by Kim Wedlock
First of all, Doana and Skilan were both doing far too well on Turundan soil. His people had uncovered all the individuals who had helped them gain ground in the initial occupations, and that very day had exposed one of their most recent collaborators. The fact that every one of them had been of foreign blood didn't truly surprised Salus, but he was deeply concerned that many had been residents of Turunda for several years prior to this event. Just how long had they been lying in wait?! And worse still, Skilan had taken two more minor posts in their usual, destructive way, while Doana, far more surgical, had yet again eliminated the local agents in their two most recent marks, which they had abandoned in form before anyone could chase them off, leaving no clue of their intentions and vanishing back into the wilderness.
Salus slammed his fist on the desk. Turunda's damned forests - it was as if the land itself was working against them now!
He had no intention of wasting any more time. He already had people investigating anyone not of Turundan blood in the latest discarded town - pattern decreed that it couldn't be anyone else - and he still had people inside Skilan's trophies doing the same. If his suspicions were proven correct, and he was certain they would be, he was prepared to have all foreigners in other key locations watched, too. Grass root operatives already had their eyes open for anything out of the ordinary, this would be no further trouble, especially if it prevented any more assaults.
But a twisting in his gut told him it wouldn't be soon enough. An uneasy shadow stood behind him, making him shift in his chair. Doana was certain to attack again. He could feel it coming. And he knew there was nothing he could do about it.
As for other troublesome matters, information from within Skilan's army was minimal, but he still had little idea if anything reported from that front could yet be taken seriously, and with such little word and so little reliability, it felt very much that they were under their invaders' mercy. And he did not like it.
And then there was Doana, and his increasing certainty that they were not working with Skilan at all...
A sharp pain pierced his temple, provoking a groan as he leaned over the paper-strewn desk and pressed the heel of his hand against his head. He muttered a foul curse. All day he'd been plagued with headaches - mercifully, they were becoming less severe than they had been in the morning - and his concentration was non-existent; it took him four times longer than usual to read through basic reports, he was getting distracted, and his body ached. It was all down to his rotten night's sleep. It had to be.
And to think he'd been braving it. The dreams had still been mockingly peaceful, but in recent days he'd had the resolve to face them, carrying the hope that his efforts would bring them to reality in time and that he needed only be patient. That past night, however, had been something else entirely. His sleep had been riddled with nightmares and phantom whispers, shouts and laughter, flashes of dark images and frightful white faces, and one larger and more brutal than the rest, looming high above them and emitting an air of eerie silence that screamed louder than all else. He'd woken from it countless times but always his eyelids closed again, compelled by the power of fatigue, and he found himself repeatedly back from where he'd just escaped.
He'd never been so relieved in his life than when daylight finally poured through his open curtains and chased the night's trials away, but his mind, it seemed, had gone with them. He'd been more alert after staying awake for three days straight than he was after that ordeal.
He jumped when a knock came at his door, rattled back out of his helplessly tumbling thoughts, and snapped his permission in embarrassment despite no one having been there to see it. Teagan stepped inside wearing his usual unreadable expression, but Salus knew he bore only bad news. "Get to it," he said without greeting.
"Doana has taken Pelas."
He couldn't help a bitter laugh. "Of course they have." He slumped back in his seat, still rubbing his throbbing skull as the pain took its leisurely time to recede. "And they removed Neriss too, I presume?"
"She's dead, yes."
He nodded slowly. Teagan must have been aware of the dark atmosphere in the room, but he didn't flinch when Salus thumped his fist on the table and erupted out of his chair.
"What do we have to do to root these damned insects out?!"
"We are working on it, Keliceran."
"Working on it, working on it." Salus kicked the chair and began pacing furiously around the room. "But we're not getting anywhere, are we? All our efforts, our resources, our skills, and what have we got to show for it? Everything's come crashing down on us - it feels like we're trying to claw our way out of an avalanche when it's still falling from all sides!"
"It isn't that bad--"
"Isn't that bad?!" He whirled and covered the distance between them in a flash, faster than Teagan had expected. "There are residents of Turunda plotting against us! Some of them of them even of native blood! Even the beasts that plague our forests seem set on our downfall! Casting their distractions everywhere they can, sending guards scurrying after their shadows - if not for them there would have been more vigilance in the cities! But at least they're easy to crush..."
Teagan watched him steadily as he returned to his pacing, losing himself in his frantic thoughts, when a small voice spoke up in his own mind. His eyebrows twitched into a frown as the familiar tone lured him in. "Are we sure," he began carefully, "that that is necessary?"
"That what is necessary?" Salus asked impatiently.
"Killing the non-humans. It seems unreasonable. Could they not simply be driven off?"
"Driven off?!" He snapped around towards him again, his eyes flashing incredulously. "Ditchlings, spriggans, harpies - unnatural, all of them; no matter how far we might 'drive them off', they'll always find their way back! There's nothing we can do but cull their numbers!" Salus's eyes narrowed suddenly as he stared at him. The portian's gaze was level, glassy - as unreadable as ever. But there was a knot, the slightest knot, dimpling his forehead. "You doubt."
