Taellaneth Complete Series Box Set

by Vanessa Nelson

  “It will be far too dangerous,” Eimille protested, drawing a slight smile from Kester, an expression Arrow caught the ghost of on Kallish’s face.

  “He is svegraen,” the elder said, eyes resting on Kester’s face. “And what better combination could we have to seek answers than a war mage and White Guard?”

  That was of course not the end of the matter. Heedless of their quiet audience, the Taellan debated the matter for several more minutes, under cover of which Kallish and Kester exchanged a few quiet words and a series of hand gestures that Arrow could not follow. Zachary watched and listened intently, eyes glinting with warm humour from time to time.

  “Are they always like this?” he asked Arrow at length, voice low.

  She choked back a laugh and nodded once, realising that she had settled unconsciously into a servant’s waiting pose, straight backed, hands behind her back. Standing whilst the Taellan argued was deeply familiar.

  “My lords, my ladies.” The Prime took one small step forward and let his power slip out again. The gathered Erith stilled, more than one of the White Guard twitching a hand towards weapons.

  “Prime.” The elder moved, squaring up to Zachary.

  “It is clear that there are many more answers to be sought. Lady Arrow is appointed as my agent in these matters, to pursue the truth. I will have answers as to why my mate died.” The low sound of ‘kin anger was unsettling the Taellan, the elder holding his ground with effort, unflinching. “The answers appear to be contained within Erith lands. You will provide me with all necessary access and aid to pursue this matter,” Zachary held the elder’s eyes, “by the treaty between our peoples. The matter carries a great deal of risk and interest for your kind, too. If you wish to appoint your own agent, do so. But do so quickly. We are behind the matter already.”

  “Prime.” The elder should have bowed. He remained upright. Arrow’s breath caught in her throat. The Prime might not demonstrate Court manners, but he was bound to be well acquainted with them. She dared not look at the Prime’s face. “You have breached our hospitality with your demands.”

  “A rogue Erith magician has killed my mate,” the Prime replied.

  “There is a protocol to be observed.”

  “The only protocol that matters is the adherence to the treaty.”

  The elder’s face paled. Not in fear at what was perilously close to a declaration of war. But in anger. Arrow forced herself to breathe. The elder had rarely been so thoroughly bested on his own ground, and before witnesses as well.

  “The treaty stands,” the elder managed to say, lips stiff.

  “The treaty stands,” the Prime agreed with a small inclination of his head.

  “You will have your agent. We will have ours.”

  “As I have said.” There was more than a touch of impatience in Zachary’s voice.

  “Kester,” the elder turned his head, “will you accept the task?”

  “Elder, I will.” There was nothing but quiet assurance in the younger lord’s voice. He was standing at parade rest, the hilt of a sword under his dress coat a reminder of his training.

  “If you wish to question any Erith, you will do so in Kester vo Halsfeld’s presence,” the elder instructed Arrow. She lifted a brow and glanced across at the Prime. Zachary waved a hand, signalling agreement.

  “Very well.”

  “You may have two days’ grace to conduct your enquiries within the Taellaneth.” The slight glint in his eyes might have been satisfaction, but he was perfectly in command of himself again and had always been difficult to read. Arrow nodded. Two days to investigate the Preceptor’s study should be sufficient.

  “I request that Kallish nuin Falsen and her cadre is assigned to me.” Kester diverted the elder’s attention. Arrow suppressed a sigh. The two had made that agreement during the Taellan’s heated debate. She had no idea why the cadre leader seemed determined to follow her, but it seemed she was not going to escape her watchful care just yet.

  “Agreed.” The elder turned back to the Prime and made another bow, fractionally lower than the last. “Will that be all?”

  “Please convey to her majesty and her consort my appreciation of the aid offered by the Taellan in this matter. That will be all for now.” Zachary made a small, perfectly calculated, bow to the Taellan. “Arrow, a word,” he commanded, before turning on his heel and walking towards the doors.

