The Zi'veyn: The Devoted Trilogy, Book One

by Kim Wedlock

  "Perhaps we should," said the young man, though he didn't sound very convinced by his own words, "perhaps they should know about this."

  "And then they will accuse the Arana of treason and the Arana will certainly retaliate in its own way. Things are already too unstable to risk an internal struggle while we try to deal with the war."

  The older man opposite him sighed and shook his head in bemusement. "I still don't understand this artefact thing. Wouldn't a spell to stop magic also stop itself?"

  "Not if it's properly woven," replied the blonde woman, "and an elven artefact wouldn't be carelessly made."

  The dark haired woman beside her turned Malson a steady look, one that suggested she was just as unhappy going along with the search as she was standing against it, but prepared to do whatever was best all the same. "What do we do?"

  His deceptively young eyes met her gaze. "Nothing. I don't believe he will succeed. Drassa is an intelligent man, but he gets ahead of himself and makes desperate connections. He's been shunned for it in the past and it's been happening more and more often in recent years. I believe he's growing desperate in his old age to find something to leave as a legacy. But, as long as Salus is focusing on that, his mind won't be straying into areas it shouldn't be."

  All eyes turned onto the blonde woman, who nodded regretfully to their unspoken question. "It's still there, and growing fractionally stronger, but fortunately it's also still very subdued. He's unaware of it."

  "Let's hope it stays that way."

  "I'll be sure to inform you should anything change."

  The young man sighed again. "Forgive me, Lord Malson, but this doesn't feel right, speaking against the keliceran like this."

  "Are you not uneasy with him in charge?" Asked the blonde. "No keliceran has ever been a portian before."

  "He's hardly a portian anymore," he reminded her, "and either way, he gained his position fair and square. If he was able to assassinate the last, then she'd lost her touch. That's how it's worked since the Arana was first established, and though I admit that I wonder at a few of his decisions, I'm not prepared to say he's unfit to lead. He's kept Turunda safe so far - none of us can deny that. Perhaps this is how he'll continue to do so."

  A doubtful frown touched Malson's weathered old brow, but he said nothing. "Continue working beneath him as you have been for now. I'll tell the others the same. When and if the time to act comes, you will be notified. I understand how uneasy some of you are, but this is an extraordinary matter that we need to keep up with." He turned and stepped towards the thick curtain behind him and spoke to the man sat on its other side. One who had been stationed in the tavern by the keliceran himself as a standard watchful eye in the city. "We weren't here."

  "The same as always," he replied, peering into the bottom of his mug with convincing disappointment. He then rose to his feet to head back towards the bar, opening the way for them to pass through unseen by any others and out into the cool night air, where they each left for different directions.

  Malson pulled the drab cloak tighter about his person, better concealing his stately robes as he made his way from the building and out into the centre of the city. He sighed heavily to himself in the quiet streets. He didn't like the way this was going. Salus himself seemed to think that Malson had no idea what he was up to, but he had been working alongside kelicerans for the past forty years and could see quite clearly when reports didn't quite add up. Of course, just what else he might be hiding, he couldn't know. The hunt for this relic had only come to his knowledge because it had been handed to him out of concern by Vari, the blonde Aranan mage, something she hadn't done lightly. Then, when others with similar concerns had sought him out, including the operative who appeared to the world as little more than a frequent tavern-goer who sought to drink his troubles away, he had truly begun to question the keliceran's honesty to the Crown.

  But despite the distress of this small handful of operatives, phaeacian and phidipan them all, he didn't believe there was anything truly sinister at work. Concerning, yes - as had been said, the thought of Salus wielding such a power with his ideals promoted sleepless nights - but nothing dark or evil. Salus was no such man. Driven, yes; confident in his convictions, certainly. But he would never do anything that would lead the country to ruin. He lived and breathed for Turunda.

