The Zi'veyn: The Devoted Trilogy, Book One

by Kim Wedlock

  He sorted through them once again, returning them to their previous arrangement by the date and time stamped in the corners, but no sooner had he begun reading them than the words started to blur and blend together. It didn't take long before he found himself reading the same line four times over. By the third report, his eyelids had grown heavy, his mind began to flag, and the words made less and less sense, so he accepted without thought the nonsensical accounts of Doana's hired 'mercantile' force sailing eastward to bring war to Voent, and of the 'dessert' tribes still maintaining a tenuous peace with those of the mountains while those of other regions fought tooth and nail, and as his mind ran away with the increasingly vivid images, his work grew equally distant, along with his concerns.

  But as his chin slipped out of his hand and the sense of falling invaded his thoughts, his posture slumped and he noticed that, somehow, in the space of only a moment, two of the candles set upon his desk had burned out.

  He blinked at them, wondering sluggishly how it could have happened, then sighed for the hundredth time that night and finally surrendered to his state. Not only had he not slept for forty eight hours, he hadn't even laid eyes on his bed, but there had been just too much to do. And while he still believed he could hold on to that excuse, this time he didn't have the focus to achieve it.

  Defeated, he looked away from the reports, knowing that if his eyes fell upon the words again he would feel obligated to remain, and pushed himself to his feet. The usual thought to tidy his office didn't present itself; he extinguished the candles, left the papers to be revised in the morning, and fled the quiet darkness on graceless feet.

  He couldn't get to his quarters soon enough, but he still acknowledged with an absent glance all who acknowledged him in the corridors without one. It was quieter outside, which was to be expected while the early spring nights continued to deliver winter's unpleasant bite, and he moved through the grounds quickly before the cold could steal away his fatigue. Though he'd resented it half an hour before, now he wanted nothing more than to indulge it. Hopefully the sun would bring good news - at the very least, it would provide the opportunity to speak with the king's representative.

  When he reached the small house concealed within the trees of the Arana's grounds, their reach far more extensive than any who looked upon the apparent stately house would guess, he headed straight for his bed. He wasted no time with candles; he knew the way, and only moments after he fell upon his bed and wriggled lazily out of his clothes, his body racked by a burning manifestation of fatigue, sleep leapt upon him.

  He'd expected his dreams to proceed as the last, to be assaulted again with the images of war and the pressures to do all within and beyond his power to stop it, but he was instead carried away to a world in which danger could never possibly rear its head. The softest, greenest grass covered the hills and the land as far as he could see, tousled by a warm, gentle breeze and speckled with tall and wonderful trees. Rivers meandered torpidly through, given permission to weave and wend this way and that by the land itself rather than carving its own indiscriminate path, and large red and golden leaves drifted on the wind to land in the clear waters, ferried away to whatever lake or ocean the river met. And through it all, an overwhelming sense of peace finally, mercifully, slowed and soothed his heart.

  Chapter 7

  Five days had passed on horseback. Roads closed and rerouted by martial order had delayed their arrival in Kora by two days, but with every night's stop over in various settlements along their way, the reason was repeatedly made clear. Neither the presence of the military nor the news of the impending war had come as a surprise to the officer or the historian, but though Rathen had been aware of the unprecedented number of conflicts raging across the continent, he was surprised to find Turunda finally succumbing, and Aria had visibly shrank in the saddle at the sight of the organised and armoured men. Sadly, he sensed she'd probably have felt the same if it was a band of mages, or even just guards; after such isolation, congregations of armed and uniformed people moving together as a single body would unsettle anyone.

  Fortunately, her panic couldn't shackle her for long; the sight of the tall, sloping city breaking through the forest-lined road ahead of them soon rekindled her enthusiasm. In the evening light, it looked almost like a fairytale. Creeping ivy coated the old, encircling stone walls; grey watch towers rose above the trees, their merlons carved into similar leaves along the parapets, and peered out over the land beyond for pleasure rather than defence, while the backdrop of forest-topped cliffs bounced the late sun back from countless glinting grains. But those studded cliffs coaxed from her a greater gasp of astonishment, as the back of the city seemed to be carved straight from the rockface.