  Following in the Prime’s wake, gathered in the midst of the ‘kin, she could not help but smile as the gathered servants scrambled out of the Prime’s path and made haste to open the doors. The Steward appeared, with a low bow, to escort him to the front entrance.

  The journey to the front door was completed in silence, the ‘kin maintaining their discipline and apparent calm.

  Once outside, Arrow was somehow unsurprised to find that the dark vehicles the ‘kin had used were ready, their ‘kin drivers waiting, seemingly perfectly at ease, amid a watchful ring of White Guard. The White Guard were standing far back from the shifkin, not one single weapon pointed towards the visitors.

  Zachary paused to stare at the statue again for a moment that dragged on in Arrow’s mind. The rest of the ‘kin remained quiet, still in the loose half circle around him. They were a ceremonial escort, a show of strength for the Erith. Zachary, Arrow thought, would have been happy to face the Taellan alone. And would have done nothing different, she was sure.

  “Drew,” Zachary called his son forward.

  “Matt gave you the lease and vehicle keys. We’ve sort of adopted you, too,” Andrew told her, eyes sparkling with suppressed excitement, reaching into his formal suit jacket, and producing a long, thin envelope that Arrow recognised as the sort used by high-priced human lawyers. “You’re officially a friend of the nation.”

  “How did you manage that?” Arrow asked, astonished. “I do not have legal standing.” The card she had been given had been temporary, available to anyone. This was different.

  “It’s not permanent.” Zachary had unbuttoned his suit jacket, rifled his hair, and now tucked his hands into his trouser pockets, matching his son’s grin at Arrow’s astonishment.

  “Have a read through. Any questions call me or the lawyer. Details inside,” Andrew explained, frowning slightly as she just stared at him. “Is that ok?”

  “Yes.” She closed her mouth with a snap, and nodded, heat in her face. Adopted by the ‘kin? “You are very generous, thank you.”

  “We do expect you to work,” Matthias put in. If she had not known him she would have missed the glint of humour in his eyes. As it was she bit her lip to hide a smile. Work, indeed. Work she was familiar with. Adoption was another thing entirely. Belonging somewhere. She was not fooled by the ease with which Andrew Farraway had handed over the envelope. Adopting an individual with no legal status had to have taken effort. Considerable effort. The human law courts hated irregular paperwork with the same fierce passion as the Erith. And this was very irregular. She turned the envelope over in her hands, feeling the weight of it. No one had ever gone to this effort on her behalf before. She was having difficulty believing it was real, trusting only the evidence of her fingers, the heavy texture of the envelope anchoring her to the here and now.

  “The workspace should be big enough for the cadre.” Andrew glanced past her shoulder and she glanced back, unsurprised to find Kester vo Halsfeld and Kallish nuin Falsen coming towards them, the cadre fanned out around them.

  “They do seem very attached to you,” the Prime commented.

  “Yes.” Arrow shook her head, remembering her past day-dreams, when she had been drained and vulnerable from use of magic, wishing for a cadre to guard her, thinking that would be safety and comfort. In reality, she was finding their constant presence more than a little unsettling, not used to so many people around her so constantly.

  “Well, perhaps they will be focused on looking after the lord instead.” Zachary was trying to cheer her up, she realised, and bit her lip against another unexpected
smile.

  “Kester vo Halsfeld,” she told him.

  “Ah.” The sound carried layers of meaning she could not guess at, but the ‘kin were providing shelter to an Erith warrior long believed dead. Arrow wondered if Thomas had expressly asked the Prime to keep his existence a secret, even from his closest living relative. It was not her secret to tell, the old warrior more than capable of revealing himself if he wanted. The Prime’s gaze was still on Kester, intent. “Would you introduce us?”

  “Of course, Prime.” She took a step outside the circle of ‘kin and made a slight bow. “My lord, the Prime would make your acquaintance.”

  “I should be honoured,” the lord said at once, coming forward into the half-circle of ‘kin, not hesitating to leave the watchful surround of the cadre.

