The Demon Shroud

by T. A. Miles

  “I recall once that he took a trip to Endmark,” Elwain continued. “When he came back, he seemed …angry and impatient. Ergen was never great friends with Guidry, but he tolerated him fairly enough, same as everyone. But after that, he started to behave quite short around him. They were cross with one another often. Oh, and then there’s his wife.”

  “What about her?” Korsten prompted.

  “She stopped coming out of her house one day.” Elwain looked to Korsten, as if to find visual confirmation in someone else’s eyes that it was entirely odd behavior. He gave up after only a moment of searching, carrying on with his account. “The talk was that she had come to be expecting a child. But no child ever came. My mother became quite worried about her, but Ergen always claimed that she was fine, and that she had projects she wanted to finish. She was very talented at making lace, my mother thought.”

  The information was not as important as it would have been, had they been able to ask such questions of Elwain earlier, though it did confirm that the core of the problem had been at the home of the deputy governor. The archdemon must have made contact through him or his wife. If Ergen’s wife had come to be possessed by something lesser, before the archdemon’s arrival, it was possible that the archdemon had caught the lesser demon off guard and took control over it, as well as Ergen …through fear and an oppressive will.

  That would seem to mean that the demon who had possessed Elwain was merely a matter of happenstance. Perhaps the smaller creature believed it could tuck itself within the boy and merely wait for the greater beast to leave. But whatever had come to the manor, had done so with a cruel vengeance that Korsten had to suspect wasn’t all to do with destroying the town, its chief citizen, or another demon that had the gall to loiter in space that it was actively laying claim to.

  A situation of that nature had been developing in Haddowyn before Merran arrived. It was Merran who destroyed the lesser demon, and the other proved too ancient a beast to be confronted by only one priest, who also had a surviving victim of the archdemon and a newly Emerged priest on his hands. Haddowyn fell to the demon, much as Feidor’s Crest might have done. Korsten had not seen the extent of the damage done to Haddowyn, since he had only returned briefly one time, and by accident. The Reach he had performed unconsciously while he thought of what he had once considered his home, landed him in his house and at the mercy of Renmyr. Renmyr, in his present state, knew no mercy. Korsten had very nearly died in the encounter.

  Korsten did happen to know that the archdemon responsible could well have been Renmyr and that if it was, the scene had been created in part for the benefit of the Order, but also, so that Korsten would be reminded that matters between them had also not been resolved.

  Korsten’s recent dream pulled itself forward, but it was Merran that came to the front of this thoughts ahead of any of it. He felt compelled to look over his shoulder, where he found his partner observing and waiting in the doorway. Korsten took it as a cue to draw the conversation to a close, but looking back at Elwain, he found that the boy had fallen asleep sitting up.

  With that being the case, Korsten stood quietly and joined Merran at the room’s threshold. “How much did you hear of the conversation?”

  “I heard most of what he said concerning Ergen.”

  “He also mentioned that he had been arranged to marry a member of the Izwendel family of Endmark.”

  Merran nodded. “The governing family, according to Patriarch Ceth. He provided me with some essential information concerning the recent political climate.”

  Ceth typically handled matters that way; making sure to pull one of them aside to reinforce the value of the details that weren’t specifically related to the Vadryn. The one who was pulled aside tended to be Merran, which worked well, since Korsten appreciated having the time to attend to affairs, such as the conversation he had just partaken of.

  “I think the engagement option that may have been open between the Dunlars and the Izwendels further illustrates the connection between the two towns,” Korsten said. “I wonder if they were growing wiser to the dangers of the region and were in the midst of working together to protect themselves against Morenne.”

  Merran stepped back and the action drew Korsten from the room with him. Their discussion continued while they walked. “That would make sense, especially since Izwendel had lately given land access and some guards to the Kingdom troops that disappeared.”

  “So, he had been coming around to joining us, possibly.”

  “Possibly,” Merran said, and along the way to the main entrance, he took a glance about the chamber. If he was looking for Eisleth, the Superior was not to be found in the immediate vicinity. “I don’t know that Endmark would ever have had as much to offer as Lilende or Eastmark. More than likely, they were exposed to something lately that inspired them to seek protection, even more than to offer support.”

  “And the people of Feidor’s Crest were potentially more open to our presence, because of anything they may have heard from their nearest neighbors.”

  Merran confirmed the logic with a nod, and another relevant detail. “That, paired with Guidry’s stories of Haddowyn and reports of victory at Lilende.”

  They departed from Eisleth’s chambers and entered into the open depths of the corridor beyond. In this particular area, the windows were situated high along the ceiling, atop distantly spaced pillars which framed tremendous lengths of polished stone walls. Occasionally, a carving protruded from the wall, streaming water which flowed into basins that ultimately deposited into a narrow channel that ran along the floor beneath an ornate grate. Such fountains were available within several of the rooms throughout the citadel, particular in the residential and temple districts.

