The Zi'veyn

by Kim Wedlock

  "Halen."

  He looked around at the destruction. This village couldn't be salvaged. It wasn't a case of draining a flood or rebuilding after a fire. Halen was finished, little more now than a black mark on a map.

  He spotted a stone archway across the fragmented square. He'd visited enough ruins lately to know on sight that it was elven, but though it stood in a better state than the surrounding village, the centre of its arc had split and the two pieces now leaned into one another, its limbs standing on opposing sides of the crevice's narrowest point. The fact that it still stood at all left a bitter taste in Rathen's mouth.

  He looked about again and rose silently to his feet, weighed down by a great sympathy for the survivors and an even greater regret for the loss of the rest.

  Kienza stepped up quietly beside him. "Affect it," she said softly. "Just let go, and affect it."

  At this sobering sight, Rathen was in no mood to argue. Despite how she'd lectured them that morning, he did feel very much to blame. He had to ensure they made some kind of progress.

  He recalled his earlier reasoning to use his magic alone rather than a spell, and he was still convinced that it was the best course of action. The magic wasn't tangible, it was similar to that in his own veins and couldn't be affected by any conventional spell. To his mind, extending this sixth, arcane sense had potential if he focused its pressure enough - and if he was wrong, Kienza would surely speak up.

  He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and emptied his mind to touch the surrounding magic.

  "Now push it," her voice brushed past his ear.

  He isolated a puddle, its existence sharpened by his increased awareness, and breathed again. His own power washed out and over it just as it had the first time he'd tried, extending like a second sense of touch to grasp the ethereal. But his effort sent not even a ripple across it. He sharpened his focus and tried harder, supplying more of his magic to strengthen his intent from a wave into a surge, but still it only slipped over the top like a swollen stream over a pebble.

  Heat shortly gripped his arm, and the slight knot of effort in his brow tightened in anxiety.

  "Push through it."

  He gritted his teeth as it began to burn, but he did as she told him. He turned his mind as far from the heat as he could and pressed his focus into his task, but its searing was persistent. As his concentration began to waver once again, so too did Kienza's soft and luring voice brush past his ear, and his determination renewed. Every part of him suddenly resonated the same thought: if he wouldn't be beaten by his curse, his illness, his loss of control, whatever his transformation was the result of, he certainly wouldn't be beaten by this.

  But as he continued to fruitlessly drown the puddle with that resolve, a small voice spoke up in the back of his mind. Perhaps it would take more than just brute magical strength to achieve this; maybe the simple reaction required finesse - but how could he focus his magic without shaping it into a spell? Kienza hadn't spoken a word against his actions yet, so he had to at least have that detail correct.

  'How would I create a spell to interact with magic?'

  'How do you usually do it?'

  The fire around his arm threatened to storm back into his mind as his concentration lapsed, but the sudden idea that had opened the gate to it equally allowed him to push it aside.

  How did he usually do it?

  He ceased his assault over the magic and drew his mind back in, focusing his attention on his own as it moved through his veins, regaining control over himself and his senses. The burning ceased in the process - she'd been right, he hadn't died even after pushing through it - and his mind began to clear.

  Then, a moment later, he reached back out. But this time, rather than throwing his magic upon it like an over-eager child, he first sought out the edges of the puddle as precisely as he could. They were cloudy, but they were there, and once he had them, he pressed his magical consciousness against them alone rather than smothering the puddle as a whole. Then he began to steadily increase its strength, but instead of forcing it all out at once and pushing harder and harder, he held it back and slowly built up the pressure behind the point of contact. His focus remained rigidly along the puddle's edge, but he spared enough attention to note its size and shape and adjusted his own to match so that it couldn't slip back over the top.

  His cuff began heating up again, but his careful optimism made it easier to ignore.

  Slowly, carefully and with the utmost control, he continued to increase the pressure until that, too, matched that of the puddle, and then, with a deep, steady and hopeful breath, he dared to exceed it.

  It was only a fraction, a raindrop in a bucket, but it was enough. Without a doubt, it moved.

  And as it did, he discovered something more within it.

  His eyes opened in shock, but of course there was nothing to see. Only Kienza nodding beside him, a satisfied smile upon her perfect face and her arms folded confidently across her ample chest. She hadn't doubted him for a moment, but he couldn't help feeling stunned by his own success, and he mumbled to himself in awe. How could he have missed this?

  "What did you find?" She asked him, though she surely already knew.

  "Spell chains," he replied, still stunned. "All of it. And they're weaving into things, affecting the place as if the spells were cast directly upon it...but they're so small, like a single word, a single intention...too small to notice until it moves... It's like--"

  "Like a thin film over a pond," she nodded. "Not even your friends in the Order would have noticed this. But what do these 'words' say?"

  He turned towards her and couldn't help his victory from forming a smile. "Beauty, for the most part. Which explains why every site was so..." His eyebrow twitched in puzzlement as a thought hit him. He'd found no chain of 'peace', and yet it was certainly here... He glanced back towards Kienza to see if she was still looking at him in expectation, but she'd become distracted by a firefly, a somehow fitting visitor to this tragic site.