  And he wouldn't succeed in finding the artefact, anyway, assuming any mage in the Arana was even capable of wielding it on his behalf. From the information these operatives had passed to him as well as Salus, he knew that it took magic to operate, and he doubted any in the Arana were truly strong enough to do so.

  His old frown deepened.

  So what was this knotted sense of dread in his stomach?

  Chapter 16

  Rathen grunted sourly as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He'd barely rested all night, and it wasn't until the sun began to rise that he had finally, and typically, slipped into dead dreams, and that stiff slumber was interrupted all too soon by cold light piercing his eyelids.

  He hauled himself up from his bedroll with resignation and looked with bleary eyes towards the reaching slivers of light. Best guess, he'd been out for little over an hour. What did that make? Three and a quarter total, at best? The thought only made him feel heavier, and he almost indulged the desire to drop back down beneath the blankets and not rise until midday.

  He didn't - a decision which only darkened his mood - and more frustrating still was that he knew his restlessness hadn't stemmed from being hunted, but from exhaustion. He hadn't used his magic so much in a single day for years; aside from a general loathing of it, he'd learned quickly in his isolation that if he saw to his chores with spells, he'd end up bored for most of his life. And so this selfless spurt of spell-casting had exhausted him to the point of being unable to rest while the others slept so sickeningly deep.

  But, rather than stew, he'd taken it upon himself to keep watch that night, a decision made in part to ease Aria who had initially been just as awake as he, her eyes filled with alarm as she stared into the darkness at the slightest sound. Even the hoot of a distant owl had rattled her.

  But as the morning sun crept leisurely higher, trickling into the lengthy gorge they'd followed the night before, unease began to pull at the edges of his mind. Something didn't feel right, and as he looked across the camp, counting the conjured bedrolls, he found his suspicions confirmed. Though all laid out were occupied, including his own, they numbered only four. His eyes flicked quickly to the fifth, which he found neatly rolled and tidied away beside the remaining bags, its blankets folded on top.

  Where was Petra?

  A flicker of panic forced him to his feet, his mocking fatigue forgotten. Had she changed her mind from following them as far as Bowden? Had she returned to Mokhan to clear her name after all? Was she leading the city right to them?

  He flexed his fingers. He could hide the camp if she had. But...Petra also knew what they were doing...

  He frowned as he looked closer, noticing amongst the bags a glimmer reflecting from a surface too long to be a buckle. She'd left her weapons behind. After being chased off like that, would she really risk going back, unarmed?

  Whatever her intentions, she planned to return.

  He noticed a few smaller glints; pursing his lips, he decided in her absence to indulge his curiosity. Stepping closer, he peered down at the worn sheaths and glinting hilts. The sword she carried openly at her hip lay across the pile, its cross-guard as ornate as its sheath, but practically shaped. Clearly such a thing was meant to be more than a simple tool, but not so extravagant as to be displayed and collect dust. It was made to be used, and used only by a skilled and respectful hand.

  Beside it, and far less embellished, were the two small, matching daggers he recalled had been concealed within her cinch, and beside those the strange coil of weighted rope somehow similarly hidden at the small of her back. It was another moment before he recognised it as a bolas.

  He frowned
and shook his head in bafflement. How could she carry so much and run with them as fast as she had?

  With grace, strength and practice, he supposed. Thinking about it, she'd been just as unaffected by the previous night's escape as Garon had been...

  "She's a touch dangerous, isn't she?"

  He glanced around towards Anthis who stared over from his own bedroll, eyeing the steel warily as he reached for his clothes.

  "More than a touch, I'd wager," he replied, rising, and turned to fetch his own as he felt the chill of the morning against his bare skin.

  "Where is she?"

  "Here."

  Both twisted in fright at the sudden voice, and found Petra emerging from around one of the gorge's bends. Her red hair had deepened from bathing, but she was notably more clothed than they, and both grew quite conscious of that fact beneath her gaze, despite her disinterest. Rathen hurried to his blankets as coolly as he could, earning him a curious glance. "There's a small spring about five minutes that way..." she explained slowly, but as she considered the shameful alarm in their averted eyes, a small smile crept across her face. "You thought I went back to Mokhan."