"I only wonder if there is not an easier way to handle them." His disconnection was irritating. "And other matters - your decisions have become increasingly antagonistic lately."
Salus chuckled scathingly. His tone became dangerous. "Antagonistic? I am trying to defend our country. That's all I've ever tried to do. I've given everything to that goal - my entire life has been spent in Turunda's service! And if my decisions to that end make me seem 'antagonistic', then so be it!" He squared himself towards him, his face mere inches from Teagan's as his eyes blackened. "Do not question my decisions, Teagan" he growled through wolf-like teeth, "or you will discover how antagonistic I can be. I am leading the Arana, I am the one who has to balance every matter and work out the quickest and most effective means of repairing it. The Crown does nothing but pass on problems, I am the one who has to handle them, and I'm expected to do so while they bind my hands. I might be 'antagonistic', but my decisions will get us results - and unless I'm mistaken, it was your suggestion that I take matters into my own hands in the first place. So until you kill me and take my place, they will remain my decisions, and you will have no place to cast aspersions towards them. Do you understand?"
Teagan didn't blink. The knot had vanished and his expression was smooth and attentive once again, but while Salus didn't see the speck of dismay that had come to rest in his hazel eyes, Teagan was all too aware of the changes that had fallen over his superior. His skin, already pale from stress, had become a shade whiter, and his features seemed to have sharpened into the visage of another man - if any man could ever look so fierce. But above all else was the air of certain danger he emitted. Teagan remained still and silent but for a nod of understanding, truly believing, for a moment, at the edge of his instinct and beyond his reason, that his life was at serious risk.
Salus nodded his acceptance. "Good." And then, as suddenly as he had seen it, Salus appeared to be himself again. The keliceran turned away and strode towards the window. He was certainly still seethin
g, but the room felt a great deal lighter and Teagan quietly released the breath he'd found himself holding.
He watched him carefully as he stared out over the city, his mind already far from the office, and after a long moment, he dared a step towards him. "Salus...are you all right?"
"Fine."
His response had been too quick, but though he continued to watch him analytically, another voice, well-trained and reasonable, spoke up in his mind. A portian could not empathise, he reminded himself, could not understand the emotional reasoning behind any decision, be it to kill or to show mercy. Once, as a phidipan, he had been able to grasp such complexities, but now they were far beyond him. What seemed antagonistic or aggressive could simply be a decision charged by urgency. Teagan didn't have all the facts, nor the capability to weigh them. It was neither his place nor his purpose to try.
But it was ironic that it was only thanks to him that Salus was able to.
He straightened and muted the strange stirrings. Both Salus and himself wanted only the best for Turunda, and they had both given so very much for it. But Salus had quite possibly given more.
Two second knuckles rapped against the door behind them, but despite Salus's mood, he didn't even growl. He pushed himself away from the window and sat heavily back behind his desk, another abrupt change dropping over him, and called for the Crown's liaison to enter.
To both of their surprise, however, the old man stepped in with his tail between his legs. Even Salus's eyebrows rose at his timid manner as he closed the door behind himself, and though he turned and stood tall in his ever haughty air, it was clear he was not looking forward to delivering whatever it was he had been tasked to. And that only hiked Salus's interest.
"Afternoon, Lord Malson," he said mildly, tracking him with sharp eyes. "I wasn't expecting you to come in today. Can I help you with something?"
"Actually, I came to inform you of the Crown's most recent decision."
"Oh?" Salus's eyes flicked briefly towards Teagan who had moved to wait quietly beside the door, observing with similar attention. "Regarding?"
"You know damn well what," he snapped.
"It would be foolish to presume."
Malson straightened in resignation, disregarding the keliceran's feigned ignorance as he had Malson's abruptness. "In light of these most recent attacks," he began with such sufferance that it sounded almost rehearsed, "the king has decreed that Mokhan, Adin and Whitemouth are to be evacuated and surrounding areas put under guard, while security in Kulokhar itself will be increased four-fold. You are to put your planted agents on high alert and reinforce their numbers where you can, and have any others you can spare accompany the evacuees and ensure their journey's safety."
Salus muzzled another sardonic laugh and bit his tongue against the derisive remark that so nearly loosed itself. "And where are they being evacuated to?" He asked instead.
"Anywhere able to take them in. Villages are smaller and poorer, but their people are more accommodating, and there is room in the cities, even if they are less tolerant of the disruption."
"This will severely impede the Arana's work," he warned him. "And the Hall's."
Malson frowned. "It's not like you to express concern over other authorities."
"We're all working to the same ends," he replied easily, but rose to his feet as a serious atmosphere descended. "I will spare everyone I can to keep the people safe. You have my word."
"I would expect nothing less." Salus noticed something shift in the old man's eyes as he glanced towards Teagan. "There is something else I would speak with you about..."
The keliceran dismissed the portian with a brief nod of his head, and as the door closed behind him and the latch fell in place - the only sound to suggest his exit - the liaison's eyes became suspicious. "You've been unavailable lately."
"There is a war on..."