  "You knew all of this," he said softly, smiling while she held her finger out for the furry insect to land upon. "Why do you insist on holding back?"

  "Because it keeps you interested," she smiled slyly. "And because you need to take every step yourself if you're going to put a spell together."

  His eyes narrowed in suspicion, but his smile remained. "You're very adamant that I'm going to need to do so. Will we find the artefact?"

  "Who knows? But you'll still need to understand this magic if you do. You won't be able to use the artefact against it otherwise."

  "You're holding something back again."

  She dropped her hand as the insect flew off, and she gave him another roguish smile. "I'll tell you what," she began, her hips swaying as she walked languidly towards him, "if you stop asking, I won't hold back for the rest of the night." He frowned at the contradiction, but the thought slipped from his mind as she stopped just inches away from him, her piercing eyes grasping and holding his gaze as if they'd cast a spell upon him. "Do with that what you will."

  He didn't need a moment to think about it. Her stare had captured him - he was more at her mercy than the tiny, vulnerable firefly would ever have been.

  He leaned in and kissed her, and he knew the moment his lips met hers that their surroundings had changed once again. But as she pressed herself against him, he didn't give that much thought either. Instead he lay her down on the blankets that were always spread out over the grass beside the lake that seemed unmarked on any map and ran his hands over her perfect body. He kissed her neck and felt her pulse quicken, pressed himself against her as her warm, deep breath passed his ear, and felt his own heart jump as she trailed her hand down his spine, her touch humming with magic. He smiled and moved down to her collar bone, and for the first time since he'd set out from the scowles almost two months ago, he felt every tension release, every concern slip away, and he felt the closest to happy as he'd been in as long as he could remember.

  Ch
apter 31

  "Kienza didn't come back to say goodbye last night," Sula pouted as they ate their breakfast around the doused campfire. She pushed the porridge around in the bowl and her lower lip extended even further. "I wanted to show her something."

  Rathen shuffled guiltily. In truth, he couldn't remember returning, himself. The last he'd known he'd been drifting off beneath the stars with her in his arms, and the next he was back under his blankets and Aria was shaking him awake from the best night's sleep he'd had in weeks. He wasn't even sure how much of the night had actually happened - his only certainty was that he had dreamt the visit to the familiar, peaceful forest, lit by the golden morning sun, and just as every time before, a mild tranquillity lingered over him through breakfast, turning him calmer and more contemplative - though his thoughts on that particular morning were still with Kienza.

  "What did you want to show her?" Petra asked, who Aria had informed him had looked after her well and taught her how to wield a stick-sword, though she added that she'd been made to promise not to tell him about that, so he'd been sworn to secrecy in turn.

  The little girl pursed her lips as if that, too, was a great secret. "My drawings," she said eventually, and Rathen looked up with a flash of hurt in his eyes.

  "Why does she get to see them and not me?"

  "Because I need her help," she replied stiffly, then turned back to her porridge, refusing to speak any more of it.

  Rathen grumbled and shook his head, then glanced across to the edge of the camp where Garon stood in silence. He was about to look away again and ask Anthis if he'd made any progress with the ditchling's notes he had yet to tear himself away from, but a small, quick movement renewed his attention.

  A sparrow flew from Garon's hands.

  "Word from the Hall?" Rathen asked, recognising the body's subtle yet trademark messenger as the inquisitor started back over, folding the small piece of parchment it had carried. Petra looked up sharply.

  "Yes, but nothing relevant to us. A long-term case has just been closed. We're under standing orders to look out for certain things whether it's our case or not, and when such a matter is closed, so is that line of observation."

  "What was the case?"

  He cast Petra his usual disapproving glance. "Classified."

  "Of course it is."

  "Did you finish planning our route?" Anthis asked as they began tidying up and Aria hurriedly licked her bowl clean.

  "It's more or less as the crow flies, but if we're going to this ruin you've suggested, we're going to need to speak to the wind tribe first which means taking a detour north-west. Otherwise, there's little between here and the other side of the desert we'll have to avoid."

  "What about food?" Rathen asked warily.

  "Anthis picked up plenty from Oak Knoll last night. We'll have to ration, but we should have enough to last us for three weeks. That should get us through the desert."

  "Uh-huh. And water?"

  All eyes shifted onto the inquisitor.

  "There's a river at the edge of the mountains, the last reliable source along our way. If you can conjure containers when we reach it, we can carry a great deal of water with us - but that will have to be rationed, too."

  "What about from here, though?" Anthis pressed as Aria took the collected bowls from his hands, distracted in his urgency. "Are we heading straight north?"

  "I understand your concerns, but the bandits in this forest have already been removed."

  "Bandits?" Petra frowned. "So close to the border?"

  "Borders don't come into it," the young man replied, his face strangely aged in worry. "Of all the elven cities still standing, Tarun is the most impressive, which makes it an obvious target for both theft and research. Historians and looters visit from all across the continent, and any who come down from the north have to pass through this forest to get back home. Bandits lie in wait near the northernmost edge, just far enough from the ruins for travellers to drop their guard and get comfortable with their prizes."