  "No! Absolutely not!" But Anthis had declared all too readily, and she cocked an eyebrow in doubt as she returned to her weapons, her smile only broadening as she turned her back.

  As Rathen lashed his shirt about himself, he couldn't help feeling that she wasn't particularly troubled by the situation they were all in.

  Their road continued through the gorge, the old, dry river bed reclaimed by various bushes and shrubs, none of which offered much to shield them from sight. But the few that bore flowers at least gave them something to look at, while the countless holes pecked into the stone that towered to their right housed small birds that sang out to their returning partners.

  But as pleasant as those songs were, they weren't gladly received. The five followed the route in silence, straining to hear anyone that might be around. They were a good distance from Mokhan, it was true - Garon had led them with a mind to get away and out of sight rather than to reach their destination any sooner, and their pursuers had surely been thrown off early on by his decision to avoid the dense forest - but while each of them doubted they'd been followed this far, no one could help the occasional peek over their shoulder.

  "You're making me nervous."

  Anthis faltered in his step as Petra glanced back towards him, her eyes wary beneath his pondering gaze.

  "Don't take it personally," Rathen spoke up from behind him, "he stares like that at everyone."

  "I do?"

  "Yes, you do."

  He looked away sheepishly following even Aria's fervid assurances. "I'm just curious, that's all."

  "About?"

  "People and things in general, but in this case, you--uh, who you are, I mean, not..."

  Petra sighed and turned her eyes back to the dusty riverbed. "My name is Petra," she replied flatly while Aria giggled at his flushing cheeks, "I'm a duelist, much to your inquisitor's disgust, and I travel around, making my living from fights." Her sharp eyes fell upon the back of Garon's head, and though he made not a sound, his lips were still pursed in disapproval as he stared down at the map Rathen had conjured, marking details as they walked.

  Anthis frowned curiously as he watched her watch him, but equally remained silent. She had answered his question, he supposed, as vague a response as it was, but even then she'd been more open than Rathen initially had - not that he'd been willing to share anything since the mysterious Kienza had disappeared.

  "What about you?"

  When no response came, even Garon glanced back curiously, but his eyes widened in surprise when he found her staring at him just as expectantly. "Me?"

  "Sure," she nodded. "Why did you take this case? And what else have you worked on?"

  "I didn't take the case, it was given to me," he replied with sudden disinterest, returning his attention to the map as Rathen shook his head. "And as for what else I've worked on, that's classified."

  "You said that about this matter, too."

  "And it's just as true now as it was then. Circumstances are all that have changed."

  "But if past cases are closed, then surely there's no harm in talking about them?"

  Garon sent Anthis a dark look for his sudden participation. "The subject matters are sensitive, closed or not."

  "Well you don't have to give us any specific details," Petra pressed. "Have you caught any killers over the last few years? Or are there some that have eluded you?"

  "The Hall of the White Hammer has extensive resources," Anthis frowned, "surely cases don't go unsolved..."

  "Are there? Any killers you've not caught?"

  "Classified." Garon drew to a sharp stop and snapped around towards her, his grey eyes narrowing in suspicion as his voice grew as solid as his bearing. "Why all the questions?"

  "Just curious..." She looked back at him with wide, innocent eyes, and seemed to shrink a little beneath his gaze.

  The inquisitor analysed her for another long moment, unreadable himself, then turned suddenly and continued along through the gorge without another word, his full attention once more upon adjusting the map.

  Anthis frowned in disappointment as they followed on. Few ever had the chance to work alongside an inquisitor, but though his curiosity in him was great, he'd been hesitant to quiz him and take advantage of the unique opportunity. Garon was closed off, reserved and official, and that roused more than a small degree of intimidation.

