by Kim Wedlock
Salus looked up slowly as her soft, assured voice rippled through the stillness, dragging his hands down his face to meet her with eyes wide in hopeless thought. He lingered there for a moment, staring through her while his mind continued to spiral, but his eyes only emptied further as he began to process her words, disconcertingly offering no hint of their reception.
Taliel and Teagan both braced for an explosion; a caustic verbal assault, an attack upon the desk clutter, a chair hurled through the window. Given the circumstances, they decided that a combination of the three was the least they could expect. Their breath tightened the longer they were forced to wait.
But then, he nodded.
Teagan's eyes flicked momentarily towards Taliel, but his suspicion was as well-hidden as both of their surprise. Had she not been there, he had no doubts that Salus would have erupted into fury. But something, something about her, had stopped it.
He looked back to him, observing the rage that darkened his eyes and the consideration that caged it, and wondered just what power she held over him, where it had come from...and to what extent it had gripped him. For he was behaving stranger and stranger in her presence, and that presence was becoming increasingly frequent.
But...whatever her intentions, at least she was able to subdue him, and he needed a clear and composed mind now more than ever.
Teagan raised his chin and brushed the matter to one side. "Both attacks are connected, but what Fendale suffered in severity, Orton was similarly spared. No one died."
"But it still leaves a bitter after-taste," she observed. "Even with overpowering Skilan a success, to have a landmark like Fendale rent in two like this feels...ominous. We're divided between two wars; people will take this to heart."
"Such sentimentality serves no purpose."
Salus nodded slightly, his fingers laced over his lips. "She's not wrong, though."
"Perhaps," Teagan replied drily, "but the point is that the mage didn't die, either, which suggests he either wasn't committed or that they're changing tactics. The bottom line is that a perpetrator has survived to be caught and questioned."
"Unfortunately the guards apprehended him first and the Order will undeniably take custody." Salus rumbled in frustration and slumped back in his chair. "Damn the Crown. If they'd approved my request to station people among the guards' ranks in every town and village, we wouldn't be having this issue. We could have transferred him here straight away and at least delayed the Order's intrusion. Though I wonder if Malson even presented that request at all..."
"There is still time."
Taliel shook her head doubtfully. "To bring him here, yes, but will he even know anything? He may just be a puppet, a tool. It's true that the Order has usually been quick to take custody, but of all the mages Nolan and the other breakers have managed to interrogate, none have given us anything of any substance... Sir?"
Salus's face had twisted into a pensive, calculating scowl, and his eyes pierced through the opposite door like an arrow through water, staring with such intensity he could have set it alight. But though he had surely only stopped listening mere seconds before, he was already too distant to notice the silence, nor their expectant eyes shifting onto him from the wall.
His fingers crept thoughtfully over his chin.
What she had said was true. Of all the mages they had captured, they'd had the chance to break only one in four, and none of them seemed to have any information to give them. They'd wanted to - the methods of Nolan and his team left little for even mages to defy - but all they'd dragged out of any of them was nonsense about studies. That was the trouble with scholars: learned men had fickle attention spans. If the elders, the high magisters, had given them the true reasons behind their tasks, they'd probably stopped listening long before they'd finished. Though that was no reason not to try dragging it from them. It was in their heads, somewhere, they just needed a firmer hand to help them remember it.
But true though her words may have been, they were defeatist. He wouldn't have entertained them at all had they not reminded him of a particularly strong card in his painfully sparse hand.
But...it was too soon. He'd decided that two days ago and little had changed since then.
His brow knotted tighter.
...Or had it? Teagan had said it - the Order could be changing their tactics. A less subtle approach would certainly lend a new shade of fear to their terrorism - but what if it went beyond that? What if such brash carelessness wasn't a tactic, but genuine confidence?
A sudden chill froze his heart.
What had they found?
His jaw knotted in resolution, and his fist dropped back to the desk with a thump. He was glad he'd pressured Erran to stop wasting his time with timid party tricks. 'Exercises' he had called them, to test the extent of his control. But when he'd pressed, that matter of control seemed suddenly obsolete. And it was also made clear that Denek had just been trying to keep him occupied after all.
Yes. It was time. It would have to be. He may have only a handful of spells under his belt, but now he could do more than merely 'brew tea under a hovering light', and even that was more than Denek was aware of.
"Sir?"
His eyes shifted back to the room and he sprang out of his chair, turning immediately to his favoured while Taliel stared with a mild and fleeting frown of confusion. His eyes, meanwhile, glinted with purpose. "Call Erran," he told him hurriedly, "have him meet us in the cells." Then he rushed out from behind his desk as Teagan obediently inclined his head and left to see to his cryptic task, lingering for only a moment beside Taliel. He looked at her with the same determination, only slightly softened by affection. "'Nothing we haven't handled before'," he said with a smile. "I need you to send word to Yoran, tell him I want Fendale evacuated to Morton as quickly as possible, before the Crown can issue an alternative. It's close enough and can bear the weight of more refugees. And tell him that I need everything he can give me on the mages that were stationed there, especially their contact with the rest of the Order - how often they received commands, their rotations, their field ratios."
