Taellaneth Complete Series Box Set

by Vanessa Nelson

  “Even so.” The warrior nodded. “The shifkin have taken details and will deal with the human authorities to make notifications. The same story as with the dead in the underground. Remains cannot be returned. A misuse of magic was the tale told. And us on the hunt for the perpetrator.”

  “A fair story,” Arrow said. It was close enough to the truth. It was also likely to draw keen interest from the human media when they heard of it.

  “The Taellaneth is monitoring the media,” the warrior added, her thoughts clearly travelling in the same direction.

  “Good.”

  “Was there any connection found between the dead?” the Prime asked, Xeveran providing a translation.

  “Not so far,” Kallish answered.

  “It would be helpful to see if there is a connection between the dead, here and at the underground.” Arrow broke into the discussion whilst they were each pleased with themselves. Orlis was following matters with wide eyes, listening and observing for all he was worth. Arrow wondered what he would report back to Gilean vo Presien after the day was done.

  “We can look into it.” Zachary looked down at the headless body. “They are well preserved,” he commented, doubtless remembering another body that had been well preserved.

  “A trace of spell work,” Arrow confirmed his suspicion, “laid by a magic user.” Who she could still not identify, she reminded herself, temper rousing again. She looked around. There seemed to be no more power at work, and nothing more to learn here. And yet the experience of being watched through dead eyes had unsettled her.

  “We should discuss any other matters outside,” she suggested, realising that enough secrets had been spilled near the dead, not surprised when the others agreed at once. They walked in silence to the chill outdoors. Across the road, the shifkin were searching, some in their animal forms, padding silently on four paws, larger and far deadlier than the wolves that humans often compared them to. White Guard were scattered here and there, seeming at random, but their weapons were ready.

  “Food and rest,” Kallish prescribed abruptly as they left the building, startling her. The warrior was looking at her with narrowed eyes. “You worked day and night, mage, and are injured again. Useless until you are healed a little.” Arrow opened her mouth, to say what she had no idea, and was rescued by Matthias.

  “It’s going to take us a while to get the identifications and notifications set up.”

  “I need more information from the Academy,” Arrow said, sluggish mind catching up, frowning, “if the lady and the other magic users involved can walk into this other realm, we need to know more.”

  “It explains how they were able to escape before,” Zachary agreed, frowning, casting a quick glance around as though expecting more invisible magicians to appear.

  “One can move more quickly in that realm.” A glimmer of an idea was forming. There would be a trail to follow.

  “Food and rest,” Kallish said again, sternly, “and then a way to bring us into the realm, too.” Arrow suppressed a sigh; somehow the warrior knew the direction of her thoughts.

  “I do not know if that is possible.”

  “Then ask the Archivists to find out,” the warrior said implacably.

  “And the Preceptor needs to answer some questions.” The Prime was equally implacable, a glint in his eyes that promised trouble if he did not get his answers.

  “I agree.” Arrow shocked her Erith companions, but drew a slight smile from Zachary. He was thinking hard, she saw, and wondered, with a slight sinking sensation, what might result from that.

  “We should speak with the Preceptor,” Orlis suggested. “Back to the Academy?” he asked uncertainly.

  “See if the Preceptor is in residence, please,” Arrow requested. He looked surprised, but did not question her, moving a little distance away to activate one of the communication disks from his satchel.

  Arrow, Kallish, Matthias and Zachary passed the time by exchanging information about the dead who had been found at the underground, and what they knew of those found in the warehouse, carefully avoiding discussions about other realms and treacherous Teaching Mistresses. There were more limbs than they had bodies, so the shifkin had taken photographs and numerous samples for forensic analysis from the underground and would do the same here. They would search the human databases and see how many dead they could give name to. It was a depressingly long list all the same, and a diverse group who at first glance had nothing in common.

  By the time Orlis returned, frowning, they were discussing possible intersections for the group of dead. One glance at the young mage’s face confirmed Arrow’s suspicion.

  “The Preceptor has left, has he not?”

