And there was the mischief Arrow remembered so well, bittersweet hurt cutting through her for a moment. When Vailla had left the Academy, returning to the heartland, no one among the Erith had laughed with her, or found her worth spending time with. She had missed her friend. She bowed slightly, glad no response was expected. Vailla laughed, a light, happy sound that twisted the hurt before the lady turned on her heel, leaving without a backward glance. Arrow watched her back for long moments until a footstep beside her drew her attention.
“Come on.” Orlis was nearly glowing with impatience, amber bright in his eyes. “There is much to tell and Kallish will not let me speak until we are all gathered.”
~
The refectory was large enough to host the students all together, and rarely did, students coming and going at different times of day. The great room with its scarred wooden tables and plain wooden benches was barely occupied. The White Guard secured them a corner of the room and relative privacy by simply walking up to the long tables and benches they wanted to occupy and standing silently for a few moments until the few students who had already been settled at the tables decided that it was an excellent idea to be elsewhere.
Arrow settled herself on a bench opposite Kester and Kallish, Orlis sliding in beside her, and watched with equal amusement and dismay as the junior third of the White Guard cadre procured food for everyone from the long serving tables at the side of the room, perpetually warm with housekeeping spells, and kept stocked by the Academy’s hard-working kitchen staff. With Kallish occupied, the rest of the cadre then set up a light confusion spell around the group to disguise their conversation, the warriors taking turns to eat and keep watch. Arrow wondered for moment if she should tell them about the Preceptor’s standing rule that, apart from the Academy’s kitchen staff, no magic should be worked in the refectory. A moment’s thought and she decided to stay quiet. It was because of Evellan’s conduct that they were here, after all.
“The Preceptor borrowed one of Neith vo Sena’s horses,” Kallish began without warning. Arrow choked on the mouthful she had just taken.
“Borrowed?” she managed to say, wheezing, before taking a long drink of water. Neith vo Sena was famous for both his magnificent, highly-trained horses and his attachment to them. No one simply borrowed a horse from him.
“Indeed.” Kallish seemed to feel her reaction was entirely appropriate.
“That old fox would never just lend one of his precious horses. He likes them better than his own children,” Kester said. Arrow nearly choked again at the casual description of one of the most respected members of the Taellan. And one who had been absent from the group that greeted the Prime earlier. She picked at her food, mind turning.
“Indeed,” Kallish said again, mouth twitching.
“He has a tracking spell,” Orlis confirmed, flushing as the group’s attention rested on him, “Gilean and I borrowed his horses once. He had a task he wanted to Gilean to complete, and the loan of the horses was part payment.”
“What were they like?” Arrow asked, curiosity getting the better of her.
“Marvellous.” The one word seemed all Orlis could manage, but the beatific smile and sparkling eyes told the rest.
“A tracking spell?” Kallish prompted.
“Yes. His House will have the key.”
“The Preceptor would have known about the tracking spell,” Arrow surmised, dismayed to find her bowl was empty. A full one was put in front of her without a word and she nodded her thanks to the young warrior carrying the empty one away.
“Still, we need to find where he has gone.” Kallish lifted a brow at Kester. “The request of a Taellan would be most helpful.” By the slight smile on Kester’s face, he had no objection to being made useful.
“I should visit the Archives,” Arrow said. The hollow in her stomach was filling nicely, no longer distracting her from the buzzing in her mind as she tried to make sense of everything that had happened. A period of quiet in the Archives, with the papers the Preceptor had left, and the new knowledge in her head, would be welcome.
“The Archivists asked me to tell you that there is nothing new,” Orlis told her. “They are still working on the runes. Apparently the book they were looking for has definitely vanished and they cannot find anything else about shadow-walkers. They were most annoyed.”
“Indeed?” Arrow hoped her face was not red, keeping her eyes down on her bowl. The slim volume seemed to burn in her bag.
“Shadow-walkers?” Kester asked.
“So the Preceptor suspected,” Kallish confirmed, settling more comfortably on the bench, dark eyes watching Arrow with uncomfortable intensity, “and so we have seen.”
Arrow abandoned her food, sitting up and meeting Kallish’s gaze, lifting a brow. Silver rose in her eyes, flickered and dimmed as she reasserted her control. This place was not safe.
“We did learn something else,” Orlis continued, seemingly unaware of the tension, unable to wait longer to deliver his news. “Apparently the Lady Seivella had an admirer.”
“Who?” Arrow asked, turning her attention to the journeyman.
“No one knows,” Orlis said with unnecessary drama. “A mystery male.”
“No one has seen him?” Arrow was sceptical.
“Well, it seems that a shadow has been seen around the lady’s residence from time to time. A male shadow,” Orlis said, with emphasis, eyes sparking with interest.
“Nothing more?”
“The lady’s mood was changeable for a while before she left,” Orlis offered. Arrow could not help but wonder how he had managed to get so much information in such a short space of time.