  The population moving about was somewhat sparse, consisting mainly of apprentices to the Order and individuals from the city below who had found employment in the citadel. Priests who functioned primarily within Vassenleigh were more frequently seen, since Adepts were not long to linger within the safety of its walls. Those who had yet to gain a more active rank passed Korsten and Merran by, offering distinct splashes of color to the more neutral surroundings. It had been an important part of Vassenleigh’s development to maintain the natural aspects of the mountain as much as possible, while still making it comfortable for its residents. Stone was cut through and polished, but the walls were scarcely adorned beyond carvings and relief work. Where light shone through enough, some green growth provided natural décor. It was especially abundant along the exterior of the citadel; dressing terraces, creeping into rooms, and wrapping exposed colonnades. And, of course, there were the gardens. While the lily garden was the most prominent, there were a variety scattered along the citadel’s extensions. And there were the plains themselves, flooded with color in the summer, when the wildflowers bloomed, attracting all manner of butterfly. With the proper view, one could see them hovering in clusters just above the surface of the high grasses, drifting on the zephyrs of their own activity.

  “If Endmark can be saved,” Korsten said as the thought occurred to him, “then only two towns along the northernmost border will have been lost.”

  Merran looked over at him while they descended a brief stair, the purpose of which was only to connect the uneven levels of the extended passage. “Yes, but those two losses give Morenne significant access into Edrinor. Ceth’s talked about forming a greater force in the northeast and continuing to supply it from the coast, so long as those cities remain willing to contribute.”

  “Why should they stop?”

  “The longer the war persists, the more they begin to think of the safety of their own cities,” Merran explained. “If they give everything to the northern effort and it fails, there will be nothing left to defend themselves with.”

  Korsten only belatedly considered that during his childhood in the south, there had been virtually no talk of war and virtually no interes
t in partaking in any conflict beyond what was local, civil, and which tended to occur on a household to household basis. It occurred to him now that his life may have been uncomfortable socially, growing up on Cenily, but in actuality it had been quite peaceful, safe, and one of luxury by comparison to what he’d witnessed away from the coast.

  “More important, then, that Endmark is saved, if it’s at all possible.”

  •—•

  The Vassenleigh stables were part of a vast structure located on a slope outside of the main city. It was accessed through a gate that had been built within the mountain’s east wing. The slope itself was carpeted in tall grass beyond the main structure and fenced in by low stone walls. Korsten found it to be one of the more peaceful places at Vassenleigh, and had spent many a day in the early part of his training sat upon the hill contemplating his lessons …and, at times, watching for Merran to return from hunting.

  The two of them had sat on the slope together more than once over the years, speaking scarcely a word and observing the formation of storms on the horizon. It seemed that there was always one pending somewhere, and now Korsten spent his days riding out with Merran to meet them. But they would not ride the entire distance. Endmark’s mystery called for some haste and, in the interest of that haste, a Reach would be performed that would bring them to a discreet location that was near enough to Endmark to spare them at least a few days’ travel.

  “Heading out?” The question was issued by the stable master, who was also a priest, responsible for the particular care their animals required. For that task, his connection to brown on the Spectrum was especially useful. Tarin’s empathy toward and rapport with animals was among the more pronounced at Vassenleigh, Korsten had learned. There was only one other quite so dedicated to a non-human population at the citadel, and her task as beekeeper was so specific and demanding, that very few had even met her. But the cultivation of the lilies and of what was their staple source of nourishment at Vassenleigh was paramount.

  While Merran engaged Tarin in brief conversation, Korsten finished readying Onyx for their journey. Tarin was among those serving within the Order who appeared perpetually a boy. And, like Merran, he had not grown particularly otherworldly during his period of service. It was interesting to observe the fact that not everyone was so affected by the vitality given them by the lilies, but he did wonder what made it so.

  Tarin soon saw himself off, saying to Korsten, “Don’t let Merran get into too much trouble. He has a reputation to keep for the amount of safe returns.”

  Korsten smiled at the man with dust-colored hair, which only coordinated with the predominantly earthy coloring of his attire. While he appreciated Tarin’s humor most days, he felt reminded of a statement made several years earlier, by a priest-adept they had lost.

  “Don’t give Merran any more trouble than he’s earned,” that priest had said.

  Lerissa and Tarin shared similarities in their seemingly carefree nature—and in their glib and at times crass manner of speaking—though Lerissa had been a perpetually adolescent-seeming girl, and a rather lovely one, in spite of her ruffian ways. She had been among the first priests Korsten met after his arrival, and though her indelicate demeanor had been difficult for him to adjust to, she’d become a very dear friend. Her departure from the Vassenleigh Order had been voluntarily, on the heels of a woman who had done so under pressure from the Superiors …for nearly killing a fellow priest.

  Korsten regretted their leaving whenever he thought about it, but he had stopped blaming himself entirely for Sharlotte’s anger. That she disliked him had been clear from the very beginning. The reason behind it was not anything Korsten could have altered or prevented. It was a concern for the Council that she might be led astray, as Ecland was, but the concern was diminished greatly by the fact that Lerissa had gone with her. As it happened, Lerissa carried with her the strength of being blood-descended of none other than Ashwin, whose life before the formation of the Order seemed to have been one of astounding normalcy.