  This was a city of ages, Anthis had told them; its foundations built by the hands of the most ancient reaches of elves long before they'd gained their magic, it had been expanded as needed, but when the elves became corrupted by their powers they had abandoned it, seeking to build newer and more aesthetic abodes elsewhere, far from their origins. When the elves as a whole had mysteriously disappeared, humans branched out and took their place, charmed by the craftsmanship of the rock and the absence of any ostentatious gilding - the lack of what most knew as 'elven'.

  Rathen wasn't at all surprised that a historian would choose to live in such a place, and following the brief recount of the city's history, even he felt a connection to the place.

  But when they reached the top of the inclining road, the gates that rose ahead of them weren't as welcoming as anyone had hoped. Six guards stood to attention on either side, watching the new arrivals closely, causing Rathen to tighten under their hawk-like gaze, and tousled by the gentle breeze beside them hung the military standard, dwarfing the pennant of the city's ruling family. They were not merely passing through.

  "They've almost tripled their number," Anthis noted in a careful, disapproving whisper once they'd left their horses at the stable and were permitted an uneasy entry to the city. "I doubt the Marlands are happy. They do a lot to ensure the guards can take care of this city without military interference. Oh, but I suppose war is war." He looked away, murmuring 'damn Skees' under his breath, and paused beside one of the city's bulletin boards before taking the lead of the group.

  In that moment, Rathen's eyes fell searchingly upon the cascading selection of bounty posters, half-certain he'd find an image of himself amongst them. He knew full well that it was paranoia, and he'd finally begun to identify that fact - there was, after all, no reason for his face to be there - but though over the past week he'd also gradually grown a little more comfortable outside of the safety of the scowles, his tension always returned upon entering a settlement. It made no difference if it was a crowded city or a small and pleasant village with a three bedroom inn and no sign of even a single minor theft having taken place for years. But while each bout passed a little sooner than the last, this time he sensed it wouldn't move on too quickly. It was too large a place with too many probing eyes, and soldiers were known to cause trouble in such numbers, be it by their own restless hands or by their presence upsetting more temperamental locals.

  Fortunately, he wasn't given the time to stop and fret. Anthis led them through the city by its winding uphill roads, straight through the lower and busier districts and towards the more impressive stone-carved buildings at the back. After twenty minutes, the cliff faces loomed ahead, but though they neared, they didn't reach them.

  Anthis drew to a sudden stop at a fork in the road, a point surrounded by large and pleasing buildings including a rather grand inn, which one of the two routes passed and continued up towards the top of the city, while the other disappeared around a corner to loop down towards the crafting quarter where smoke presently rose from the smithy. But though they each thought he'd stopped to gather his bearings as he frowned and muttered to himself, instead he delved into his bag, withdrew a key and started down the short garden path beside them.

  Rathen's eyebrows rose as he peere
d up at the large and rich building that had apparently not been lived in for several weeks, despite its well-tended garden, and Aria didn't hesitate to give voice to their matching thoughts as they followed after him.

  "This can't be your house!" She declared as she charged past Garon to get a look inside as soon as possible, which she repeated with greater certainty as she discovered it to be as spacious as any of the larger taverns they'd recently taken lodging in - though instead of being cluttered by tables and chairs, it seemed fit to burst with books. Some volumes had been left open on any flat surface, others were stacked beside chairs, and countless collections stood along shelves beside unusual trinkets of exquisite detail, but no obvious function. She shook her head as she spun around, her eyes growing in astonishment. "It's too big!"

  "Historical research paid for this?" Perhaps Rathen had joined the wrong wing of the Order. Even as a previously respected Sahrot, his home had never been this grand...

  He closed the door behind him as Anthis pulled open all of the curtains, not a flake of dust loosened, and only then did he notice the extent of the trinkets displayed in his sitting room as they caught the golden light. Some were impressive, relics presumably dated from the later age of the elves, while others were little more than carved rock and hardly worth acknowledging. Evidently it took a trained eye to see their value.

