The Zi'veyn: The Devoted Trilogy, Book One

by Kim Wedlock

But he was already shaking his head again.

  "My Lord Malson, forgive me," Salus said calmly, though his confused and irritated frown sharpened, "but the soldiers stand out like a sore thumb! They're the perfect distraction for the enemy; they won't be looking for my people if their eyes are caught by glinting armour or peering up at watch towers - and I'm sure I don't need to remind you that the spots the soldiers and watch can't reach always provide the better intel."

  For a long, silent moment, the old man simply stared at him in thought. Then, finally, he sighed. "I'll pass it on to the Crown for deliberation," he said, though his tone didn't offer much hope, "but I'm quite sure they'll agree that you would be better off keeping your attention over the border, not along it. Spies gain their greatest intel from the enemy, not from their fellow soldiers, and the men you have along the border already are surely enough."

  Again, Salus bit his tongue. He knew that was the best he was going to get. Lord Malson's approval for withdrawing the majority of his operatives was already more than he had expected to get that night. "You're right, of course," he replied politely. "Thank you for passing on the request."

  "My pleasure." His smile didn't reach his eyes. Salus noticed long ago that it never did. Instead there always seemed to be an ulterior motive lurking somewhere within them - or perhaps it was just the intensity of his scrutiny. Either way, those strangely youthful eyes had never displayed anything good.

  The king's envoy rose to his feet, his rich burgundy robe falling about his legs as neatly as if it had just been pressed, and Salus stood, bowed and followed on formality as he turned towards the door.

  "Oh," Lord Malson added, pausing and turning back as though the thought had only just occurred to this far from forgetful man, "and the king is mobilising a greater portion of the army to take up position near settlements in the west."

  "Why? To frighten people? More chaos isn't going to help either of us, my Lord."

  "But it will help us to move quicker should the Skees manage to take us by surprise." He turned away, and darkness finally descended over the face of the Arana's leader. "Keep up the good work, Salus." Then he left the office, quite unaffected.

  Salus's gaze burned into the door as it closed in front of him, his lip curling into a snarl, exposing tightly barred teeth. The foul man hadn't forgotten that last detail at all, he'd kept it as a parting gift, along with the suggestion that he and his subordinates weren't doing their jobs as well as they should have been. But if that was truly the case, then how had they managed to avoid war for so long while it had consumed everyone else around them?

  Unless that was exactly it: the inevitable shadow of war had finally began to draw in, and rather than being taken as an unavoidable occurrence, it was seen as a failure on the Arana's part that it had come to pass at all.

  Or perhaps the liaison knew this very well and was simply looking for a jibe.

  He couldn't know for certain, but he favoured the latter.

  He growled and shoved it wearily from his mind. It was just too late for that.

  Salus turned back to his desk, stacked up the remaining reports and made a note of the exchange, insults aside, before finally making his escape. But though his mind continued to turn over matters as he hurried back down the corridors, he was aware of another man falling into step beside him. The building was always remarkably quiet, despite the bustle of bodies in even the smallest hours - a clock's hands had little impact on the Arana's activity - but it was enough to overshadow the perfectly silent, feather-light footsteps. And yet he had still heard him arrive.

  "I'm getting quite tired of that old fool, Teagan," he said quietly without looking up. "And of these damned mages going to the king over our heads. I feel like a knight who has sworn an oath of protection, been given a sword and then had his hands tied behind his back. How are any of us supposed to do our job if everything has to be deliberated and no one will co-operate? It's as if every authoritative body in the country is acting independently." Now he looked at him, though he paid no attention to the man's empty expression, nor his averted eyes. "We're supposed to be responsible for gathering crucial information, but the king seems to want to keep us outside of the country rather than knowing what's going on within it." He shook his head. "And another of my requests has been promised the attention of the king, but all that means is that I'll have to wait for the refusal, assuming he even passes it on at all."

  "You still suspect him." Teagan's voice, when he finally spoke, was just as plain and free of judgement as it always was, and his eyes remained forward.