  Arrow made the presentations and wondered if all the Erith noted that the Prime was far more relaxed, and courteous, to the younger lord than he had been with the elder. And not just because he was Thomas’ relative, she thought. The Prime made an effort at small talk, which both surprised and pleased the Erith lord, whilst the ‘kin double-checked their vehicles and made themselves ready to depart.

  With a nod to Arrow, Zachary left her among the Erith. It was a powerful statement that he trusted her to complete her tasks. The realisation that she had the trust and respect of so powerful a being held her motionless for a long moment, watching the shifkin vehicles depart, the tangible evidence of the trust they had placed in her still resting in her hands.

  CHAPTER 13

  At length she became aware of the silent, waiting White Guard and the Taellan beside her.

  “My lord,” she began. He waved a hand, silencing her.

  “I will join you at the Preceptor’s residence shortly,” he told her, and looked past her. “Kallish, see to the mage’s safety, will you?”

  “My lord.” The warrior bowed slightly, accepting the command, leaving Arrow to stare, mouth half-open, at Kester’s departing back.

  “The Preceptor’s residence,” Kallish prompted. Arrow snapped her mouth shut, realised she was still holding the shifkin’s envelope, and tucked that into a pocket, sealing it with a quick spell, before starting forward towards the Preceptor’s house.

  Halfway there, Orlis appeared, bouncing on his toes as he fell into step beside her.

  “So, what happened? The Prime was here? The shifkin came here?”

  “Young thing,” Kallish’s stern voice caught Orlis’ attention, “you were left aside for a reason.”

  “But how can I help if I do not know what we are doing?”

  “Do you have a key to the Preceptor’s residence?” Arrow asked as the building came into view.

  “A key? Of course not. Lord Evellan did not give anyone a key. Not even the Lady Vailla, from what I can gather.”

  Arrow paused, glancing across at the journeyman, wondering where Orlis had got that information from and what else he might have learned in the short time they had left him.

  “Do you know where the Preceptor has gone?”

  “No. No one knows. Some of the students said he took off on an Erith horse.” Orlis was still bouncing on his toes.

  “Indeed?” Ah. Students. Arrow hoped that Orlis knew that student gossip was not the most reliable.

  “Yes. Apparently, there was a horse outside his residence the other night, just before he vanished, and someone saw somebody that looked like the Preceptor getting onto the horse. The next day no one could find him.”

  The story did not match the one they had been given earlier, about the portal. Still, stories did change in the telling, and Erith horses would go through portals without too much fuss. There was just one detail that did not sit well about that version.

  “The Preceptor does not like horses,” Kallish said thoughtfully, picking up the point that troubled Arrow.

  “No,” Arrow agreed. “Orlis, will you take Kallish and find these students, get all the information you can from them?” Red hair flew as he nodded, eyes wide. “The Preceptor would have had to borrow the horse at short notice,” she commented to Kallish, seeing the warrior’s eyes widen in comprehension.

  “And no one would let their horse simply go,” the warrior continued the thought, putting a hand on Orlis’ shoulder. “Come, young mage, we have much to do.” At her hand gesture, Kallish’s third went with her.

  Satisfied that between them they would gather as much information as possible, and also that she would have some peace to work in, Arrow kept walking until she came to the first layer of wards around the Preceptor’s residence.

  “Stay outside the wards please, svegraen,” she requested of Xeveran. He frowned at her, but nodded acceptance, keeping his third and the final third of the cadre at a prudent distance.

  The wards, which had been set aside the last time she had been here, to allow the ladies to roam, shivered as she approached, recognising a magic user. She opened her second sight and nearly staggered back. It had been many years since she had examined the wards over this residence, and they seemed to have multiplied since then. It was something that all students did, often because they were told not to do so by the teaching staff. For anyone learning to use their second sight the Preceptor’s residence was overwhelming, and more than one student paid for their curiosity by spending time in a quiet room recovering from being magic blind.

