“Where?”
“I do not know. Inside. Earth floor. No identifying marks.”
A snapped-off sound told Zachary’s feelings on that. He rose, paced restlessly, the other ‘kin careful to avoid his gaze. Arrow remained still in the snow, sipping more water, and ignoring the growing damp at her knees as snow melted.
“This is what killed Marianne,” Matthias commented after a while. He was now fully clothed, Tamara just behind him, her hand resting lightly on his arm.
“Yes,” Arrow agreed, though it had not been a question. She gripped the flask hard enough that her knuckles turned white. “I do not think I should examine that thing further.” She could not even look at the crossbow.
“No,” Matthias agreed with a soft, unexpected laugh. “Not a good idea.”
“Destroy it.” Zachary was back.
“Burning will work. Mage fire,” Arrow clarified. “I will need a branch or something to light.”
A few moments later Tamara brought a short, thick branch, still damp from snow. Exchanging the flask for the branch, Arrow dug deep for some power and called mage fire to the end of the branch. When the branch’s tip was white hot she shuffled forward and dropped the branch over the bone weapon, speaking the commands to extend the fire. Her nose was bleeding again, and she was unsteady as she got back to her feet, the bone weapon reduced to ash.
“Bury it,” Zachary told Con, who nodded and set about his task. “Burn the baelthras and bury that too.” Tamara took a small flask of something with a hazard label on its side and tramped across the snow to where the remains of the baelthras lay.
Arrow followed the Prime as he paced a short distance from the remains of the weapon, guessing he had more to say to her.
“Mage fire.” Voice flat, eyes glittering with power. And she had nothing to defend herself with. Mage fire had been used against the shifkin by the Erith often in their shared, bloody, history. Wielded only by battle mages, who the ‘kin generally killed on sight.
“She’s a war mage.” Matthias was equally unhappy. In name only, Arrow thought. She had all the necessary qualifications, but the Erith would never deploy her in battle. Had not even allowed her a cloak. The Erith were not concerned that the thought of battle made her stomach churn, they were only concerned with her impure bloodline and discordant power.
“Why have the Erith sent you?” the Prime asked. His question was underpinned by his power, unleashed to curl around her, trying to hold her still and compel answers from her. She almost told him that that, in spite of her current weakness, it did not work on her, keeping that information back, a possible, slender, advantage for a future date.
“I am disposable to the Erith.” The old bitterness in her voice apparently convinced him, his face relaxing a fraction. It was the truth, too, which helped.
“It takes at least fifteen years to train a war mage, and they would just dispose of you?”
Her laugh was a sharp sound that took her by surprise. “Most easily, Prime, I assure you.”
Fifteen years was a long time in human terms, but ‘kin and Erith lived long lives. Fifteen years was a blink to Seggerat vo Regersfel or Eimille vel Falsen, or the Preceptor. It had felt like a long time to Arrow, the longest part of her life that she could remember, most of it under oath-spells and collared.
“Foolish.” A damning assessment, but whether of her or the Erith she could not tell. “They didn’t give you a cloak, did they?”
Her eyes flew up and she met his gaze full on, her startled, him assessing. The Prime knew far too much about the Erith and their ways. No, she did not have a war mage’s cloak. Fabric woven with additional protections to guard a mage at his work, the cloaks were crafted in secrecy somewhere in the Erith heartland and given to every war mage on their graduation. Every mage but one.
She could not speak to answer him, but he did not need an answer, tipping his chin in acknowledgement. A blush coursed across her face, another small humiliation among the others from the Erith. She looked down and away.
“She could harm us,” Matthias spoke past her. She held herself still, wishing she was not there, at the mercy of the ‘kin who had less reason than the Erith to keep her alive.
Zachary’s face had no softness as he looked at her. She set her jaw, stubbornly silent. She wanted to live, the wish a burn in her veins. But she had not begged the Erith, had not given them a weakness to exploit. She would not beg the shifkin.
“No,” Zachary’s voice was cool, “we need her a while longer.”
