by Kim Wedlock
Soldiers and guardsmen alike watched the group as they passed, their gaze touched by curiosity rather than weighted by suspicion, surely for nothing more than the inquisitor's involvement, to whom a few inclined their heads. And it was also, no doubt, only for Garon's presence that they went unhindered and their bags unsearched as they made their way towards the gate. But he and Rathen carried only food and supplies between them, and Anthis's old satchel was filled exclusively with the books he'd finally managed to locate in the chaos of his living room, though he'd somehow managed to injure his forearm while 'rummaging'. Once they'd fixed their loads to the horses at the stables, noting as they did so the military tents pitched in between the trees just beyond the walls, they finally set out, and Rathen breathed a long sigh of relief as the city and its residents fell away behind them.
Anthis glanced towards him in curiosity, the elated smile that had been on his face since he'd risen barely weakening, but he said nothing, pondering instead what Garon had told him the night before, as well as how Rathen's apparent social anxiety might fit in.
But though it didn't take long for the usual silence to descend upon the group - aside from the little girl's humming, whose own enthusiasm made Anthis's heart even lighter - he chose not to give voice to those thoughts just yet. But that didn't mean he was prepared to put up with the atmosphere.
"So," he began, turning his smile towards Garon. "You said you've worked out our route?"
The inquisitor nodded from the lead. "I gathered what I could in the city last night about military movements and redirected roads, and there are two ruins affected in similar ways to Silverwood between here and Mokhan. I've taken delays into account and planned the shortest route to the city that will still take us by one of the sites. Rathen, you said the magic felt different, so perhaps if you feel it again, it will help you figure something out. The other site is too far out of the way to consider; it would add two more weeks onto the journey, so this one will have to do."
Rathen nodded. "It should help," he replied, managing to keep his doubt from entering his voice.
"But," Garon continued, "this and the redirections mean that we'll be straying from the road a few times, and we may well be too far from settlements to spend the night comfortably for a few days at a time. I've already procured enough supplies to last a little over a week; we shouldn't need to stop for more until just before we head into the hinterlands."
"Which site is it?" Anthis asked curiously.
"Wrenroot Forest."
"Then we should be there in a week."
"Closer to a week and a half," Garon amended.
"Is anything there different to Silverwood?" Rathen asked, even while keeping his horse at a slightly less than social distance from the others.
"I can't honestly say. From what I've gathered, people don't go there often; traders who pass nearby are drawn in, presumably by the same thing we all felt in Silverwood, but they don't go too far because they say they feel like they're being watched."
Rathen frowned. "Watched?"
"Well if the magic that shouldn't be there can make a place look and feel like the pinnacle of beauty, why could it not also instil the feeling of being watched?"
Rathen bobbed his head in concedence, though he frowned at the level of cheer with which Anthis had spoken. He was more boisterous and excitable that day than they'd seen him yet.
"You're interested, aren't you?" Aria whispered from in front of him, and he couldn't keep the smallest of smiles from tugging at his lips. He was; there had been no structure to the magic he'd felt before, but if there was an alternative effect, he might be able to find some subtle differences now that he had something to compare it to, and that might well lend him the beginnings of understanding. Of course, whether that understanding would ultimately help him or not was another matter. The structure of the magic, or even its source, could play no part at all in the creation of the spell he'd been coerced into attempting.
Fortunately, though little more than a legend, the artefact still seemed to be the inquisitor's priority, and while Rathen questioned the likelihood of Anthis's success, he felt that it was still a more hopeful solution than this spell. Anthis had something to work with, after all, even if it was just 'educated guesses'; Rathen, however, had absolutely nothing.
"What about Mokhan?" He asked the historian, shifting attention away from his certain future failing. "What do you expect to find?"
"Well, it's an old elven city," Anthis replied, his smile broadening as a touch more enthusiasm entered his voice - clearly he was very excited about the whole matter. But then, that passion was what he was known for. "Long post-magic, about a hundred years old by the end of their age, eight hundred from now, but because people keep to the newer reaches of the city, the elven district is abandoned and the Order doesn't maintain it. The people are a bit...superstitious about it. It collapses from time to time as the spells that hold it together fall apart, but people think it's ghosts, traps and curses."
"Spells hold the city together?" Aria asked with a frown as Rathen rolled his eyes at the gullible tendencies of common folk.
"Elves got lazy," Anthis reminded her, "so their grandest cities were constructed and held together with magic rather than by hand and mortar."
"Which means over time the spells disintegrate and the Order has to step in and repair the spells to hold it together," Rathen finished. "But it's a time-consuming process, identifying every little hole in a spell and patching it with a replacement, so it's only done if it's necessary, like when people still live in the area and there are too many of them to relocate."
"So will it be safe?" Aria asked with a frown.
No one answered right away.
"It will be fine," Rathen eventually replied, offering her a smile.
Her face lit up and she gave him a single, reassured nod.