  “How did you know?” he asked, astonished.

  “He knows more than he has revealed,” Arrow repeated her earlier assertion, uneasy feeling churning her stomach. He knew a lot more than he had revealed, and only something vital would take him away from his residence now, with Vailla at the Taellaneth.

  “The clerk who answered said he had taken a small satchel, dressed in travel clothes, and opened a portal. He did not know where to.”

  “Someone will need to review his papers.” Arrow could not hide her distaste.

  “The Erith will be reluctant to investigate,” Zachary pointed out, a quiet understatement that drew a sharp sideways look from Kallish.

  “They will require proof before they look for proof,” she agreed. The Prime had a plan, she was sure. And a wise person would be far from the Erith when he revealed his plan.

  “You will return to the Academy?”

  “Yes. A little later,” she said, seeing no reason to conceal that.

  “I will contact you later to learn your findings,” Zachary promised, nodded his head to the warrior and left without further ceremony. Arrow stared at his back for a moment, wondering what the ‘kin’s leader had planned. His mind was working on something, she was sure.

  CHAPTER 12

  She was pulled from sleep far too few hours later, Xeveran coming to wake her. She could not make sense of his words at first, thick-headed and bleary, sore from various wounds, a line of pain running up her back where she had collided with the wooden partition in the warehouse. The tight expression on Xeveran’s face held back her questions. The warrior had faced surjusi with less outward concern. A lifetime of habit had her up and dressed before her brain had fully come to life.

  She came fully awake only when she was settled beside Kallish in the back of one of the Erith vehicles, abruptly wondering what further use the Erith had for her now, in her exile. Kallish’s face was as tight as Xeveran’s, the warrior tapping an impatient rhythm on the arm rest of the door. Orlis was settled in the front passenger seat, pelting the driver with a dozen questions, none of which seemed to be answered.

  “Svegraen?” Arrow asked Kallish.

  “We are summoned, all of us, to the Taellaneth, with all haste,” the warrior answered, voice clipped. “That is all I know.”

  Flashing lights outside disturbed Arrow for a moment and she blinked, realising that they were surrounded by humans on motorcycles, garish livery and the blue and red lights denoting human law enforcement. Erith rarely wished to make such a fuss. A cavalcade escorted through the city would draw a lot of attention.

  “For what reason?”

  “None was given.”

  Apprehension coiled through her as she considered a number of scenarios. A reversion of her exile. The Preceptor’s return, with news. The Taellan wanting a report. Very possibly the latter. The Taellan were not known for their patience and she had no doubt they would overlook her exile when it was convenient to them. But the escort of human law enforcement vehicles suggested something more. The Erith did not like calling on humans for aid.

  To keep her mind off the prospect of the facing the Taellan again, she turned the subject. “I thank you and your cadre for the clothing, svegraen. It is most fine.”

  “It seemed more suitable than your p
revious garments,” the warrior commented, not looking at her. As with many of Kallish’s comments, it was not an insult, just the warrior’s observation. Arrow appreciated the honesty.

  Her mouth twisted in a rueful smile as she glanced down at the clothing. In truth, fine was an understatement for the clothing Xeveran had left for her. A long-sleeved tunic and some trousers, the Erith wear was not new, but finer than anything the Taellaneth laundry mistress had provided for the awkward half-breed resident. The fabric was densely woven, with subtle detailing at the sleeve cuffs, and straight, even, seams, each stitch perfectly placed despite the fact it was handmade. Even though all trace of House markings and personal identifiers had been removed, it was evident that the tunic and trousers had been carefully and lovingly made by warriors’ Houses. Perhaps by mothers, or aunts, proud of their kin, and wanting something to keep their family members warm and comfortable when not on duty. The clothing was odd against her plain, serviceable, human-made boots, scuffed toes peeking out beneath the perfectly straight trouser hems. She did not care. She was already regretting the future necessity of handing the clothing back and hoped that Kallish understood how grateful she truly was for the consideration.

