by T. A. Miles
“The situation has some hope to it,” Eisleth admitted. “Our influence may always be stronger here in the south-central, and throughout the middle lands, regardless.”
“Of course,” Ashwin concluded, because that was a topic of debate between the two of them and would undoubtedly be continued later. “They are the heart and hand of the Old Kingdom.”
•—•
The Council Chamber relied on light from its high-hung braziers as clouds continued to loom over Vassenleigh. It darkened the jewels mounted upon each of the six pillars of the Spectrum, which were all that occupied the vast marble floor. Beneath each of the large gems was carved an ancient character. The room and its pillars represented the simple and essential foundation of the complex entity the Vassenleigh Order had become.
It was in this room that the translation of Korsten’s Emergence was first given to him by the patriarchs and matriarchs who, along with six archpriests, formed the Council of Superiors. They were among the most ancient and accomplished known to the Order. Several of them had been responsible for its founding many centuries past. Not one of them exhibited years in the ordinary sense. The features of each defied any age—old or young—because age belonged to mortals, and they certainly were not, not so long as the magic of the blood lilies sustained them. They represented the potential of any priest of the Order, should an individual summoned to the task survive the war outside of Vassenleigh’s walls.
The Council had done that, and more. And by now, they were so saturated with magic and so integrated within the Spectrum, that they scarcely dared to leave Vassenleigh at all, especially not since the Siege. Outside of the city’s constant Barriers, the Superiors would be as beacons, summoning attention that would not only announce the careful revival of the Order before they and Edrinor were prepared for it, but that would also alert the more ancient of the Vadryn to their presence at the citadel.
The demons would be on the city with haste, and an end battle would be upon all of them. It wasn’t necessary for Korsten to have been among them long in order to know that they were not ready, and that the threat of a second occurrence of the siege of nearly one hundred years ago would be high. It seemed unlikely that Vassenleigh or its priests would be able to recover from a second such blow, so soon after the strike that had nearly taken down all of Edrinor.
To think, there may have been a time once when Korsten might have preserved his ignorance, all the while losing his innocence, until he too suffered the fate of those pinned beneath the Vadryn. It was clear to him, after his recent dream, that he had not yet shaken all that had led him to the Order. It continued to be Merran and Ashwin who ensured his survival through all of it; if not one, then the other.
The former of the two stood beside him, their shoulders level. It was a level that stood typically higher than most, save the Council’s twins. Though he and Merran had the same height, they did not have the same build, however; Korsten’s was narrower, suited for dexterity and quickness, which were attributes in line with a host of others which qualified him to his specific role and station among the priests of Vassenleigh.
Among the priests of Vassenleigh, Korsten’s specific role and station was as an enthraller. His blood sang to demons and also of them. It was a hope and a concern among the Council of Superiors that the former aspect might eventually manifest to some level of conscious control, that he might become uniquely attuned to communicating spiritually with the Vadryn. Korsten’s predecessor had managed it, and she had died, overtaken by the demons her blood had called to.
In his mind, Korsten retraced the path behind him, considering that his steps may have picked up where his predecessor’s—where Adrea’s—had left off. He reconsidered it quickly, though, since his talent for Song yet remained dormant. He still only had Allurance to rely on, and, as had lately been proved at Feidor’s Crest, it wasn’t entirely reliable yet.
He felt the press of mild annoyance from a source nearby. He recognized instantly that it was coming from Ashwin, and by way of the spell connection they had shared for some years now. Though it had been established for Korsten’s safety originally, its lingering seemed to really only make it easier for his mentor to know when Korsten wasn’t paying proper attention during council meetings.
He very consciously gave his full attention to the one at hand.
“Endmark is a coordinated Kingdom endeavor. It’s a town that has been besieged for years, much like Lilende, and Eastmark, before its eventual fall.”
The words were delivered by Patriarch Ceth. He was a scholar and an educator, first and foremost. His subjects of emphasis included war, magic, and the Vadryn. Though, on the topic of demons, it was actually Patriarch Eisleth who was their resident expert.
“As far as we know,” Ceth continued, “it’s not been occupied yet.”
“Why not?” Korsten asked, now that he was focusing on the conversation.
“That’s what we would like to know,” said Matriarch Jeselle. Her silver eyes were as piercing as Ashwin’s green were inviting. Though she was not a woman of significant height, compared to her peers, she held tremendous presence. “Also, we would be interested in knowing what happened to our own troops.”
Korsten questioned the statement in expression only.
“Everyone has vanished,” Jeselle said in answer to that expression. “Morenne appears to have pulled out entirely, and the steward has neither heard nor seen anything regarding the whereabouts of any survivors, or even of the dead. As well, our own priests have not returned.”
“And that’s only a problem if their soulkeepers have also not returned,” Matriarch Sione put in. In some ways, the tall yet delicate ancient made Korsten think of trees, her voice like the stirring of a spring breeze through the leaves.
“Exactly.,” Ceth inserted. “And they have not.”
It was Ashwin who concluded the discussion. “We need to know precisely what has happened at Endmark, so that we may prevent it happening anywhere else. Since it may be related to events at Feidor’s Crest, we would like the both of you to go.”