“Yes,” she agreed, “the lady was usually reasonably even-tempered, but had raised her voice on more than one occasion and refused aid to a student.”
“That was unusual?” Kallish asked.
“Unheard of.” Orlis chipped in. “She was one of the best loved teachers.”
“You suspect she has had contact with the rogue magician? Within the Academy?” Kallish asked bluntly, eyes on Arrow, concern drawing a sharp line between her brows.
“I do not know what to think.” Arrow avoided contact with that perceptive gaze, staring into middle-distance. “The Lady Vailla recalls there was a portrait in the Preceptor’s private study, a family group, she thought. Lord Evellan, an older Erith couple, another male and a female who appeared similar to Lady Seivella.”
“The lady and lord are not related,” Kallish objected.
“No,” Arrow agreed.
“And the Preceptor has no family.” Kester pointed out. “Well,” he corrected himself after a moment’s thought, “no close family. His House was destroyed at the last incursion, with his only living relative remaining a distant cousin. Who is vetrai to Neith vo Sena’s son.”
“That would explain why Lord Neith would lend a horse.” Kallish nodded.
“Are we sure the Preceptor has no living family?” Arrow asked, an odd instinct prompting the question.
“The House suffered a full incursion. Everyone was tainted. The House was sealed and burned.”
“A terrible event.” Kallish’s voice was soft, weighted with too much knowledge.
Arrow shivered lightly, all too easily able to imagine that. The Erith had not been able to deal with all surjusi in the past. Where there were no mages available to perform a banishment, the Erith contained the matter instead, setting up seals and burning everything inside, denying the surjusi their fuel and sending them back to their own realm. It was savage. And efficient. The ground remained sealed until mages could properly cleanse it.
“Lord Evellan survived only because he was at Court, with Gilean vo Presien,” Kester added. He turned to Arrow, “Why?”
“I do not know,” Arrow shook her head, the odd impulse fading along with her irritation at Evellan. There had been no rumours or hint of such a past for the Preceptor in all her years at the Academy. “It seems there is little we can do until we can tra
ck Lord Evellan. He left me papers to review which may be of use.”
“They looked random.” Kester was not objecting, just observing.
Arrow shrugged one shoulder, a very human gesture, agreeing with him. The collection might look random, but Evellan had gathered them together and left them for her. There was nothing random about his choices.
A sliver of ice worked down her spine as she looked around the refectory. The Academy was the Preceptor’s great passion, a place of learning for all Erith, where anyone with the slightest amount of magical ability was offered a place to learn their skills. He insisted upon the highest standards from his teaching staff and the students. It was his aim, stated publicly more than once, to be a place of safety and learning. It was not a place that should have been linked to a rogue magician, or which should have seen its deputy use lethal combat magic against another mage.
There was nothing she could think of that would cause the Preceptor to abandon his principles, and to abandon the Academy when his students needed him. With the revelations of the past days she was forced to admit that she did not know the Preceptor as well as she had thought and remembered his note. I am not the only one with secrets. The history of his family explained a great deal about his reaction to the incursion in Hallveran and his deep horror at the underground being so close to the Taellaneth.
“There is little more we can do today,” Kallish said. “We should get some rest.”
“Yes, of course, svegraen. Shall we meet at the gates tomorrow?”
“We are assigned to you.” Kallish’s face stiffened. “We will accompany you.”
Assigned to Kester, Arrow was about to reply, then remembered the arrangements that Kallish and Kester had been making in the Receiving Hall.
“Of course.” Arrow had an odd impulse, quickly checked, to get up and run, to see how far she could get. The cadre would catch her before she made it to the door. She stayed where she was.
“Do you have somewhere to stay?” Kester asked.
“Yes, a courtesy of the shifkin nation.”
“We will take you there,” Kallish said, turning to Xeveran, who had appeared at her shoulder, and requesting that he ready the vehicles.
“I will come, too,” Kester announced. Arrow closed her mouth with a snap.
“Of course, my lord.” She managed a polite tone.
A full cadre, a Taellan, and an over-curious journeyman. The property would be full to brimming. She sighed, wondering how she would find peace to think.
CHAPTER 15
The next day Kallish wanted Arrow to accompany the cadre, Kester and Orlis back the Taellaneth to continue the investigation, stubbornly prepared to argue the point until Arrow pointed out that she had completed all the enquiries that she could, with the Preceptor gone, and, as an exile, would, in fact, be safer remaining where she was. The warrior relented on condition that a third remained at the shifkin building, a compromise Arrow accepted with no good grace.
With the door closed behind the group bound for the Taellaneth, she made a small, instinctive bow to the warriors remaining. Their expressions gave nothing away, but they were likely as displeased to be here as she was to have them. She told them that she would be working for some hours then retreated to the workspace, leaving the door open at their request, setting wards at the open doorway instead to give her some quiet.