  "They let them do the hard work and rob them on the way out." Petra nodded. "Clever." She looked towards Garon as she kicked apart the firewood, ensuring nothing was left smouldering. "But they're gone, you say?"

  "Arrested quite recently. I overheard it in Carenna."

  "Well, I'm relieved to hear that," Anthis sighed. "I've had a couple of run-ins with them myself."

  "You have? How did you manage to get out of that?"

  "Well I carry a knife for a reason," he retorted unappreciatively, "but they weren't idiots. They were the type to hold you up and strike a bargain rather than out-right attack you - it usually involved handing everything over for your life, but they generally didn't waste their time on anything that couldn't turn a quick profit. Parchment and research didn't interest them so I usually left with everything, scrolls and myself, in tact."

  "But if they let people go, then people could tell on them," Aria pointed out. "That's not very clever."

  "Which is presumably exactly how they got caught." Garon straightened. "We'll be fine. Let's head out. We should reach the edge of the forest just after midday and the mountains by nightfall."

  Aria frowned and looked up searchingly through the roof of leaves.

  The horses had been stabled with Anthis's errands in the village. They weren't made for deserts, and their fleeting lease had been made pointless thanks to Kienza's interference, so, despite the aches that still raked through Rathen's body, they set out on foot with their bags and bed rolls slung heavily over their backs. But such convenience had robbed them of their chance to adjust to the changing landscape, which was already dry and thinning, and left their minds burdened by thoughts of heat and featureless landscapes they were simply not prepared for, and the savage people they were expected not only to encounter but to reason with. There was little enthusiasm as they trudged through the forest; not one of them looked forward to finding its edge.

  Though when an unforeseen delay arrived to oblige their hesitation, none of them welcomed that, either.

  They'd been marching for not twenty minutes when the slightest rustle drew Petra's attention. She slowed and frowned, looking through the soft shade and narrow, generously-spaced tree trunks that lined the edge of the path, scanning the ground and the rocks for whatever small creature lurked among them. But she found nothing. She grunted to herself. It must have been the wind - even if it was barely a whisper.

  Her eyes returned to the vaguely beaten track, but the brief scrape and rustle rose again from the other side, and instinct compelled her to reach for her sword.

  In that instant, the forest around them erupted into life; bushes and rocks leapt from their positions, sprouting arms, legs and daggers, and launched themselves upon the group with a shrill, blood-curdling cry.

  For a heartbeat, shock paralysed them, but in that stunned half-second all eyes thundered as one upon the inquisitor, each bearing the same dismay and betrayed trust as the last.

  Petra's sword arm moved by itself, whipping around and blocking with the flat of her own the blade that sought to pierce her, and the sharp, ringing contact snapped them all back to attention. Garon braced his sword and deflected similar blows, having drawn it as readily as she, while Rathen raised his hands in preparation and Anthis pulled Aria close.

  Bandits - with an alarming skill for disguise. The clouds of dust that followed their ambush immediately betrayed their methods. Covering themselves in the sand of ground-down stones along with cloaks made of grass and thorns, they'd balled themselves up and waited just paces from the faintly worn trail, becoming part of the landscape. It had taken preparation, which meant they'd known they were coming, and as soon as they'd had them surrounded, they'd pounced, shrieking to make the most of the element of surprise.

  And it was clear that they were not about to propose a trade. They were vicious, their eyes brimming with the intent to kill. These bandits had no intentions of ending up like the previous gang.

  They fell upon them
ferociously, but Rathen immediately buffeted them away, ignoring the anticipated burn around his arm as he released his spell, embracing the confidence of the previous night's success. But the path was tight, no doubt the very reason the bandits had chosen it, and it would be all too easy to catch the others in his attacks - in fact, though he didn't notice at the time, he clipped Petra in his second flurry, but she'd been quick and graceful enough to regain her balance against it. A substantial magical attack was out of the question.

  And yet, somehow, despite the cramped conditions, both duelist and inquisitor were still able to swing their swords and hit only their intended targets. For a moment it even seemed that the two could take on the six attackers between them, but an audible pop and yelp of surprise quickly smothered that idea.

  With his attention focused on wearing down the two that sought to shatter his defence, Garon was attacked from behind by one of three newcomers, reinforcements who had almost certainly been waiting for their comrades to spring the trap before adding to the chaos themselves. Petra only just managed to slip in between him and his original adversaries as his sword arm was snatched and wrenched behind him, and with a swift backwards kick she disengaged Garon's new assailant, leaving him clear for Rathen to handle.

  Then, as abruptly as they'd appeared, they scattered, their aggression muted by panic and instinct when the mage opted to throw searing fire instead of wind, and the brief but intense attack subsided - making way for another.

  Even before the sound of their frenzied, fleeing steps had faded, Rathen whirled upon the inquisitor, his eyes blazing in rage while Petra and Anthis stared with a more sober but equally grave condemnation. He closed the distance between them in a flash. "You said they were gone!"

  Garon raised his chin defiantly, maintaining his ground, his eyes void of vulnerability even as he clutched at his arm. His usual superiority reigned. "How was I supposed to know that others would be so quick to move into their place?"