"Of course," though her frown slightly deepened. "Would you like me to aid--"
"No," he said quickly, alarm sparking through his eyes. "Yoran can take care of the evacuation. You stay here."
"I can handle--"
"No." He felt a touch of guilt at the insult in her eyes, but though he knew fully well that she was capable of handling herself - she'd proven it countless times in a variety of ways - he couldn't silence the unease he felt at the idea of sending her to a town that had just been ripped in two by magic, divided by a chasm so deep that it had apparently swallowed whole buildings.
His eyes softened in apology. "Please, stay here."
She straightened, but the offence remained in her eyes, and as she inclined her head and shifted her gaze behind him in formality, he found himself equally bruised. But he had no mind to repair the matter. He spared only a muttered curse as she turned and left as coldly as any portian, then urged his mind onto much more important concerns, rushed out and down the opposing corridor, leaving the confines and irritations of the office behind him.
Chapter 58
"I can't believe it!" Such was Anthis's eighteenth mindless chirp in ten long minutes. But he seemed unaware of his incessant, giddy declarations as he scrutinised through torchlight the carvings on the latest wall to seize his fascination, until, quite without warning, he spun and darted away. Shadows shifted chaotically as he raced around with the single meagre flame, his unyielding enthusiasm coaxing another bout of tired groans while he chuckled stupidly to himself, and he covered the small, empty vault they'd been corralled into in a few short bounds, narrowly missing Petra as she wandered on another restless patrol. He didn't seem to notice. "I just can't believe it!" He spared them a bright but fleeting glance, as if they shared in his awe. "Zikhon saved them!"
"We know," Petra grumbled painfully, "you've told us so many times..."
&n
bsp; But again he simply chuckled and shook his shaggy head as the wall stole back his airy attention. "Zikhon saved them! The God of Death! Who would ever have thought?!"
"No one, that's why no one's suggested it..."
"I know!"
Petra tutted and tore her eyes away from his foolish grin to spare her growing irritation, sending another involuntary but meaningful glance towards the back of Garon's head in the meantime. Barely a moment later she almost found herself beneath the careless historian's feet once again. She cursed after him, but he didn't notice that, either.
He ran his fingers over the carvings of another rounded wall, then dashed a few paces to his left, stopping short at another. But his eyes grew tainted by a hint of disappointment as they absorbed the cryptic shapes, and his energy faltered. "But I...still can't believe such an idealistic theory was right..."
"You're putting a lot of stock into the words of one man you've known for no more than a few hours," Garon noted clinically as he passed him on his own round, but Anthis shook his head, slumping in growing dejection.
"No, Eizariin was telling me the truth. He was holding a lot back, I have no doubt about that, but what he did tell me was honest. Feira, Nara, Doru - they're not...they're not 'faces', they're as real as Vastal and Zikhon...and Zikhon is far from the embodiment of darkness that we've painted him to be. I knew the elves saw him differently, but..." he gestured heavily to the walls around them, "only now am I really beginning to understand the extent... Eternal peace...'death'... Context; one mistranslation, one misinterpretation...that's all it took for us to debauch an entire religion we adopted as our own..." Haunted by his train of thought, he turned himself away from it to keep his mind from collapsing. "The, uh, the elves questioned the gods' power; they considered their own magic to be stronger and saw the gods as a threat to their supremacy, and for that, the gods destroyed them - even Vastal. Only...save me - only Zikhon opposed it. None of this is as black and white as we thought..."
Garon frowned dubiously, but decided not to voice his tumbling doubts. Petra, however, found herself unable to keep so still a tongue.
"I don't understand that," she snapped despite herself. "Wouldn't questioning their strength be better than questioning their existence? At least they were still acknowledging them, which is more than can be said for a lot of our own people, and yet we've not suffered any ill consequences for it."
"Actually, no. If they'd questioned their existence then it would have implied that the elves considered themselves the highest beings, and that would be that, matter settled. Only other mortals could have opposed them. But by continuing to acknowledge the existence of the gods and questioning their power instead, they gave themselves a target and created a power struggle, even if the gods never actually participated in it."
"If the gods didn't participate, how did they wind up killing them all?"
Anthis hesitated. "Eizariin wouldn't go into detail on that. All he said was that they'd 'pushed theories further and further' - but I strongly suspect it has something to do with the Zi'veyn. We found mention of an artefact against humans and another against gods, didn't we? And while I still have no idea if they ever actually brought the last to life, I have no doubt in their arrogance that they thought about it - perhaps even tried. If they managed, or it seemed they were getting close, that could have alarmed the gods whether it would've worked or not. After all, I doubt they had much in the way to test it on..."
"I hate to stomp on your academic musings, but...the gods...aren't..." Petra paused for a long moment, searching for the most delicate manner of putting it, but shortly gave up and gestured to each of them instead. "They're gods. They can't be struck with blades or spells. What could the elves have done to them? It would be like trying to attack an idea."