"Anyway," Anthis continued in an almost sing-song voice as Aria giggled, "although the elven district will be quiet, it would still be best if we weren't seen going in at all. There's a back gate, barely manned - we can use that."
"You've been there before, I take it?"
"Yes, Inquisitor, but I was there on other research so I didn't hang around for long. Which brings me to what I expect to find: information. Everything I already have converges at Mokhan, but it isn't enough, it just suggests that someone either had an idea or made something in the place, but that doesn't mean that whatever it's referring to will be kept there."
"'Whatever it's referring to'?!"
"Don't go getting the wrong idea, Rathen," Anthis sighed mildly. "You said yourself that this is guesswork, but you'll just have to trust my expertise on the matter. And anyway, I know what I'm looking for; this won't be like walking into a library and having to filter through every single book - for starters it won't be so organised. But I know where to find it."
"Is it possible that it will be there, though?" Aria asked, her voice a mixture of hope and disappointment. "At all?"
"Well," Anthis replied slowly, "I suppose there is a small sliver of a chance, but I find it unlikely." He cast her a sideways smile. "And it would be a bit boring if it was that easy, wouldn't it?"
Aria nodded vigorously, grinning. "Over too soon," she agreed.
"But we will find it," he assured the others, neither of whom seemed to share in their enthusiasm for the hunt, "and every piece of information we find will bring us one step closer."
Rathen sighed doubtfully, but he did his best to feel the hope the others shared in. After all, if they didn't find it, it would all be resting on his heavy shoulders.
The silence shortly returned, and the clop of the horses' hooves became deafening. Rathen wouldn't usually have noticed nor cared, but this time its weight only seemed to add to his grim mood. Fortunately he didn't have to think on how to break it, as Anthis began nattering about the history of their destination, providing a one-sided conversation with little need for additional input in order to keep it going. But even so
, Aria asked lots of questions, and Rathen found himself quite unsurprised by her interest. She was astounded by the world presently around her, so why not the past? After all, stories of people who once were must have seemed to her like fairy tales.
Salus drummed his fingers on his knee as the carriage bumped leisurely along the uneven road. He stared impatiently out of the window, his face creased in intense thought, and seemed to have forgotten Teagan's presence in the opposite seat. He didn't react to the dry and monotonous rustle of unrolled parchments, nor the weight of the silence in which his subordinate read them, and his eyes didn't graze him for a moment to try to discern their contents from his expression. It would have been futile anyway; Teagan, like any portian, never gave his thoughts away so easily.
"They're marching, aren't they?"
Teagan looked up from a report scrawled onto an unreasonably small strip of paper, and if he was startled, he didn't show it. Salus hadn't moved. His chin remained in his hand and his eyes fixed, unseeing, to the hills rolling by in the distance. "They are."
"They'll lose through exhaustion," Salus mumbled critically. "I can't believe Jalund doesn't see that, it's screamingly obvious... Mm. Perhaps it's a king-thing. His arrogance has blinded him." He puffed with resignation and finally sat back in his seat, dragging himself away from tiresome thoughts and his blue eyes away from the window. "What of us?"
"The detachments at the western border have begun forming a defence, but it's too soon to tell where Skilan will launch their attack from, so they're not setting permanent posts just yet. They need more information."
Salus merely nodded.
"The rest of the military is waiting for the order to advance, which will certainly follow our report. Otherwise, the military is prepared, and General Moore has drawn up a number of strategies for various scenarios, all of which have the Crown's approval."
He nodded again. "And the Order?"
"They're equally prepared to move to defend the military against foreign mages and counter any magical attacks. They've been included in a few of Moore's plans, but for the most part, he seems to be allowing Sivaan Rosh the room to form his own responses."
Salus clicked his tongue. "I don't like that."
"He has a better idea of his mages' capabilities than the General does, as well as that of the opposition," Teagan reminded him. "But I admit that it gives the Order too much freedom."
"And freedom is the last thing the mages should be given." Salus shook his head and growled, his eyes drawn back at the world outside. "Magic," he all but spat. "The world would be better off without it. And these reports of new mages are alarming - I thought magic was supposed to surface no later than the age of eighteen, and now there are people at twice that suddenly discovering that they possess it!"
"It is possible for magic to surface at a later or earlier age," Teagan reminded him with the same absence of emotion, "but for six such cases to occur within a month, it is a highly unlikely situation."
"As well as suspicious. And reports of strange activity near elven ruins keep coming in, and despite denying any involvement, the Order is moving too quickly and in very small numbers in response to it - or to cause it." He shook his head again, the curl of his lip worsening. "It's all suspicious, but they're too damned good at covering their tracks for us to get any information by our usual measures, and whenever we catch one of the damned things the Order takes custody almost immediately and we hear nothing more of it!"
"You've said this before."
"And yet nothing has changed because no one who can do anything about it, like the Crown, does so!"
Teagan stared at him. "What are you suggesting?"