  "It's hard not to when he refuses almost every proposal I make."

  "But what do you suspect him of?"

  Salus shook his head while his lips pursed. "Being a vile old man, I suppose." He sighed and ran his fingers through his overgrown hair. "I know; you don't have to say it."

  Teagan cocked his head. There remained little emotion in his expression, just the ever-present hardness to his calculating, brown eyes that most operatives of his highest rank bore, and though few others were given leave to look directly at him or any keliceran who came before him, the nine-year bond between them allowed him now to do so, if for half a moment, as well as ask his following question, even if that, too, had been delivered dispassionately: "Are you all right?"

  "I'm fine. Just tired. And frustrated."

  "You're frustrated more and more often lately. Is this situation affecting your sleep?"

  "No," Salus frowned thoughtfully to himself, "I slept fine." Unbidden, the images of rolling streams and drifting leaves that had filled his dreams returned to him, as did the sense of peace that had driven their winds and currents. "Just fine."

  He shook it off and looked back to the portian operative with serious eyes. "Report."

  "The tribes are still fighting amongst themselves," Teagan replied orderly as he stared straight ahead, "and it looks like they're finally coming to blows. They're on the equivalent of martial alert and their territorial patrols are on the rise. Our own have been tightened along their borders to keep them away from any settlements should it spill over, but as long as they remain focused on each other, they won't be a problem, no matter how savage they might get."

  Salus nodded in approval - then cast him a dubious side glance when he sensed his hesitation. "And?"

  "He has moved again."

  Now Salus sighed in all too familiar irritation.

  "But regarding certain details, are you sure you want his help?"

  "I'd rather not take on any help from outside of the Arana, least of all from someone like him. But if associating with his likes is what it takes, then so be it."

  Teagan nodded. "And if we can't find him?"

  "Then we settle for second-best."

  "Tem Drassa?"

  "Yes. With access to our resources, he'll catch up and exceed him in no time. In the end, first or second choice won't matter." He cast him another sidelong glance. "What about the matter from our end?"

  "No news. But it's difficult to gain solid intel on such a subject, regardless of war."

  Salus sighed once more as he felt his meagre hope slip closer to extinction, and watched absently as a number of his subordinates made their way across the atrium, every one of them bearing silent purpose in their step. A dark-haired woman brushed past them to head back the way they'd come, her eyes averted as though she hadn't seen him, as was polite, and his own gaze lingered on her as he thought. He looked back to Teagan when they drew to a stop a moment later. "Keep looking for him," he said decisively. "He'll surely pop up again sooner or later. In the mean time, have a phaeacian watch Drassa, and we'll continue our own search."

  Teagan inclined his head. "Understood. Is that all, Keliceran? Then I'll let you get home. Good night."

  "Good night, Teagan."

  The two parted ways, Teagan heading to where he would find an idle phaeacian, the lowest of the three Aranan ranks, while Salus finally moved towards the atrium doors to reach his home in
the private grounds beyond, focusing his efforts on silencing his incessant thoughts. "I just hope we have enough time..."

  Chapter 5

  Morning just couldn't come soon enough. Rathen had barely gotten more than three hours of sleep, but as the long overdue dawn finally approached, and he lay waiting for the softest glow of sunrise to brush the back of the curtains, his thoughts were too alive to notice any weariness. He rose moments before the light hit, bored of waiting.

  Fortunately the others weren't far behind him. Aria was particularly eager; she'd been awake longer than he'd realised but had lay patiently still until he got out of bed, at which point she all but sprung out after him, and after a quick breakfast the four were on their way. No one seemed inclined to waste any time, and Rathen wasn't about to complain about the day's hasty start.