  "It did, but I do also have the favour of the ruling family here. They employ me from time to time to act as a consultant for the masons when the elven district needs repairs, as well as for general research into the city's history." He stopped beside a well-worn armchair and began rummaging through a pile of books that stood a fraction taller. "I admit I've gotten quite lucky here. They even employ housekeepers for me while I'm away."

  "They don't do a particularly good job," Rathen observed as he looked about at the mess. "Either that or they've been looking for something."

  "Actually," Anthis chuckled, "they're just very good at replacing things exactly where I left them."

  "Where is everyone else?" Aria asked, peering up the stairs and listening carefully, but Anthis turned and frowned.

  "There is no one else."

  "There must be," she insisted, mirroring his puzzlement, "this house is too big for just one person, there must be at least seven others..."

  He blinked and looked to Rathen. "Did she grow up in a tree house or something?"

  "Something like that. I presume we're staying in the city tonight?" He asked as he fetched Aria from the staircase, his tone weary but free of disappointment.

  Anthis pulled a book victoriously from the bottom of the stack, but his brow dropped a moment later as he glanced at the cover. He dropped it back down and turned instead towards another pile. "Yes and no. There's room here, as your daughter pointed out, so there's no sense in sending you out to an inn and emptying the inquisitor's pocket if it can be avoided." Garon inclined his head gratefully. "In which case," he continued, turning back to everyone and offering them his usual cheerful smile, "make yourselves at home."

  He'd barely finished speaking before Aria kicked off her shoes and ran off to begin climbing the stairs, and Rathen hurried after her just as quickly, telling her he hadn't meant it literally. Anthis simply chuckled to himself. "Odd pair, those two," he observed as they disappeared and Garon looked around at the trinkets in passive interest. "Where did you get them? And will Aria be staying with us? She's no bother, of course," he assured him quickly, "in fact I rather like her - she balances her father perfectly - but Mokhan is probably three weeks away with all the redirected roads, and that's likely to be just the first stop of many. Not to mention that we're going to have to sneak into the old district, what with all the superstition..." He frowned in concern. "And then there's the war... I can't say how long or how far we're going to have to search, but we're quite likely to be travelling through some unwelcoming regions. It won't be easy going."

  Garon sighed and shook his head. "She was somewhat unexpected," he admitted, "but Rathen insists that she'll be fine, and if there was anyone else who could take her off of his hands for the duration, he would have said so. And anyway," he added, even as he glanced towards the ceiling as a thump came from the room above, "I don't believe for a moment that he'll let any harm come to her."

  Anthis nodded slowly. "As a father shouldn't." His eyes narrowed speculatively as they fell back upon him. "What did he mean when he said he was 'out of the loop' with the Order, anyway? In Silverwood? And despite what he says, I'm quite certain that he should be wearing a cloak, so why isn't he?"

  "Because he isn't a part of the Order."

  Anthis blanched, his eyes widening in shock, and he dashed frantically over to the inquisitor, several books still in his hands. "He isn't with the Order?!" He asked in a strangled whisper. "How?! Why?!"

  "He has his reasons, and should he choose to give them to you, he will. But I'm not at liberty to divulge anything, myself."

  Anthis grunted doubtfully and peered over to the staircase. "I'll never find out, then. That man is a closed book."

  "And I'm not?" Garon asked, a lopsided smile pulling at his face as it did from time to time under moments of irony or curious humour that often seemed to reveal itself to no one else.

  "Well," Anthis smiled carefully, "yes, but I don't believe it's by choice. Inquisitors have a difficult job; being easily read surely can't help when you're investigating something sensitive. But him," he shook his head. "He chooses to be that way, I'm quite sure of it. He keeps to himself - he's barely said a word in days, he just listens to conversations and tightens up with nervous glances when he's around other people. No offence to you, Inquisitor, but if Aria wasn't here I think I'd have gone mad by now."

  Garon frowned. "It's been a week."