His fingers resumed their irritated drumming, his jaw convulsed, and he gripped the changing scenery beyond the window with another burning, consuming scowl. But his heat abated a moment later with a sigh, and he shook his head in defeat. "Nothing. I simply can't believe that the king would be in on this. Whatever it is, it's all mage. We just need to find one and keep one."
"That's easier said than done with the Order keeping better tabs on their people than we can."
"Which is also suspicious!" Salus leaned his head against the carriage's plush wall in further thought, biting back a curse as it struck the edge of its gilded metal frame. "Increase surveillance on the Order," he said eventually, "and keep a closer eye on previously-detained mages in particular. It's all we can do at present, for whatever little good it might do us, at least until we have what we need to stop whatever it is they're up to."
"What of the magic-users in the Arana?"
"Keep them at their posts. Their magic may not be as strong as that of the Order, thank goodness, but they have a better understanding of what they're seeing than the rest of us - and are we any closer to finding this blasted artefact?" Teagan shook his head, as Salus expected. "Ugh. And we still haven't located Karth..." His eyes dragged themselves heavily back to the window as the carriage finally rolled to a stop, and he brushed down his uncomfortably regal attire. "Well, let's hope Drassa lives up to his reputation instead."
The carriage door swung open from outside, and as Salus stepped out onto the cobbled road in a suit as fine as any noble's, his grim expression shifted seamlessly to one of dignified importance and his bearing straightened to match. Teagan followed in the similarly elegant vestments of a personal aide, and two others joined them outside, flanking them at two paces with the stoic, hawk-like eyes of accomplished bodyguards. The transition of attitude that each undertook was so effortless, so well-practised that no one would ever suspect that the four were anything other than what they appeared to be.
Teagan took the lead down a short garden path and knocked commandingly upon the door at its end. It was not a large building, though it was a grander house than that of any common man, and the entourage undoubtedly appeared out of place to any onlookers. But theirs was not a social call, and the owner's profession surely attracted the occasional well-to-do stranger.
No answer came, so Teagan knocked again just as firmly, while Salus displayed the same touch of impatience any nobleman would who was kept waiting by someone inferior, and after a third attempt, the call was finally heeded. A middle-aged man appeared in the doorway, looking quite put out, and was already demanding what his visitors wanted before he'd even taken a look at them. He hesitated only when the glint of gold snatched his eye, and fell abruptly silent when he noted the finery and official bearing each of them held. He dropped into a deep and apologetic bow, his thinning hair slipping forwards.
"Presenting the Lord Baymont of Adin," Teagan announced in a well-seasoned tone, a fraction louder than necessary yet no quieter than any other such aide would, and stepped to one side so that his master may be looked upon in his deserved glory. "He has travelled for seven days and nights to reach your respected presence, so you may oblige him with your time and hear his proposition."
Such a formal introduction pushed the balding man even lower. "My Lord Baymont, it is an absolute pleasure," he gushed. "I did receive your message through the historical society's channels, I apologise for my manners - please do come inside and out of this dreadful wind."
The Lord Baymont inclined his head and strode in through the door as his host stepped obediently aside, leaving behind the gentle breeze that had barely tousled his neatly combed hair. His guards followed closely, and his personal attendant after them, and as he took a seat in the finest chair the sitting room had to offer, they took up rigid positions on either side of him, their eyes alert even as they scanned the empty room, while his attendant waited to one side, out of the way and quietly forgotten until his service was next needed.
"My Lord Baymont, allow me to introduce myself personally," the man said as he hurried in after them and quickly set about tidying up, tossing cushions around and moving books out of sight so as not to offend his guest by his clutter, but the nobleman raised his hand for silence.
"I don't need another introduction, Mister Drassa," he sa
id with barely a smile, his expression kept taught and superior in a manner that appeared quite natural. "I know well who you are; I would not have sought you out if I didn't."
Drassa bowed low once again. "Please, my Lord, call me Tem. And may I say that it is a great honour to be sought out by one of such high standing, such as yourself." He straightened slowly and looked at him with anxious eyes. "May I ask get you anything to drink? To eat?"
"No, thank you."
"Then, may I ask what has brought you to me? Forgive me, but your message was a little vague..."
"Your skill, of course," he replied with a fleeting upward twitch of his lips that couldn't quite be called a smile. "I require your expertise."
Tem's thick, grey eyebrows rose in mild surprise. "You require research, My Lord?"
"More specifically, I require an item."
Now they dropped in confusion, but before he could give it voice, the deceptive nobleman continued.
"There is mention of an old elven relic that is said to be able to suppress the magic of another caster - I believe you have put some work into the subject over the past few years."
His eyebrows rose once again, and now his eyes came alive with excitement. "Goodness, my Lord, yes I have! An item that can suppress the magic of humans - created by the elves to keep--"
Lord Baymont raised his hand again. "Yes, that. I would like you to recover it - you will be paid for your time, of course."