Matthias nodded, accepting the Prime’s order. Arrow did not relax. A while longer could mean anything from a day to a year, or just until they tracked down Marianne’s killer.
CHAPTER 12
The ‘kin were letting her live but had their own dead to deal with. Arrow stood as still and quiet as she could whilst Tamara and Con, their grim tasks complete, wrapped Jace’s body in a groundsheet. As they were doing that Matthias had a low-voiced conversation with his father then made a series of calls on a compact radio telephone that he had retrieved from one of the packs, the antenna extending so that it rose high above his head. No mobile phone towers on Farraway Mountain, Arrow remembered.
Zachary crouched in shadows between trees, hunter-still, even his face in shadow, giving away none of his thoughts. Peeking into second sight, Arrow could see the muster ties quivering, distress clear. The entire muster had felt Jace die, and all that distress was coursing back towards Zachary. A rare glimpse into the working of muster magic and she was fascinated, despite the circumstances.
When Jace was ready, the Prime rose silently, went forward and lifted the body carefully across his shoulders, movements controlled and oddly gentle. Once he had Jace settled he walked away from the site. Tamara and Con took up the packs without comment, Con holding one of his arms tight across his front, fist clenched as they followed the Prime, leaving Matthias to limp in their wake. They were all damaged.
Arrow followed them at a careful distance, not wanting to interfere. She was shaky from the aftermath of battle, her mind skipping over a hundred details, most unimportant, like the curl of Tamara’s hair in the wind, the slit in the sleeve of the Prime’s coat, white foam a sharp contrast to the red, the growing damp along Matthias’ leg below the makeshift bandage, the square set of Con’s shoulders, the absolute limpness of Jace’s body, so carefully carried. And her inability to shape the words for the simplest condolence.
Her body tired as they walked, her mind slowed, and her brain woke up. The magician had hidden from her senses, only the dislocation from his transportation spell alerting her. Without that alert, he could have walked beside them, close enough to touch, and she would not have sensed him. Could have killed them all with the crossbow and its invisible ammunition. The near-miss made her lightheaded and shaky again.
She would not name the likely sources of its power, even in her own mind, skin crawling at the possibilities. The Erith forbade unclean magic. The Academy recognised that it was too much temptation for some, the possibility of near-endless power, and armed their war mages accordingly. War mages were expected to stand against horror and had far too much knowledge of it. Something unspeakable had been done to create that weapon. And the home the weapon had dragged her to. Even now, walking among the fresh bite of winter air, her lungs remembered the heavy fetid air and the stench of rot. Clamping her jaw shut as her teeth rattled she blinked, clearing her eyes.
The magician could be any race, powered by sacrifice and the unclean practice that made things like that crossbow. And that meant that anyone could be responsible for Marianne’s death. Anyone. Erith. Zachary. Other ‘kin. Humans. There were lesser races, too.
And she was no closer to understanding why. There had been not one clue so far as to what Marianne had been doing on the mountain, or how she had got here when she lived in Lix.
Arrow’s toe caught on something under the surface of the snow and she stumbled, unable to stop a short sound of pain as her still-h
ealing ribs jolted. Eyes watering, she kept walking.
The silence was interrupted by a high-pitched tone and Matthias answered the telephone, carried in a sling across his body, expression lightening fractionally.
“Back-up is at the bottom of the hunter’s trail, Pa. Should be here soon.”
“Good.” The Prime’s voice was muffled by Jace’s body.
“Hunter’s trail?” The question was out before Arrow was aware she had spoken.
“We’re going to regroup,” Matthias told her, glancing across, shadows under his eyes. His leg wound must be worse than he was showing, she realised, seeing the pinch around his mouth.
“I am sorry about Jace,” she managed to say, finally, voice catching.
“As are we.” Matthias nodded acceptance. “He was a good soldier.” High praise, from the ‘kin’s enforcer.
“Here,” Tamara interrupted them, handing out packets of snacks. She was more subdued than Arrow had ever seen her, shadows of her own across her face. Not wounded, Arrow thought, at least not in body. Another loss to add to the day’s total.