  But Petra, a woman whose spirit he could already see great value in, hadn't been so hindered, and though Garon hadn't given in to her questioning, he suspected that his own curiosity would soon be satisfied. He doubted very much that she and her forceful personality would let it lie for long. And she seemed to have a very specific interest - neither a historian nor a mage caught her attention, but this inquisitor apparently did.

  He frowned slightly as he pondered her possible reasons, but shrugged it off as he stepped up alongside her. "Don't take it personally," he assured her quietly. "Garon's not a particularly approachable person."

  "I noticed. Is he always like this?"

  He took a short breath to respond, but was suddenly unable to decide how to answer. But that, it seemed, was answer enough. She nodded slowly, and he chose not to question the thoughts in her eyes as they returned to the back of the inquisitor's head.

  "Can I ask you a question?"

  Petra looked down to find Aria peering very critically up at her from her father's side, and though the severity of the girl's thoughts were plain upon her face, she was unable to hold back a smile. "Go right ahead."

  "Why is your hair that colour? Do you dye it with the blood of your enemies?"

  "Aria!" Rathen cried in surprise.

  "What?!" She cried back defensively. "A man in a book I read did it!"

  "Yes but that was just a story!"

  Petra, however, simply laughed. It was a surprisingly elegant sound for one so forceful, and Rathen sent her a wondering look. When he caught himself lingering, he forced his eyes away, but noticed in that moment that Anthis and, more surprisingly, Garon had both done the same.

  An hour passed before the gorge finally widened, broadening into a grey, rocky landscape that became more troublesome to traverse. But while the loose stones slipped and rattled dangerously beneath their feet, at least the chances of meeting strangers along the way were reduced. In fact they made that evening's camp without having crossed sight nor sound of another person, and the day had passed uneventfully. Rathen had said little, and while Anthis assumed he'd regressed with the addition of a new stranger, he'd been merely trying to stay awake. Anthis, on the other hand, was the only one to offer Petra conversation; he answered her questions of where they'd been and what they'd done, though she often aimed them towards Garon despite his disinterest in socialising, and when Anthis had asked her questions about herself, she'd been consistently evasive. He'd taken to analysing what little s
he did say to satisfy his curiosity, and as he sat by the fire that evening and looked across the four peculiar individuals, he found it hard to miss the fact that everyone he seemed to be associating with lately were unnaturally difficult...

  Having lost his original in Mokhan, Garon had done his best to transfer all notes, routes and details onto this new map instead, and while it had been more than a little toilsome, he was confident that he'd just about succeeded in getting it up to scratch. One didn't get to his position without a memory for detail nor a mind to make use of it, after all.

  He looked up and around himself, glancing back along that morning's path, and for the first time in two days, finally pin-pointed their location. But he felt little need to sigh in relief. As inconvenient as their present situation was, it was still only that: an inconvenience. They had to travel south for Anthis to continue his work anyway, and if it was still needed after three weeks, there was someone in Bowden who could repair any damaged reputations and quell unwanted rumours. And while it was a nuisance to be unable to stop and gather information on other magically-affected sites, he suspected there were a few points along this route that they could learn from first-hand instead. In short, it was far from a situation he couldn't handle.

  Rathen's passive, thoughtful scowl caught his eye as he began rolling away the parchment. He hadn't asked him about his work on the spell since presenting him with the task, and in that time hadn't noticed even a hint of progress, let alone any sense of impending victory. But he'd been under no illusions that it would be a challenge to achieve, if even possible - and yet, despite being equally aware of that fact, the mage had taken it on anyway. Unfortunately, while Garon sought to do all in his power to help, there was little he could beyond leading him to ruins in the hope that the magic's presence might offer something up, and he had no way of knowing if that was even a possibility. But, as Rathen hadn't said otherwise, he saw no reason to stop, and he trusted that the mage would speak up if he had anything worth sharing.