entered were multiple stories high, topped with a vaulted ceiling. Ornate relief work and filigree ornamented the entirety of the space. In a more open sense, it was reminiscent of the Camirey house in Haddowyn. Once again, the importance of the role of a city governor was signified. The vastness of the Vassenleigh Citadel surpassed both manors, but the richness of this manor was singular in its culture. He imagined such grandeur had been fashioned after the Old Capital, and the house of the former king of Edrinor.
Cayri was stood before a window that virtually served as the wall at the end of the passage, looking out on a city that remained lit, but that held conflict within the folds of its shadow. She turned to face them, and Korsten took that for acknowledgment enough. While she moved to join them, he looked to Sethaniel to see how the elder had managed the Reach.
Sethaniel’s ancient features mustered a look of dignity. He evidently took note of Korsten’s silent inquiry and said, “I’m fine.”
Korsten accepted that, but continued to observe him, which earned a more direct look, one that might have come with words, but that they were both distracted by the arrival of a young man, alongside an elder woman. The woman appeared somehow horrified at the notion of her guests…or of one guest in particular.
Maintaining his dignified expression, Sethaniel said rigidly, “Ilayna.”
Korsten looked from one to the other, his gaze catching incidentally on the young man as well.
The gracefully aged woman let out a gasp that may have also held tears. “Sethaniel, why have you come?”
“Mother?” the youth began.
In the same moment, Sethaniel had begun to answer the woman, but she would not allow it, saying at once, “Be silent, you old bastard.” After the words escaped, Ilayna regathered herself, held her chin up, and gave her hand to Sethaniel.
Korsten watched his father take it with some familiarity, though he might not have been expecting the offer.
“Raiss is dead,” Ilayna said, and then she began to cry.
Sethaniel’s wizened hand tightened around the slenderer hand of the lady, and then he offered his condolences, by drawing her into an embrace.
That was all the evidence that Korsten required. He looked at the image of his father, consoling a woman who had once been his lover—a woman whose presence might have consoled him after the loss of Korsten’s mother—and then he looked to the young man. He held a rather cross look on his face…the face created by the elder pair before them. This was their child…and his brother by half.
“Deitir,” Cayri said to the young man, perhaps if only to pry his focus from their parents. “This is Korsten. It was he and Merran who routed the Vadryn in the caves, and discovered the crone.”