  The forest was an hour and a half's ride north and in that time barely a word was exchanged. Rathen wasn't in a talkative mood, Aria was too shy, Garon was just as rigidly official as the day before, and the still-cheerful Anthis was clearly weighted by the silence but too uncomfortable to break it. So they rode quietly, and Aria spent her time looking all around herself from within Rathen's saddle, staring with the same awe as she had on their journey to Edam. He'd wondered for a while what it was that enraptured her so - after all, there was little to see - but he eventually realised that it was that very openness. The sight of the distance, rounded by hills and dotted with trees; the ability to see more than ten feet ahead was so new to her that she drank it all in with hungry eyes and indulged the need to sniff the air and stretch her arms out around her whenever the fancy struck. And so it was she who eventually broke that silence as they followed the tattered road into Silverwood, her fascination rising enough to finally overshadow her caution.

  The forest on either side of the road was dense, but at least half of its trees were not actually green. Aria peered up at each bouquet of pendulous limbs as they passed beneath them, but not for their bloom of small, white flowers. Instead it was their long, slender, silver leaves that gripped her attention. She squinted at them thoughtfully. "Silver wood..." She looked around at Rathen. "Are they really made of silver?"

  "No, little one," he smiled, "they're just coloured that way. It's a pear tree."

  "Oh I love pears! ...The trees all look like they're covered in spider webs, don't they? But in a good way."

  Anthis chuckled from beside them. "In these numbers, they make quite a sight."

  Rathen frowned as a thought crept up on him. While Aria continued to sing the trees their praises, he looked critically about them, assessing the setting and carefully considering every detail. But the longer he analysed the forest and its silvery complexion, the less certain of his opinions he became. He turned to the young historian as he continued to pick the forest apart. "Are we under that 'blanket' yet?"

  Anthis shook his blonde head. "Trust me, you'll know it when we are."

  Ten minutes later they left the road and veered west by Anthis's lead, at which point the forest itself confirmed his promise. Roots reached up to trip any who would try to walk across its already uneven terrain, while the once charming weeping branches sought to ensnare and blind them before turning them around. It would be all too easy to get lost in this forest; the silver trees would have been markers if not for their great number, but in their abundance they offered only confusion.

  They'd been away from the safety of the road for only five minutes when Garon abruptly reined in his horse. It snorted in protest, but he paid it no apology as he looked around them with eyes alert and studious, and Rathen sat taller in the saddle as caution equally descended, and urged his horse to slow. He strained his eyes and ears, searching for whatever had set him on edge, his grip on the reins tightening in apprehension as he focused - and so he was somewhat startled when Aria gasped in front of him, and just as he was about to ask what she'd seen, his own breath was snatched away.

  Anthis was the only one who seemed unaffected by the sudden transition. He simply smiled with satisfaction. "Now we're under the blanket."

  Mouth agape like a broken window, Rathen stared around himself in open shock while his unconcerned horse continued to follow the others. The forest hadn't changed - it hadn't - and yet, somehow, it had. The thick roots reached up not to trip weary walkers, but to offer them a seat should the ground be too sodden to sit upon, while the silver, draping leaves were like curtains or folds of hanging silken cloth, giving the forest a welcoming softness that invited wandering even into its darkest and most tangled depths. It was only now that Rathen noticed the scent of the place - damp and earthy, but also clean and fresh, and it offered peace, tranquillity and the promise of safety. It was, truly, the most wonderful place Rathen had ever been.

  And that unsettled him greatly.

  "How far are the ruins?" Garon asked just as Rathen collected himself to do so, a frown of caution still firmly entrenched upon both of their faces even as they looked around in awe, fighting against the desire to stop and stare at the forest's sudden charm.

  "A few minutes ahead." The historian continued to lead them easily through the weaving woods, his immunity no doubt a result of his frequent trips, and he pulled to a halt when they reached the edge of a small clearing. There was little to see among the rocks that studded the ground; the only notable feature was that of a single smooth, stone pillar that reached over to one side at the top. It had once been part of an archway, though with little evidence of any further architecture, to what was anyone's guess. But, curiously, that single, crumbled arc had an incredible allure, one that conjured the thought that, once, it could have been a portal to another world, or that one could step through it right now and find themselves back in the time of the elves who had built it. Just as Anthis had said.

