by Kim Wedlock
The finely dressed old man nodded slowly, still reading. "And the tribes?"
"They're increasingly determined to keep each other out of their respective territory so they've expanded their patrols to the farthest reaches of their land. They all work in small groups of five to eight, however, so there's no way their bickering will hinder military movements, and I have people prepared to push them back if they get too close to our settlements. The only dispute that may become an issue in time is that between the wind tribes of the Flat Mountain and the earth tribes in Bleakfalls Canyon, but they're keeping to their own territory for now."
"Precautions?"
"If the need arises, we're prepared to block off certain access points from the mountains, flood the White River where the Bruuva meets it, and burn parts of the Green Hills. We can force them further north and west if we need to, and they may unwittingly help to delay Skilan a little while longer in the process."
Malson nodded again and finally closed the file. "Excellent thinking."
"Thank you, my Lord."
The old man eyed his smile suspiciously once more. "You're in a good mood today," he said at last, finally defeated by his curiosity, and Salus's blonde eyebrows rose at the casual statement.
"Well things are going well," he replied, "given the circumstances."
"I suppose so... Or has something changed?"
He frowned "Changed?"
"Yes - with you." Malson cocked his head thoughtfully. "Perhaps you're seeing someone."
Salus couldn't hold back the brief burst of laughter. "I'm afraid not," he smiled easily, "I'd never have the time."
"Married to the job, yes." But Malson leaned forwards in his seat, and as he turned a suddenly sober gaze upon him, Salus saw something in his eyes that he'd never seen there before. It was still judgement, of a sort, but there was something different to it, something more...human. But of course it was human; he was not of the Arana. "Perhaps you should make time."
"My Lord," Salus began carefully as his brow knotted, though his smile remained, if a little confused, "I really do think there are other, more important matters at hand than romance--"
"That may be the case," he pressed, "but your job is not an easy one, and you're often extremely tense. More so, as of late. Given the situation as it is, you may find it easier to relax and think straight if you had an...outlet."
Salus shook his head, his smile gradually vanishing as confusion began to win out. "I'm fine, thank you, Lord Malson. I've been in this position for eight years now; I've handled everything up to this point, and I will handle what comes next."
"Yes, but you're, what, forty?"
"Thirty eight."
Malson raised an eyebrow. "And you're counting the years." His voice grew weighted again. "Take it from me, Salus: don't let your work become your life. It will make you narrow-minded, bitter, and above all else it will fill you with the greatest regret for having missed your opportunity to experience what life is all about." Salus couldn't miss the intense remorse that invaded his eyes as he spoke. "No amount of praise for a job well-done - whether it be for deflecting war or winning it, and whether it comes from the king himself or every single man and woman in Turunda - will ever match up to the comfort and ease of being around that one person who truly knows your heart and your mind. Never mind that theirs is the only praise that matters, you need to know first hand what it is you're fighting to protect." He stared at Salus for a long moment, either trying to see how far his words had reached, or trying to push them that little bit further with a piercing gaze. But as Salus simply stared back at him with a ponderous frown, Malson rose carefully to his feet, his old joints slowing him down, and patted the folder in his hands. "The king would like to see this report, if you don't mind," he said, his tone abruptly lightening. "There's little in here he's not already aware of, but he's particularly keen to be kept up to date with every single movement Turunda makes in the face of this war."
Salus nodded absently as his brow fractionally relaxed. "Yes, of course, yes."
"Thank you." Malson inclined his head and turned towards the door. "I hope you continue to have a good afternoon, Keliceran."
Salus's eyebrows rose again, and as he disappeared into the hallway, a confused smile crept across his face. He shook his head at the old man's strange turn, wondering what had provoked it, and his thoughts lingered even as he returned to his work.
But what he'd said was true: he had no time. Even now he was trying to determine what could be done about the magic that seemed to be swelling and multiplying around him, as not only had another person well over the average age discovered magic out of the blue, but two mages within the Arana had also grown in strength just as abruptly. They were loyal individuals and had volunteered the information to him themselves, to their credit, but though they'd both assured him that they hadn't sensed an increase in strength from any of the other few mages in their ranks, that didn't offer him much comfort. These two, up until a few days ago, had been deemed only just too weak in their power's capacity to join the Order in any military fashion, despite each of their proven tactical abilities. But that fact now seemed to have changed. The Order could not have them, of course, they were too valuable for that, but their strength made him uneasy. They knew well how to wield that magic - after all, they'd been taught by the Order itself.
He'd always loathed that the Order had any involvement in his people's training, but it couldn't be helped. Their tuition was necessary. One couldn't simply work it out on their own; spells didn't happen by accident, and neither were they instinctive. Magic required guidance, and only the Order could provide it - fortunately, that demand made them picky. They didn't train just anyone who arrived at their gates. It would be a waste of their time to indulge those who were too weak to be of any real use in their service, so, given that untrained magic was as good as a kettle without a spout, those they deemed to have magic below a certain standard were simply turned away.