"And you are still expected to answer to the Crown." Whatever endurance or timidity he'd entered with had been quite suddenly replaced with that irritating supremacy. "And yet twice I have arrived this week to find him in your office and you nowhere to be seen."
"There is much to handle," Salus replied coolly, "and my subordinates are not unlimited in number. I cannot expect all my orders to be carried out in a timely manner if I stay locked in here."
"You have been taking them on yourself?"
"As if I had the time. Suffice it to say, I've been doing what I can from within the Arana's grounds."
Salus watched the curiosity and speculation grow within the old man's youthful eyes and met it levelly.
"It would be best," Malson continued eventually, without breaking his stare, "if you remained reachable."
"I am always reachable - sometimes it may simply require a messenger."
The old man's eyes continued to bore into him for another long moment, but whatever he sought from his expression, he didn't seem to find it if the tightening of his jaw and brief flare of his nostrils were any indication. He broke his gaze and turned away in barely concealed irritation. "I assume you have nothing to share on the Order?" He asked as he walked towards the window, though looked back in surprised as he caught the small folder Salus tossed towards him.
"Little of significance."
His brow furrowed as he skimmed the first page, but quickly dropped in disappointment. "Quite. And what about your mages? Any strange goings on?"
"My mages have nothing to do with the Order."
"I am aware. I was speaking more broadly - any strengthening of power? Or new talent?"
Salus's faultless expression didn't waver. "You are aware that the Arana is a small group. I'm not sure it's statistically possible for any new mages to surface among so few..."
"You may be right, but it needs to be asked. The whole matter is concerning. That people could suddenly develop magic past their prime..." He shook his head, and his voice took on a more thoughtful tone. "Word around the court is that the Order has something to do with it, that it's related to all the strange, arcane goings on in Loggerhead and the like. I don't believe it for a moment, myself, but we are severely lacking in any kind of evidence for a sound explanation."
"Well, I'm afraid I can't help you there," he sighed regretfully. "Only the mages understand magic, and I doubt the Order would admit to doing such a thing. The only efficient course of action open to us is to focus our efforts on the mages themselves and stop them from unravelling the country, in any way we can."
"You are keeping them under watch, then?"
Salus leapt quickly from his encroaching ponderings and dulled the sudden sharpness of his eyes. "Only the preservers when they dare leave their fortress. Not even the Arana can get into the Order's grounds."
"Mm...it is a problem, but it's one that I and other envoys are working on. The Crown wants to station guards in there."
Salus baulked. "Guards?"
"That was my own reaction," he smiled briefly. "They wouldn't be sufficient. Not even members of the Hall would be capable. It would take nothing less than a mage to hide among them..." Malson's sidelong glance wasn't missed. "Can you spare any?"
Salus's fair eyebrows rose in surprise - some of it genuine. "Lord Malson, this doesn't sound like an official request."
"No request, just a question."
"...I see. Well - speaking broadly, of course - it would depend on the situation. But I would think, should the skills of my mages be required for one matter or another, I could probably reassign a few."
Malson nodded slowly. "And would it take long?"
"Not at all."
He nodded again. "Very good." Then he patted the folder under his arm and made lightly towards the door. "Well, that was all I wished to share. Good afternoon, Keliceran."
"Good afternoon, my Lord..."
The door closed, the latch clicked back into place, and Salus's neutral expression dropped into a frown as he regarded Malson's empty space with suspicion.
Had that been discontent? He could certainly underst
and if it was, and it was about time someone else started to recognise the Crown's incompetence...but he was more than simply surprised to find Malson of all people expressing the sentiment. In fact, it unsettled him. Perhaps because his loyalty was only the most recent of the world's constants to be eradicated.
But he was familiar enough with the old man's mannerisms to know he wasn't mistaken. He may not have given any orders himself, but they were certainly implied.
So it was just as well that he'd had Aranan mages stationed in the Order's wall for almost two years; it was a note on an ever-growing list that he didn't need to address, and it meant that, should they somehow slip up and get caught now, the repercussions would be lesser than they could have been.
But as minor as this phantom order was, Malson's discontent just didn't sit right with him...
He pushed himself heavily to his feet, lost in thought, and soon found himself staring back out over Turunda's capital city and the tall, spiralling, gold-silver-onyx towers at its centre.
His arms dropped to his sides, eyes closed, and took a slow, deep breath. He released it just as steadily and took another as he felt his heart and mind slow. When he opened his eyes again, a sorrowful clarity had befallen him.
The country was a mess. Years ago, he would have been out there tidying it up with his own two hands. He would have acted on orders, it was true, and he may now have had the entire Arana under his control, but it felt as if his hands were eternally bound. In that office, he could issue orders, but he couldn't see to them himself, he couldn't guarantee they were carried out quickly or efficiently with no unreasonable mistakes.
And his magic...it was still out of his reach, and it seemed so set on remaining as such that he couldn't consider that a reliable tool, either. The only thing he could rely on were his own actions, his own capabilities.
But he couldn't use them.
He breathed a mournful curse as he flexed his fingers, but pushed it away with another deep inhale and focused on its release in an attempt at peace.