“Trail’s just ahead,” Matthias noted.
If she had not spent several days hiking across wild land, Arrow would never have noticed the trail, but the narrow, flattish, strip of land that wound down the slope in front of them was almost definitely a trail and was already occupied.
“That belonged to Marianne,” Arrow said in surprise, second sight showing her the trail leading right to the awkward snow-covered shape.
“Tamara, Matt, see what it is,” Zachary ordered, moving a little away and setting Jace’s body down with as much care as he had gathered him up.
Shedding her pack, Tamara went to help Matthias brushing snow off the shape, revealing an odd, squat vehicle which looked, to Arrow, to be little more than four fat tyres, an engine, and a seat.
“ATV. Well, it seems she didn’t run across the whole mountain,” Zachary noted.
“Your pardon. ATV?” Arrow framed the letters carefully.
“All-terrain vehicle,” he answered, to her surprise. “That’s not one of ours, is it?” this last directed at Matthias.
“No. It’s got a rental tag on it. From that waystation on the Hallveran road.”
Arrow’s mind snagged on that but before she could ask any of the half dozen questions in her mind, a noise drew her attention. The quiet rumble of vehicle engines, coming towards them. From the way the ‘kin were standing it was clear that they had already heard them, their hearing, like their sight, far better than her own.
She kept quiet and still as the convoy of large, sleek vehicles arrived and produced a dozen ‘kin, male and female, all dressed for combat rather than a winter hike, each of whom paused a moment in front of Jace to bow their heads in a quiet moment of respect before moving to obey commands from Matthias and the Prime.
In short order the vehicles were turned about to head down the mountain, filling the clean mountain air with exhaust fumes, tyres churning up the once-pristine snow, the ATV attached to the back of one, Con’s arm bound, Matthias’ leg more carefully bandaged, Jace’s body wrapped in sheets brought for that purpose, the whole group gathered into the vehicles and headed down the mountain.
Arrow sank back into the cushioned seat with a small sigh, not caring who heard. She was wedged between two heavily armed ‘kin in the back of a vehicle with the Prime in the front passenger seat, another unfamiliar ‘kin driving. The Prime had taken a call on the radio phone and from the little Arrow could gather between the bouncing of the vehicle and the prickling hostility of the ‘kin, Zachary was not happy with whatever he was being told.
CHAPTER 13
Whatever the detail of the conversation had been, when Zachary had ended his call yesterday, he had simply told her that one of the Taellan was coming to visit the Hall the next day. They had finished the journey to the Hall in silence, Arrow not daring any question under the glares of the ‘kin guarding her.
They had arrived in darkness, so Arrow had not been able to see much of the Hall, a huge building at least two storeys tall and several times as wide, built entirely from wood and clad in timber strips from giant trees, windows at irregular intervals glinting in the limited light. Typical of the ‘kin, Arrow had thought, at the few glimpses of the building she had managed when she arrived. It looked quite plain, yet the craftsmanship was masterful, each part joined perfectly to the next, and the oddly placed windows were in fact a strategic advantage, blocking an outsider from a clear view of the interior while allowing the inhabitants to see out. The Hall had stood for many years before Zachary had been Prime, originally a neutral point for different musters to meet and now the official meeting place for the ‘kin, and the place where they received outside visitors.
Thanks to the human news media, Arrow knew that Marianne Stillwater’s funeral had been held here, and she was now buried in the large cemetery that stretched along the hillside above the Hall. Unseen in the dark, Arrow could still feel the pull of the wards that guarded the cemetery and kept the dead safe and sleeping. There had been no time to do more than glance about, getting an impression of other buildings around about, and many, armed, ‘kin, before she was bundled into the Hall and along a seemingly endless corridor.
Even the hostility could not stop her falling dead asleep after she had been shown to a small, plainly furnished bedroom in the old wooden building that, however masterfully built, still creaked with every step, its old wards a reassuring presence that sent her to sleep without dreams.