•—•
Night had pulled aside the colors of a tempestuous autumn. The city of Vassenleigh descended toward a curtain of starlight in erratic rows of lanterns, torches, and braziers. There was no governor supervising the districts far below, though the residents did have a magistrate to rely on for maintaining order over their localized affairs. Many of those affairs had to do with the citadel and the Order, as had been the tradition for centuries. It provided hope to Ashwin on a regular basis, though that hope tended to be dampened by the knowledge that anyone from outside of Vassenleigh, looking south across the plains, would be met with darkness. The Barriers worked in tandem with an elaborate Shroud spell, which concealed all light coming from the city. The measures that had been taken since the Siege were severe and difficult to reverse.
Conversely, the Old Capital stood plainly visible in its location nearer to Edrinor’s center. And it was plainly known that there was a steward in place of a king, and that following the policies or the examples made at the Capital was no longer law. It was treated by other cities as any other town of questionable stamina to uphold against Morenne when the invasion truly began. After all, it had already fallen once, and before there was truly even a war on that anyone outside of priests and the Rottherlen family were aware of.
But behind every war was one that preceded it; one that was worse, leading back to the beginnings of everything.
“You said that we need to know what’s happened at Endmark. Does that mean you know what happened at Feidor’s Crest?”
The words drew Ashwin’s thoughts indoors. He looked over his shoulder from the balcony’s bench, and offered his student a smile.
Korsten, standing at the threshold between the room and its terrace, was presently dressed in a white cassock of intricate design, something he preferred to wear when within
the walls of what had become his home. His red curls collected at his shoulders and proceeded to fall down his back, requiring of him to tie them back in order to keep them from his face—all save the most stubborn of them.
“According to what you’ve told us,” Ashwin said, “Feidor’s Crest suffered from the presence of an archdemon. That’s not an unknown factor. The peculiar rider is potentially unfamiliar, but theories are not out of reach. Endmark, on the other hand, seems beyond all logic. I believe that you may be uniquely qualified to help resolve the matter.”
“As I did at Lilende?”
The question was delivered in a depressed tone, alluding to memory of what had gone on at the keep, even more than what had gone on after his capture. Through his student, Ashwin readily recalled the discovery of two explicit dangers. One of them had been the demon they were looking for at the time, which had taken possession of the keep’s arms master—a man by the name Bael, whom Korsten had come to feel a friendship with. Korsten felt confusion and guilt over his ability to make such connections with people, by way of demons. It was understandable.
Korsten also felt guilt over the unexpected discovery of a former priest, who had betrayed the Order and who had been at Lilende aiding in the plot to overtake it. Ecland—a priest who had also connected to red on the Spectrum—had died, killed by Korsten. It was at that point when the Allurance talent rose from its ambient state, and had enabled Korsten to charm Ecland into allowing his guard to drop.
“You aided in Lilende’s rescue,” Ashwin reminded him. He did not find it necessary to do more than that in the moment. Part of his responsibilities were to gauge the emotional requirements of others, based upon what he felt. And what he felt from Korsten presently was nowhere near as dire as it once had been.
Korsten stepped further onto the balcony. The action confirmed to Ashwin that he only wanted reminder in those moments, just enough to put aside any guilt he harbored over what, to him, may have felt like murder. Hunting demons was not the same as killing another person. At the same time, Ashwin knew that Korsten was actually harboring a fear of his hunting the demons beginning to feel as if he were killing another person. Sometimes, Ashwin felt as if it was the situation with Bael that haunted his student, even more than the circumstances of Ecland’s death.
Ashwin reached a hand out to catch Korsten’s fingers, deciding to return them to their original topic. “Also, Endmark and Feidor’s Crest are near neighbors. What befalls one will ultimately befall the other. I suspect it’s already begun.”
Korsten absorbed that in silence, and allowed Ashwin’s touch to lead him to the bench. He did not sit on the cushion beside Ashwin, but instead positioned himself on the terrace floor. Though he stayed near to the bench, their hands slipped apart.
“I know that you’re aware that I continue to feel remorse for all that’s happened,” Korsten said. “And for the fact that I still hold hope for Renmyr.”
“Do not feel remorseful over either hope or mercy,” Ashwin told him. “But, where the Vadryn are concerned, you must strive to recognize each, and also when one is impinging upon the other. Hope must yield to mercy when hope has begun to extend beyond it. And mercy must extend opportunity to hope, even where it seems that there should be none.”
Korsten raised one knee, folding his hands upon it. He looked over his shoulder, out across the city and its reflection in the stars. “I think that was a beautiful way to reiterate to me that I must utilize judgment first and foremost.”
Ashwin smiled at him, though Korsten wasn’t turned to see the expression. “That is true, but you must also develop an instinct. As priests operating outside of Vassenleigh, you often will have only moments to analyze a situation and to act. If overthinking was a Spectrum-related talent, you would have it.”
Korsten looked to receive Ashwin’s smile before it was fully gone, and to deliver one of his own. “And if loveliness was such a talent, it would be yours.”