  "Yes, and I like to talk," Anthis replied simply. "But, all right. As long as he's aware of what's ahead of us..."

  "He is. I've made sure of it."

  Anthis nodded and shrugged the matter away before making his way back across the room, looking through the tomes in his hands as he went. "I hope he loosens up," he added to himself as he set them down and looked through another collection spread across a table. "I can't stand the silences for much longer."

  Curiosity satisfied, Aria eventually came skipping back downstairs, trailed by her weary father, and by which point Anthis had recovered only one of the books he sought. But he set his search aside as a number of stomachs grumbled, his own surely the loudest among them, and with so little in the pantry, a simple meal didn't take long to prepare. Then, as had become a nightly routine, Garon left to look around the city, to find out what he could about nearby areas and rumours of strange happenings. Anthis had followed ten minutes later, taking the opportunity to see to other personal matters since he was there anyway, leaving Rathen and Aria alone in the large, unfamiliar house.

  They sat for some time in the living room, Aria busying herself by looking carefully through the books in search of more of Anthis's sketches, which she replaced quite meticulously back where she'd found them in the hope that he wouldn't notice when he returned, while Rathen sat in silence, scowling in thought. He was brought out of it only by Aria loudly sighing right beside his ear.

  He turned and looked at her expectantly.

  "Welcome back," she beamed. "Can I have my knife?"

  Rathen sighed wearily, but rather than ask if she didn't ought to go to bed instead, he obliged, and she followed him with a skip in her step over to their bags by the door. It didn't take him long to find it in her near-empty satchel, nor the single piece of wood with an unnatural shape nestled beside it. She all but snatched them and hurried back to the living room.

  "Don't do it in there," he called after her, at which she came to a sudden stop and turned on her heel, then followed his finger towards the kitchen and clambered into a chair. "Make your mess over this." He set on the table a silver platter he'd taken from a sideboard, and she immediately got to work cutting away small flakes and strips of wood with
supreme dexterity to further her image of whatever it was she was creating.

  "Anthis wouldn't mind," she sang as he dropped heavily into the chair beside her and sleepily watched her work. "He's a nice man."

  "How can you know that?"

  "Because I can see it," she replied with a grin. "And he smiles all the time." She gave him a knowing look. "You don't smile all the time, but that's okay, because I can see it in you, too, in other ways."

  "Such as?" He asked as his curiosity sent a smile creeping across his face.

  "Such as you saying 'yes' and coming out here, even though you'd rather be at home, because, even though you say you don't, you do actually care."

  "About some things, yes," he conceded, and he leaned back in his seat, his eyelids growing heavy as he watched her manipulate her knife to quite precisely carve away long, slender slivers, creating wonderful curves and contours with minimal strokes.

  "Do you think you can fix the thing if we find it?"

  "The artefact?" He asked, stifling a yawn. "Perhaps. I won't know until I feel whatever of it is left."

  "And what do you plan to do about this spell you have to maybe make?"

  "Not a clue."

  Her eyes crashed upon him in surprise, her hands still moving all the while. "But you've had five whole days to think!"

  He sighed, though he managed a tired smile. "Five days isn't enough."

  "Well, can I help?"

  "No, little one. I wish you could, but I haven't the faintest idea where to even begin." He leaned forwards, resting his folded arms on the table and laying his head upon them. "And it's not like I haven't been thinking about it."

  "Well, I know you'll manage," she grinned.

  Rathen closed his eyes and smiled doubtfully. "At least one of us does."

  Neither Garon nor Anthis returned while Rathen was still up that night, but after a surprisingly comfortable and quiet night's sleep, all were present and accounted for, and they set out early before the city awoke. But though most residents still slept or took their breakfast at home, aside from those few whose work began with the crowing of cockerels, the military presence near the city gate was no less prominent than it had been the previous evening. Armoured bodies glinted in the morning light, standing among the guards who sent them unappreciative sideways glances while they watched the drowsy city, but for the most part they'd taken up positions along the walls, replacing a number of the stationed guards who'd now been reassigned to simple city patrols.