  A shadow fell across Korsten and Onyx, drawing his focus to Merran, who was already atop Erschal. Finishing his own preparations, Korsten said, “I apologize. My mind wandered.”

  Merran didn’t ask over what, though it was certain that he knew. The topic of Sharlotte was one they had mutually agreed not to discuss and, without breaking that agreement, they once again took the road north out of Vassenleigh.

  •—•

  Ashwin stood before endless pools of red in his mind. The lily beds extended infinitely, blanketing the plains to all horizons. Their color appeared richer beneath the bright edges of storm clouds that yielded rain which brushed the boundaries of the world. A greater world lay beyond them, a world in which all had toppled to its foundations. The world was smaller now. The light shone narrower. The darkness grew heavier, laden with misery and vengeance that continued to pull toward oblivion.

  His imagination showed him the rain sweeping closer, but it was not rain. The soulkeepers were returning in swarms, each fragile creature lighting upon a single flower, which folded in on itself. The lilies shriveled, and died, blackening Ashwin’s sphere of focus, forcing him to envision the world without order, and dead.

  But it would not come to that.

  Ashwin brought his focus inward, seeing only the flowers directly in front of him, and a dark figure in the corner of his view. “They’ve gone,” he said to his twin.

  “Yes,” Eisleth replied. “We’ll have answers soon.”

  Ashwin stepped back from the flowers and turned to face his brother, joining him on the terrace. “I believe that soon we’ll be faced with more than answers.”

  “This war has done nothing but escalate since its earliest beginnings,” Eisleth told him. “It cannot do so indefinitely. We both know that. The enemy will return to the gates of this city and of the capital as well.”

  That was true, and the answer was depressingly simple. “We must continue to prepare for it, just as we have been for nearly all of the last century.”

  Ashwin observed his twin’s dark gaze, moving over the garden and the plains in the distance. He remembered as well as Ashwin did, the night that the Barriers were taken down, the night that demons entered the city. What they had protected was vital, but what they had lost was irreplaceable. Their numbers would never fully recover. Their withdrawal had been deliberate, the foundation of a last strategy against a force that only seemed to grow.

  Since the Siege and the fall of the Old Capital, Edrinor had beheld a peculiar restarting of events that would lead to precisely the same place. Before the Siege, the Order and the Vadryn had fought each other, but the people had been better aware of them, even if less aware of their function. Priests like Merran had hunted all of their career, but the people had assumed, in the safety that was achieved, that their role was simpler. They once beheld faith in the gods, that they may one day return, or that they perhaps had returned, but maintained a presence that was better felt than seen. There were correct aspects to both ways of thinking, but the truth of it had turned from optimistic to grave.

  And now, nearly one hundred years from the Siege, people had decided—under regrettable guidance—that it was better to forget. In the wake of forgetting, came the flight of trust, and the birth of despair. One century had decimated the efforts of an entire millennia, tilting the balance in such a way that it might never be righted.

  “The people have to remember,” Ashwin said, placing a hand onto his brother’s shoulder. He believed it was more to support himself than Eisleth, though they both shared an equally heavy burden. “And they must be united in that remembrance.”

  Twelve

  The road across the plains was soon left behind. Cast from Merran’s hands, the spell framed what was at first an open destination. Korsten was not familiar with the location, and so he stayed very near to Merran during the casting. The portal passed over them both,
overtaking the road and the tall grasses to either side. It was a site where Merran had been before, and which was landmarked in his mind by a distinct ruin; a partially fallen tower.

  A relief of a woman—perhaps of an ancient queen—had originally decorated the length of the tower on one side, as if her image had been cast there to protect or inspire. Unfortunately, her head and shoulders lay in fragments upon the grass. There was nothing within the tower, save a tapestry of light and shadow, and the roosts of many birds who had lain claim to its hollow interior. Their presence was hopeful. No natural or healthy animal would take up residence where any of the Vadryn were lurking.

  It was Merran’s memory of the tower which enabled him to return to the location by Reach with no trouble. And now that it was on Korsten’s mind, he would have access to it as well, if need be.

  For now, a small rest was in order. They dismounted and walked the horses nearer to the ruins. Reach gates were a spell that was preferably used with care and sparingly. They could be exhausting to the caster and they were also among the easiest ways to gain attention from anyone or thing that may have been attracted to magic.

  Korsten and Merran both tended to recover with relative ease, so long as the casting did not come under severe duress or did not cover too much distance. Both of them had managed to virtually cross Edrinor—Korsten had gone further when escaping from Morenne—and both had done so in a state of extreme urgency. Recovery time had been necessary each time, except for the escape from Feidor’s Crest.

  Korsten had barely felt that Reach, and he knew that Merran was not actually strained by the one that he had just performed—he gave no sign of it and had Endurance on his side—but it was wise to rest for at least a few moments, even if only to ensure that they both had their bearings. Disorientation was also a possible aftereffect to moving near instantly over great distances—a greater risk when one was a newer priest …or when the priest didn’t know where they might wind up, which seemed to have been a problem that Korsten invented unintentionally by Reaching for people, rather than places.