That fact had never sat well with him, either, nor with many others, but the Order kept a close and vigilant eye for any unauthorised training - which was presumably also how they always knew when the Arana had one of them detained. But the Order was also quite aware of the distrust people held for them and they didn't seem to want to worsen it. Unfortunately the possibility of a rebellious sector of their organisation threw that sentiment right out of the window, and that unsettled Salus about the increasing magic all the more.
But at least these two individuals had already been a part of the Arana when their talent had surfaced. It was only upon the Arana's wish and the king's consent that the Order had trained them and any others without enrolling them into their own ranks or keeping tabs on them, which they resented as much as he did their involvement, and Salus relished the smug sense of victory that came with each occasion. These were the only trained mages to exist outside of the Order, and their loyalty to him was absolute.
But...even so, he couldn't help mistrusting the influence of such powder. Magic was capable of far too much, and while he was glad to have a handful of mages and their talents under his command, the idea of betrayal through arrogance had, occasionally, popped into his mind. But he had conceded then, as he did now, that if he was going to start thinking along those lines, any of the phaeacian agents could do the same.
The Arana's lowest rank received no mental conditioning; they carried out their duties without question, but they still thought for themselves and that meant that temptation could creep in, or a change of heart take hold. As it was, it was only the virtue of the individual that kept a phaeacian devoted.
It was possible that a few of the phidipan could go that same way, too, albeit less likely. The half-course of conditioning they were subjected to limited their individuality enough that such thoughts didn't come as naturally, and while many still possessed identity and their own thoughts, they knew when it was right to indulge them.
When it came right down to it, only the loyalty of the por
tian agents was truly unconditional. Their full conditioning meant that they lived only for their duties, thought only tactically, mathematically, and that the 'life' Malson had just whimsically spoken of could not compromise them. They had no identities, no pasts, so those they were stamped with upon receiving new orders couldn't be exposed by their own thoughts and feelings; they could successfully fulfil the most grisly and necessary commands, the tasks which under no circumstances could fail. There was no room for a change of heart in such crucial work, so they removed it completely. It was the greatest gesture of devotion an operative could make. Unsurprisingly, portians made up less than ten per cent of the Arana.
But, as strong and relentless even they were, they could not stand against magic without possessing it themselves. No one could. It took magic to fight magic and that was another detail that frightened Salus. It was why the Order had a military wing - perhaps even why the Order existed at all.
He sighed and leaned back thoughtfully in his seat. No, he didn't like magic's growing presence, but it was better to have a few mages on his side than none at all, and at least if a few of his own grew stronger, the Arana had a better chance of standing against renegades.
A sudden knock at his door coaxed him away from his thoughts. "Come in," he said, softer than he'd intended, but as he began again and forced a little more authority into his voice, the woman had already stepped inside and closed the door behind her.
She stopped in the centre of the room, her hands clasped respectfully behind her back, eyes fixed immediately to the wall behind him. "Keliceran. You summoned?"
"Yes..." An ever so slight and thoughtful frown creased his brow as he paused for a moment to look at her. She seemed familiar, but he couldn't recall ever giving her direct orders. "Captain Rulan," he began, brushing it off and turning straight to business as he unlocked a long, slim drawer concealed just beneath the surface of his desk. "We have what we need to move on him, and you're the most capable who knows the layout of the palace." He handed her one of the many folders that were sealed away within, safe from prying royal eyes. "This is his activity, gathered over the last three weeks. He doesn't deviate."
Her eyes quickly scanned the documents, soaking up every word and committing them to memory. She closed the folder a moment later and handed it back to him, her gaze returning to the wall. She had no questions. There were never any questions. "It will be done, Keliceran."
He nodded and dismissed her, the matter closed, and her eyes never once grazed him as she turned to leave. His eyes, however, were quite riveted to her as his thoughtful frown returned, and as the door closed behind silent footsteps he finally recalled the dark haired woman who had passed him twice in the corridors, the one with the brown eyes that bore both focus and kindness, and small lips that seemed almost constantly pouted in thought.
So she was one of the handful of phidipans stationed in the palace. He hadn't requested anyone by name - indeed he didn't know her name - but had left it to Teagan to direct to him the most capable for this task. He was more informed of individuals' abilities as it usually fell to him and a few other portian agents to hand out the majority of jobs, leaving Salus, often too busy to brief everyone personally, to hand out only the most serious - such as the assassination of one of the Royal Family's personal guards.
But what a funny coincidence that it should be her...whoever she was... He thought her almost too attractive to be an operative. They were supposed to remain unnoticed, and average hair, average build, and average faces certainly helped in that regard - but then, a courtesan was capable of obtaining particularly sensitive information that no other position could have gained, and certainly much quicker. Perhaps a pretty face and narrow waist weren't undesirable traits...
His frown deepened as he became aware of his lingering thoughts, and again as he pondered on what they might imply. But he was only being observant - clearly the liaison's recent turn had gotten into his head.