It was only stumbling awake at the knock at the door that she had been given her pack back and had dug out the Erith clothing she had included as an after-thought. Seeing the creases had made her wonder if she would be better dressing in human clothes, that thought dismissed as soon as it had occurred. She did not know which of the Taellan was on their way to visit the Prime and did not wish to incur additional punishment. So, she straightened her Erith clothing as best she could, further dismayed to find that she had somehow misplaced about a dozen hairpins, leaving her unruly hair in danger of falling out of the few pins she had found.
She waited outside the Hall for the Taellan to arrive, stomach churning, shifting as discreetly as she could from foot to foot in a useless effort to warm her toes. One foot was wet from a newly-discovered hole in her boot. The Erith servants’ wear was inadequate protection both from the cold and the sharp breeze that ran around the Hall. And she was not prepared for whatever might happen next.
No explanation for why the Taellan was here, and no message for her with any additional commands. Something had happened since she had left the Taellaneth, serious enough that they had sent one of their own number. Someone who was not disposable to the Erith, she thought, bitterness sour in her own mind. Thinking back to the attacks of the day before she wondered if the magician had come to the notice of the Taellan elsewhere, and how long it would be before the Chief Scribe decided that she was responsible for that, too.
The ‘kin around her tensed, coming alert, snapping her attention back to the here and now. A few moments later she saw the gleam of metal along the straight road that led to the Hall and the surrounding buildings. It was a good-sized village, in fact, complete with a small general store and chapel, laid out with no design and all built with the understated plainness that characterised most ‘kin buildings.
The gleam of metal grew larger, resolving into a long convoy of vehicles, very like the ones that the ‘kin had used on the mountain the day before. Sleek, black, with no insignia or any markers that would identify them as Erith in the first world, the vehicles bristled with wards in the second world, a swirl of familiar Erith magic.
The vehicles drew to a precise, coordinated stop and doors opened, White Guard in dress uniforms stepping out in smooth movements that spoke of much practice.
Hidden among the ‘kin for the moment, Arrow could not help admire the sight. The White Guard’s dress uniform was a soft grey sewn with silver threads of rank and merit
, the warriors’ hair worn long and loose in deference to the ceremonial occasion. Their coats might look decorative, but Arrow had held one once and knew they were weighted with armour, and ward spells. Her brows lifted as she assessed the braids the cadre displayed. One of the highest ranked cadres available, she would guess, their leader a tall female warrior with a reputation for fairness.
With the White Guard out, the final doors were opened in the middle of the convoy just as the double doors of the Hall behind her were opened, and Lord Juinis vo Halsfeld stepped out into winter, dressed sombrely, for him, in a velvet burgundy coat with matching breeches, his knee length boots polished to a mirror shine, froth of white lace at his throat and wrists. He was accompanied by a pair from his House, servants dressed in a similar manner to Arrow, with much less creasing, and displaying their House colour, a pale lilac, as a sash. Arrow frowned slightly. One of the servants was a scribe, perhaps here to record his master’s adventures. The other she did not know.
As Lord Juinis stepped towards the Hall, Zachary appeared at the open doors, dressed more formally than she had ever seen him, in a dark navy suit that would have looked at home in any Lix boardroom. No tie, of course, a human device that the ‘kin disliked. He was flanked by Matthias and Tamara, both dressed for combat rather than boardrooms.
The occasion was one for the history books. Juinis’ scribe was looking about herself with wide eyes while trying to keep a solemn expression, no doubt taking everything in and already imagining the description she would write. The human media would be in a frenzy if they had been here, Arrow thought sourly. The Taellan had been represented at Marianne’s funeral, of course, but as far as she knew this was the first face-to-face private meeting of any member of the Taellan and the Prime, at least since the peace treaties had been signed. There had been several truly disastrous meetings of high-ranking Erith and high-ranking ‘kin before the peace, which had simply led to more conflict. Here, despite the weapons on display, both ‘kin and Erith were keeping calm, with the relaxed alertness she associated with warriors on duty.
Taellaneth Complete Series Box Set Page 12