  There was no further conversation until they arrived at the Taellaneth, their human escort sliding expertly away, motorcyclist’s heads turning as they rode to better see this gateway to the Erith.

  Decanted from the vehicles, Arrow saw at once why the motorcyclists had been so interested. Both the great gates to the Taellaneth, usually solid barriers against the world, had been swung open, permitting outsiders a rare, precious glimpse at the Erith land beyond. Just beyond the gate a series of carriages, harnessed to tall, Erith horses, waited, along with a set of dark vehicles she was certain she knew.

  “The Prime is here,” she said in surprise. Kallish seemed equally surprised but recovered rapidly.

  “Indeed. This may explain the haste.”

  “We should keep making haste,” Arrow suggested, walking rapidly through the gates. The White Guard on duty, an entire cadre rather than the one or two pairs normally stationed there, twitched as she passed but made no other move.

  “Svegraen.” A slender Erith in middle years bowed slightly before the group, clearly addressing Kallish. “I am sent to conduct you to the main hall.” One of the Steward’s assistants, Arrow thought, a woman she had not spoken with before.

  “All of us?” Orlis asked, eyes bright.

  Kallish considered the journeyman for a long moment, line between her brows. Orlis tilted his head, unexpected mischief playing across his face.

  “You do not think the elder would welcome me to the main hall?” he asked, laughing outright at Kallish’s gathering scowl.

  Arrow tipped her head, confused.

  “After you learn some manners, young thing,” Kallish said at length, voice clipped, “and not before. I am sure there are things to occupy you in the Academy.”

  Orlis grinned, unrepentant, and made a mocking half-bow before he turned and strolled away.

  “Now,” Kallish turned to the Steward’s assistant, patiently waiting, “you may take us to the main hall.” The warrior waved Arrow forward to one of the carriages. Lifting her brows a little, both at the imperious command and at the thought of being carried the relatively short distance to the main building, still wondering what Orlis had done to so annoy the elder, Arrow climbed into the carriage, sinking into the comfortable seat. Moments later the carriage surged forward, the Erith horses stretched to their maximum pace for the short journey.

  Arriving at the main doors she found they were close behind the shifkin group. Not just Zachary Farraway, she saw, but a collection of other shifkin, some of whom she did not know, picking their rank in the hierarchy from their posture and proximity to their Prime. Both Andrew and Matthias Farraway were there. While Matthias acted as the shifkin’s enforcer, Andrew was in charge of their finances and the least intimidating ‘kin Arrow had ever met. Andrew was close behind his father in a position he would not normally occupy in a shifkin gathering, making Arrow wonder just what the Prime had planned.

  Zachary had stopped, apparently to admire the sculpture outside the main doors, but from the keen glance he sent her she wondered if he had been waiting until everyone he wanted was there.

  “A magnificent piece,” he commented, coming to stand beside her. They were facing the war mage, his gaze going over their heads, hand lifted in spell casting.

  “The title is Fallen not Forgotten. A depiction of the final third of White Guard and the war mage who held back the last incursion on Erith lands.”

  “And died for it.” The undertone to his voice suggested a deeper knowledge or meaning she could not catch. She did not think she would ever fully know Zachary Farraway.

  A tall, elderly Erith male in plain clothing interrupted them. The Taellaneth Steward. He bowed low, making a lovely speech, in Court Erith, welcoming the Prime. There was a short, awkward pause, the Steward’s face displaying an unusual flush, as the Erith realised that there was no official translator. Xeveran was holding his position within his cadre. With an inward sigh, feeling as though she were stepping back into a role she had thought was behind her, Arrow took a step forward, made a proper bow to the Prime, and a shallower one to the Taellaneth Steward.

  “If it pleases you, I can translate, Prime,” she offered.

  “That would be welcome,” he said, tilting his head in an unmistakable gesture of respect, “Lady Arrow.” The title was close enough between Erith and the common tongue that everyone understood. None of the shifkin, sensitive to body posture in a way the Erith would never be, would miss the Steward’s flinch at the use of a title for her.