She was a highly efficient operative, nothing more, and only a phidipan could be planted somewhere so official. The surveillance was crucial, both to the safety of the royal family and the Arana's work, but it wasn't a movement sanctioned by the Crown so not one of them could afford to be caught. Not only would the Arana fall out of favour and become a rogue faction, but portians were trained to take any measures necessary to complete their task - if some deemed it truly necessary to maim or kill to maintain their cover, it would only complicate things. Portians weren't thoughtless, but they were tenacious, and they would always achieve their goal. Salus knew this all too well. He was a portian - had been a portian, until the day his mind was freed and he'd gained this new title in its place.
But a phidipan, they were more likely to out-think the situation. A portian could spin a flawless story and become any new identity they were given, but a phidipan still had enough heart to create almost genuine relations they could press on for mercy, and enough confidence in themselves not to put their characters above begging. In some ways, they were the most deceptive; they could truly smile, even while wearing another's face. They were almost perfect.
Warmth brushed his cheek and drew him gently out of his thoughts. The persistent clouds that had smothered the afternoon sky had finally shifted, allowing a shaft of sunlight to leak in through the window, spilling across the desk. Its warmth and brightness soothed his contemplative mind. It felt so pleasant that his body rose from the chair and approached the large, ornate window so he might grow a little warmer. He hadn't noticed the chill in the office.
He took a deep breath and relaxed as he studied the view, feeling his few tensions slip away again as the influence of his good night's sleep stole over him once more.
The large, stately houses of nobles were the first things to catch his gaze. They were difficult to miss; extending a good deal towards the north and east, the facades of each building were covered in various ornate mouldings depicting animals, spirits and family crests, while their vast and richly cultivated grounds exploded in spring colours and shrouded their residents in privacy. The Arana's house looked much the same, hiding in plain sight among them, and its own gardens were dressed with similarly mature trees and hedges. But unlike the others, the rear of the Arana's grounds reached into the dense Blackbrush Forest, its edge only just visible from the window as it arced around the outside of the district. It was precisely this detail which allowed so much coming and going to occur unseen. Even during the winter it hid their activity, concealing the exit to a tunnel that reached beneath the length of the gardens, and though only a small part of the woods was considered private land, the spells set up along that perimeter, cast by Aranan mages with the begrudging approval of the Order, subtly deterred trespassing.
The richly carved Craitic Temple stood further to the north, out of sight of his office window, a detail some might think inauspicious but one he'd never given much attention to. If anything, he was probably glad of it. The Arana did what had to be done. They didn't need divine judgement hampering the decisions. But the royal palace to the far north was also beyond the window's range, and it was from there their orders were issued, there where the judgements that mattered. But he was glad he couldn't see that, either. Theirs was a glare he didn't need.
But the palace itself was a sight that begged curiosity, an unnatural mix of elven and human architecture but built entirely by the latter. Unlikely details had been, by Salus's over-critical eye, poorly copied into stone, including the elegant twists and braids that usually stood in metal. But the masons couldn't truly be blamed for the poor resemblance - in fact, though it was far from perfect, they had to be commended for making by hand and skill what elves had forged entirely from magic. That fact made it worthy of not only the king, but of everyone else as a monument to hard labour and learned skill, and that was a detail Salus could respect. Mages could have made it, or at least tidied up rough edges, but they hadn't been asked to, and that was all the better for everyone. There was already too much magic in Kulokha
r.
His eyes dragged unbidden to the west. Beyond the reach of the rich, royal and temple districts, far plainer buildings clustered densely where the capital city sprawled unstoppably, and the three tall, spiralling elven buildings that rose from the modesty at its centre were clearly visible from two miles away. Their exquisite gold, silver and ebon exteriors contrasted to the plain stone that tried to smother its fascination, and caught the brief sunlight to cast dazzling, warped reflections from city wall to city wall. And when it rained, the water struck its sides and ran down pipes to create a wonderful melody whose misplaced charm befitted the remnants of a people long since extinguished.
Despite Salus's distaste for magic, he supposed that Kulokhar, too, was an impressive sight. The elven towers were some of the grandest still standing, no doubt thanks to the Order's strong presence in the city, and it had even maintained its elven name where most others had been lost. 'Ebon Star Rise', it meant, though so few were aware of it. The fact meant little to him, either, but it was his job to know the details.
But the towers' gaudy presence, and with it that of the mages, set himself and surely everyone else on edge. From that central point, the mages patrolled the capital city like a sub-force of guards, and while they were an undeniably effective deterrent against crime, he wasn't at all happy with their roaming. Magic was their responsibility, so while a number were out watching the streets and presumably also searching for any magical threats, a few 'preservers' from another wing of the Order were out repairing elven spells that were supposedly about to fail. Salus had always found that suspicious. Who but another mage could tell what spell had actually been cast? They could have all kinds working through the city with all sort of motives, and none but they would ever know of it. And given that the Order was the only authority he had no eyes within, he had no way of easily uncovering the information, either. The Order was watched, he made sure of that, but it wasn't the same as having one of his own moving amongst them.