"Except they had a doorway," he replied tartly. "Every site of magical magnetism - everywhere they built their homages, their temples, their shrines to the gods - were places where the veil between our world and the gods was at its weakest, which is presumably how they were gifted the magic in the first place. And while we still have no real idea of the extent of elven power, the gods did. As far as I can see, the gods would have eradicated all of them had Zikhon not disagreed. He saved only a handful, those he deemed to be uninvolved in the matter and untainted by their idealism--"
"Those faithful to him, no doubt."
"Those faithful to any - although gods of creativity, nature and intelligence would have been completely overlooked when luxurious lives and the ends of them were their sole concerns, but even then it seems these 'faithful' were a dying breed by that point. But either way, he spared them the other gods' wrath, and that's why the only handful of elves in existence today are right here, on an island dedicated to Zikhon alone."
A notable quietness befell the room. Garon focused on the carvings of the oval walls as he passed them, Eyila remained as still as always, and Petra nodded slowly as she wandered past him again. "...What a lovely story," she said eventually. "Very colourful propaganda. Of course it completely clashes with everything the Temple teaches us. Remind me: from whom did we learn of the gods? Of Vastal and Zikhon? It was the elves themselves, wasn't it? Or did we just dream it all up ourselves?"
"I understand what you're saying, but I believe it. Humans were slaves and servants kept beyond arm's length; what little we learned from them we pieced together on our own. It's far from impossible that we misunderstood things. But there are elves here, nowhere else--"
"That we know of," she reminded him, "and none of them were alive when all of this supposedly happened, seven hundred years ago. And you said it yourself: they don't record their history. How could this 'Ayzareen' have uncovered all of this?"
"I agree with Petra," Garon announced, prompting the young man to bite back a retort and return to the walls, abandoning the matter with a roll of his eyes. "I'm glad you're making friends, but don't let your guard down."
"My guard is just fine."
"What did he want to know in return for all this?"
"Trivial things."
Garon cocked an eyebrow. "A little too convenient."
"Look," Anthis whirled, his eyes flaring as the inquisitor passed him. "I know you all think I'm being hasty or naive, but I trust Eizariin. I know his look. He's genuine - more so than most human historians I know. He's not driven by personal glory, he's driven by passion. We have nothing to worry about from him."
"That's the assumption that usually precedes betrayal."
Anthis growled and turned away again, absorbing himself back into the stone while muttering quietly beneath his breath.
Without warning, the vault's single door creaked open and snatched their fervid attention. They'd still been offered no word of Rathen - indeed the only official contact they'd had from the elves at all had been when they'd escorted them to another location for the night, by which point it had already been growing dark. Otherwise, they'd been explicitly neglected. They probably wouldn't have eaten at all if not for Eizariin because, despite Anthis's constant pleas, they still hadn't been brought any of their belongings, including what remained of the food they'd collected from the Ikaheka.
But though it wasn't Rathen who stepped inside, it was, at least, another delivery of food, and just in time to avoid a demonstration of nausea. By hunger, at least. Irritation was another matter.
The elf set the basket on the ground just inside with nothing more than a mild look of abhorrence, and left without a word. Petra sneered after her and collected it only once the door had closed, then again when she discovered that it contained little more than off-cuts of bread, bruised fruit and, most likely, washing water. But their stomachs churned too violently to turn their noses up at it.
Only Eyila didn't rise to collect her share. She sat in her usual straight-backed, cross-legged silence, but she was far from entranced in meditation. Instead her pale blue eyes were wide and potent. She'd been as such since they'd stepped into the vault, and with so much magic surely s
warming around them, they found her sudden change unsettling. But her eyes were thoughtful rather than concerned, a fact only Anthis noted when he brought her her food. But he didn't ask her about it.
He set the wooden plate on the floor beside her, but eyed the red-green and brown-spotted apple dubiously. "Perhaps I'm crazy," he said softly, with a smile and to no one in particular as he exchanged it for his own, slightly less-mottled fruit, "but I don't think the elves think very highly of us." He rose back to his feet, sparing her the pressure to respond, and sought to continue absorbing the stories etched into the walls. They were scarce, meagre, and for them to have been dumped in this small and unimpressive room just as they had the grove, they must have held relatively little importance. It was no doubt an effort to keep their privacy from his prying eyes, but they had underestimated his fascination, and after all Eizariin had told him, he found he was deciphering them with a more considered eye.
"What do you believe now?"
The musical voice stalled his movement before he'd managed even a step, instilling the very same shock as the first time it had graced the air. His eyes fell back down to Eyila in surprise, just as the others interrupted their unenthusiastic eating to stare from opposite sides of the room, each wondering if they'd finally begun to imagine things.
Undecided, he blinked beneath her patient stare. "Sorry?"
"When you kill." The blood drained quickly from his face as though holes had been cut into his feet. But she continued, cold and undeterred. "Garon told me you believe you're delivering the souls of the people you kill to your god so he can use them to protect the world against Zikhon. But you've just discovered that Zikhon is a saviour, not a killer."
His gaze shifted towards the others, both of whom looked back at him just as expectantly, and he forced himself with great effort to recover from the shock, if just to shake their piercing eyes. "Well," he said, quiet and flat as he took a half-step away to return to the furthest walls, "Garon told you wrong."