  The wards were passive at the moment, suspended in purpose, settled around the bricks and windows of the residence, a thick snarl around the door. The whole residence appeared dormant, as though it knew its master was absent. Arrow frowned slightly, having expected far more active wards to be in place.

  She took a step forward and watched as the wards stretched. Another step and another and she was within ten paces of the door, the wards still passive. Calling a flare of power to her hand she sent it ahead of her and watched as the wards parted for her. Frowning now, she kept walking, the spark of power in front of her, until she reached the door.

  Putting a bare hand on a magician’s door was a recipe for trouble normally, but something about the ease with which she had got through the wards so far made her do just that. The door opened without a sound, a shadowed hallway appearing beyond.

  “Any luck?” Kester vo Halsfeld’s voice broke her attention. She dimmed her second sight and turned, finding him standing with Xeveran at the edge of the wards. The Taellan had changed into White Guard clothing, and not that of a novice either. The lord’s clothing was moulded to his form, bearing more than one repaired scar that she could see even at the distance. As well as the long dagger at his hip, the sort favoured by many White Guard, a pair of hilts showed over his shoulders.

  “The wards seem to be keyed for me, my lord,” she told him.

  “Is it safe to enter?”

  “Possibly.”

  He took a wary step forward. The wards flared, sparking even in the first world. He froze at once.

  “A moment, my lord.” Keeping her spark of power, Arrow made her way back across the grass, recasting her power as she reached the lord, sending a thread around his arm. “Try now.”

  He took a step forward, and another. The wards remained passive.

  “Most curious. Why would the Preceptor allow you access to his residence?”

  “I do not know, my lord. If you will follow me.” She turned her back against further questions, having several ideas, and none of them good, about why Lord Evellan would allow a war mage easy access to his most private space.

  Crossing the threshold, she was relieved when the wards remained passive, simply allowing her and Kester deeper into the building. As they walked she kept her second sight open, watching the building’s protections move in response to their presence.

  “Access is limited,” she commented. There was a wall of shielding across one open corridor that she thought led to the sleeping chambers, and another across what she thought was the door to his parlour.

  “He is a private man,” the Taellan answered.

  “
Yes.” Arrow wondered what it had cost him to let Vailla and her family have access to the residence for their cleaning spells and inspection. Eimille would have been delighted to get a glimpse into this private space. A quick glance around showed nothing personal, though. The space was scrupulously clean and, apart from the thick layers of magic, devoid of personality. So perhaps Evellan had not given too much away by allowing his vestran’s family inside.

  “We have access to his study.” Arrow nodded in the right direction, then belatedly added, “My lord.”

  “You may use my name, Arrow,” he said. He was walking behind her, so she could not be certain but thought he was amused.

  “That would not be appropriate,” she answered, then added, “svegraen.”

  “Better, I suppose,” he said. Or she thought he said, his voice low enough the words were muffled, and she was not sure she was meant to hear it.

  The study door opened as they approached it, swinging inward in silence, raising the hairs on her neck. The Preceptor was not known for making things easy and this whole matter had been far too easy until now.

  Her spine was prickling with unease as they entered the study. She had never been invited into the Preceptor’s residence before now; few people were. With the Academy so close, Lord Evellan spent most of his waking time there, or so she had thought.

  One look around the study and she found herself gaping like a first cycle student. The study was as big as the one at the Academy, lit by large windows which looked onto a patch of wilderness and trees, and glimmer lights which flared gently to life as she walked past them to allow Kester access to the room. Two walls were covered with bookshelves, full of leather-bound volumes, rolled parchments and scattered pieces of parchment.

  “This might take us longer than two days,” Kester said thoughtfully.

  “Perhaps,” Arrow recovered her poise, turning her attention to the large desk in the centre of the room, “and perhaps not.” Nose wrinkling at the faint smell the air held, she crossed to the desk, folding her hands behind her back before peering at the scattered contents. Amid the mess of papers, including some student essays, was a haphazard pile of papers, containing at least one slim volume, topped by a piece of folded parchment on which the Preceptor had scrawled one word, “Arrow.”