  “The Taellaneth Steward, Lord Messian, bids you welcome to the Taellaneth on behalf of their glorious majesties and the Taellan. He regrets that not all the Taellan are present to receive you, however arrangements have been made for your comfort, and that of your companions, in the Receiving Hall, if you would be so kind as to follow the Steward.” Arrow paused, glancing at the statue that had apparently held Zachary’s interest. “The Steward is also well-versed in the origin of all the art work in the Taellaneth, if you would like to know more.”

  “The Taellan are on their way?” Zachary asked in return, a certain hardness in his face promising something unpleasant if he did not get an answer he liked. The thoughtful ‘kin who had admired the statue was gone, replaced entirely by the undisputed ruler of his people. He needed no crown or decoration to proclaim his authority.

  “As we speak, Prime,” Arrow confirmed, not needing to ask further.

  “Lead on.”

  “Prime.” She bowed, relayed the command in Erith to the Steward, and fell into step a discreet few paces from him, conscious of Kallish’s cadre spreading out around them, weapons prudently stowed away.

  Pages scampered ahead of the Steward, who led them at a carefully measured pace along the main corridor, clearly both to give due respect to the momentous occasion of the shifkin ruler visiting the Taellaneth, even unannounced, and also to give his staff time to properly arrange the room. Arrow would place a considerable amount of money on a bet that behind the Receiving Hall’s doors the Taellaneth staff were sweeping away imaginary dust and cobwebs, for all the rooms in the building were kept spotless, and ensuring that fresh flowers and foliage were arranged in suitable vases, whilst the kitchens would have been scrambled from their early afternoon rest to prepare an offering fit for a king. The Erith might believe that the shifkin were little more than beasts, but the Erith would never allow themselves to be found wanting in their exquisite taste and hospitality.

  From the amused glint in Zachary’s eyes it was clear he knew exactly how much disarray his arrival had caused the Erith and was relishing every moment. A fine strategy, Arrow thought, catching the Taellan entirely off guard with his unannounced, unplanned visit.

  “Ah.” Zachary paused, seemingly involuntarily, at a particularly fine sculpture, placed i
n a purpose-made niche along the wall. It was one of Arrow’s favourite pieces amongst the impressive collection at the Taellaneth, second only to the group outside the main building. The same pale stone as had been used outside glowed with its own light, depicting an Erith woman reaching up to the skies, fingers spread wide, the fabric of her summer dress almost seeming to ripple in an unseen wind. Despite the flowing dress, there was a certain strength and determination to the woman Arrow had always admired. No one had ever put oath spells on this Erith.

  “Would you like a history of the piece, Prime?” Arrow asked, knowing Sir Messian would be delighted to speak for a very long time about the art and other treasures on display in the Taellaneth, and under his care.

  “A little information would be welcome,” he agreed, and Sir Messian, eyes alight with genuine pleasure, bowed, and launched into a mercifully brief recitation of the piece.

  “The title is Summer Sun and it is one of the finest pieces created by her majesty’s favoured older sister, the late Crown Princess Liannelle,” Arrow began, giving Zachary details of the stone used, the date of the piece and the fact that the Crown Princess had imbued some of her own magic into the piece to give it its own light.

  “A truly gifted artisan,” he said with appreciation, taking his time to inspect the piece from all sides. “Please convey, in whatever terms are appropriate, my deep appreciation.”

  “Prime.” Arrow bowed, and made the appropriate translation to Sir Messian, who bowed, normally stern face alight with a delighted smile.

  “Do you know who the subject was?” Zachary asked, as they prepared to move on.

  “The subject is unknown. Her Highness stated, more than once, that the sculpture is not based on one particular lady or another, but an idea that came to her mind. She did have several ladies of Court pose for her sketches and work, and it is said took the best of each.”

  “Thank you for indulging my curiosity,” the Prime said impartially to Sir Messian and Arrow. Both bowed, and the Steward led them on again, the relaxed slant to the Steward’s shoulders telling Arrow that he was quite satisfied with the delay.