  "Are we almost there?" Rathen asked, staring warily at the displaced doorway as his unease at the place's unnatural quality rose.

  "Actually," he replied, slipping easily out of the saddle, "this is it."

  Rathen frowned as Garon followed the young man's lead, and Aria wriggled to try to get down herself. How could this be it? "You said 'ruins'," he reminded him as his feet touched the ground, and he caught Aria once again though she scolded him for embarrassing her.

  "I did, but I also said it was basic," Anthis reminded him in turn, then began rummaging through his saddle bag, setting the issue aside.

  Rathen shook his head and turned away to approach the structure as Aria eagerly hurried past him, and he looked closely at the time-worn carvings on its surface. The few images he could see were too decayed to make out, and the rest were runic letters and numbers that, for the most part, bore little meaning to him. Fortunately it wasn't his job to handle that detail, and as Anthis joined them and turned his attention immediately upon the fallen fragment, half-buried in the earth beside it, Rathen's focused shifted onto the sensations that surrounded them.

  "This ruin isn't secluded," Garon stated as he stood back and let his two experts look around, "but there has been little impact on anyone living nearby. There has been no volatility in the weather patterns or the earth, it's not caused anyone harm or caused anyone to cause harm, but other sites have started out this way and all have grown steadily worse. I've gathered what I can on them in my preliminary investigation, both within and out of Turunda, and while those that stood near populated areas are known to have exhibited this strange...calmness, there was nothing documented anywhere to suggest why some affected weather, others the land, and others remained like this, if with growing intensity." He turned towards Anthis, who was peering very closely at the markings on the shattered stone and sketching them quickly into a small book, while Aria peered over his shoulder and made constant comparisons between his depiction and the real thing. "Mister Karth, is there anything you can tell us?"

  "As far as I am aware," he began, his eyes never straying far beyond either paper or rock, "every mention of this phenomenon has been from an elven ruin, and every one of those affected
sites have been significant in elven history."

  "Significant how?"

  Aria pointed towards the rock, then a portion of Anthis's drawing, and he promptly adjusted the detail. "Places of worship or simply sites with some kind of connection to their gods; all revered. This place, for example, is where they read funerary speeches before burying the dead."

  "It's a graveyard?" Rather than being troubled by the suggestion, Aria simply glanced up and about for headstones. Rathen, his back already turned, took a further step away as he removed something small from his pocket.

  "No," Anthis smiled, finally sparing a glance her way, "just where they honoured the dead and their memories and asked the gods to accept their arrival." He rose to his feet and moved around to the still-standing portion of the arch and began to carefully dig the earth away from one side of its base, removing just enough so he could make out the next rune and compare it to his drawing of the other. "Pre-magic elves were buried in places of significance to each family, so they were unmarked. Unfortunately such burial sites are extremely rare, most have been built over by humans and elves alike. But that's what happens when you don't mark a grave."

  "What does 'pre-magic elf' mean?"

  "Before they were gifted magic by their gods. They were good and reverent initially, then when they gained their powers their culture underwent a change - as it would - and they became more sophisticated and artistic. Then, once they realised just exactly what they could accomplish with it, they changed again to become exceedingly lazy and arro--"

  "How does this help us?" Garon interrupted, bringing Anthis's wild attention back to the matter.

  "I don't know yet, but elves of this age connected their gods to greater power than they did in later times. Magic is consistently mentioned in the same breath - well, stone," he corrected, gesturing to the arch, "as the gods even long before they gifted it to the elves. And the elves built these kinds of monuments in the strangest places, sometimes within their settlements and sometimes far, far beyond them in what would have been uninhabitable terrain, and no one has been able to uncover any viable reason for it. But there must be one." He shook his head. "I believe they may have some kind of magical significance which they linked to the gods, but...I have no means of analysing magic to explore it."