The moment called for a careful breath, and the deliberate decision to stand. “I forbid you to adore me at this hour,” Ashwin said, holding a hand out to his pupil. “There’s much to be done, and no time to sacrifice to delay, not even of the sweetest variety. Not even if you would genuinely allow it.”
Korsten observed him for a moment that was matched by Ashwin, and extended mutually for several moments following. And then Korsten said, with the smallest of smiles, “I shall take my leave.”
Ashwin renewed the offer of his hand and helped Korsten to his feet. He watched him depart from the balcony with no small amount of regret. Thankfully, his regret was overshadowed by something that had grown far stronger. “Goodnight.”
My heart’s dearest.
Eleven
With morning, Korsten swiftly prepared to leave. He hoped to steal a few moments with one more person before setting out again with Merran. And in order to arrange the meeting, he went to Eisleth’s chambers, where he was directed to the Superior’s current patient.
The boy occupied a room off to the side of Eisleth’s central living area, taking up not very much space in the bed. It was understandable, given that he had not been eating much throughout his experience, trapped beneath the presence of one of the Vadryn.
“How is he?” Korsten asked the ancient standing in the doorway with him.
“His health is reasonable,” Eisleth answered, “considering the nature of his previous ailment. He’ll be relocated soon, and in Ashwin’s care for the next—and lengthiest—part of his recovery.”
Korsten understood. He understood all too well. When Eisleth stepped away, he moved into the bedroom. He was careful not to make too much of a disruption of himself when he lowered onto the edge of the mattress, but apparently the boy had scarcely been sleeping. His eyes opened very easily and his focus was near instant.
Korsten greeted him with a smile. Though the expression was not returned, it seemed that the youngster was at least able to realize that someone was attempting to interact with him. Encouraged by the response, Korsten asked, “What is your name?”
The boy’s answer was held briefly by a lack of strength or wakefulness. “Elwain.”
In truth, Korsten already knew the answer, but he was interested in how alert the young man may have been to the facts as they were. “I’m glad to meet you, Elwain.”
Though he, again, failed to respond in kind, he did not appear to be in any severe shock, nor did he seem affected by any lingering fear. His continuing delay suggested more disorientation than anything.
Observing him, Korsten noted that his hair was a rich, reddish brown, falling softly to his shoulders since the washing it had been lately given, and his eyes were blue. Their color had been muted somewhat by exhaustion and the lingering effects of possession, rendering the whites somewhat stained and shot with red. They were quite large, however, spaced well beneath a brow that seemed as if it held onto worry most naturally. Likewise, his lips, though currently cracked, appeared to hold a woeful shape of their own accord.
He had a noble look to him, certainly, but perhaps the look of an artist as well. His fingers were long and slender, ideal for playing instruments. In many ways, Korsten was reminded of himself. He could only hope that Elwain had not been as badly misguided.
“What’s happened to everyone?” the boy asked.
Korsten hadn’t anticipated that no one had related the events of Feidor’s Crest to him yet. He wondered how much he should say immediately. Undoubtedly, much of this ground would be covered with Ashwin, and Korsten had no desire to bring about unnecessary upset beforehand.
Still, there were some things he would like to know before leaving for Endmark.
“Did you keep many friends outside of your household?” Korsten decided to ask him.
Elwain appeared ready enough to let go his wonder over what had happened, and said, “None really. I mean …I was engaged to be married, but
not to anyone at home. Father arranged to join our house with Izwendel of Endmark. I suppose that isn’t very important.”
For a young man his age, Korsten believed that it was very important. Important because he either looked ahead to marriage to a young woman, or because he didn’t. In fact, to him, it had undoubtedly been the most paramount aspect of his life …before the Vadryn came.
Korsten decided that it was not important to dwell on that right now, however. “Did your father keep many guests in his house from outside of Feidor’s Crest?”
“People don’t travel much anymore, so not many. None that I recall very well right now. I mean, none that stood out lately.” He seemed undecided in his answer.
“I’ll let you rest again soon, Elwain.” Korsten promised. “Answer just one more question, first. Did you happen to notice whether or not any of your father’s associates were behaving out of sorts in the last year or so?”
For some reason, the question brought the boy to a more wakeful state. He moved to sit himself up, and Korsten offered a hand to assist him. The pillows were placed at his back and the blankets straightened.
“Guidry’s always been a strange man,” Elwain said while the reordering of his bedding took place. “Very nervous—paranoid my brother said. And there’s Ergen.”
“What of Ergen?” Korsten asked, lowering back onto the edge of the boy’s space.
Elwain made an attempt to lift his shoulders. The motion scarcely moved his hair. “When I was younger, I remember that he was a friendlier person. But then, his father died, and he became depressed.”
Korsten listened, noting how articulate the young man was, in spite of the fact that he might not have had proper control over a thing so simple as his own voice for months. Perhaps he found this a relief, or perhaps, without the influence of a demon, he could exhibit his true nature, which was rather more talkative than Korsten would have been at his age, in the company of a stranger, given his experience.