She made preparations for potion making, debating her course of action as she gathered ingredients and set the burner to light, its flame low and safely contained. Healing potions were always useful and simple enough that making them would allow her time to think.
The pages of the book were fluttering inside her, edges tickling, making her restless. They had woken her more than once during the night, a new piece of knowledge curling open in her mind. More pages were trying to open, demanding her attention. A dangerous distraction. And potentially useful information that she could use.
There would be no potion making today. Checking that the sword was settled, fresh chalk in her pockets, she stood in a clear space of floor and shut down her first sight, sliding into the second world.
Standing among the flat world of power lines and spells she stilled her mind, set aside all the frustrations, her irrational anger at having a cadre watching her every move, the joy at having a comfortable place to call hers, even for a little while. Everything let go, her mind calm, she looked for a disturbance, a way into the realm beyond.
Even calm, it took a while to find it, the not-there flicker of something that caught and held her attention. As soon as she saw it, another page unfurled, smooth and warm, and an unfamiliar word formed on her lips.
“Gehthras.” Open. Ancient Erith. Old enough that no Erith alive had used it as their first language.
The not-there sliver widened, forming a doorway. Without pausing to think, she stepped through into the world of shadows.
Spinning around, quickly enough to make her dizzy, she made sure that she was alone this time. No cloaked figures bearing down on her brandishing a weapon. No other soul in sight on this plane.
Satisfied that she was alone, she spread her hands, seeing the spark of silver in her veins under parchment pale skin, the inky blue and purple shadows at her feet. Her dark clothing, unremarkable in the first world, shimmered with the silver of her wards, cloth reflecting brilliant blue, green and red. All colours reflected everywhere. Even the faded shade of her skin rippled with facets of crimson and forest green.
The workspace was solid and dark around her, walls and floor shimmering with silver wards, dimmed flame of the burner on the workbench shining yellow, orange, white and red.
Turning again, the air stirred against her cheek carrying the scent of snow, of sun, of fallen leaves and fresh growth. All seasons all at once.
Looking at the wall of the building, Arrow wondered if it was solid here. Walking up to it, careful to move slowly, she put her palm on the surface, feeling it cold and real under her skin. She tried to scratch it with a fingernail and a shock of pain ran up her arm. Tried slapping the wall with an open palm and doubled over as agony ran up her arm. So, solid objects in the first world fought back in this shadow world. And it was not possible to actually walk through walls. She walked instead to the small door at the side of the rolling metal garage doors. Taking care to handle the object gently, she found she could open the door without pain. But if she tried to do damage, even a fingernail scratch, it hurt. Interesting.
The door opened without alarm, the wards of the building recognising their maker, even in this different realm, and she stepped outside.
The street outside formed the shapes she had seen in the first world, a few tight knots of colour showing people walking, unaware of her existence. The wide swathe of planting around the building, green in the first world, was a dense thicket of potential here. She could see the dormant plants waiting for winter to pass, the first buds that would shoot up in spring, the flowers open in summer and the golds and reds that would display in autumn. All potential seasons and all potential colours shown all at once. It was overwhelming, along with the scents that each season carried, and it took a long time, crouched by the nearest plants, to balance her mind and filter the information. She was not sure what was real and true and what was not, and suspected that it would be a long time before she knew.
Wanting to explore further, remembering that she had been able to move much faster in this place than in the first world, she set off at a brisk walk, heading for the shifkin’s open land that bordered Lix. There was less chance of running into unsuspecting humans, and the Lix muster was small enough that she thought she could probably avoid them.
The perimeter of the shifkin territory flared before her, a transparent barrier made of ‘kin colours. She touched one finger to the barrier, setting some of her will into it, asking for permission to enter, and was allowed to pass without fuss.
Her strides were longer, body lighter, muscle aches a distant memory. She tried running a few steps and
had to stop almost at once, dizzy as she rose too high from the ground, landed too far from where her feet had last touched. Crouching closer to the earth she took a moment to breathe and centre herself and became aware that she was no longer alone.
Coming to her feet, one hand going to her sword hilt, she turned to find a distant, cloaked, figure coming closer with the rapid, easy movement that this place permitted. She raised her wards, silver brilliant in this place of shadows, and waited. If he had wanted her dead, he would have attacked by now.
“You are learning, young thing.” An unfamiliar male voice, speaking Erith in native manner. An Erith magician who could also walk across realms. Perhaps she was not as unique as the Archivists believed. Or there was some other magic that allowed him to access this realm.
“I am,” she confirmed.
“You are powerful for one so young.” The observation was made in a casual, conversational tone that made Arrow deeply glad she was warded and had the weight of her sword under her palm.
“Thank you.” She inclined her head as though accepting a compliment.
“And quite skilled. Despite your age.” There was a shade in that voice. A mix of feeling. Envy. Bitterness. Greed.
“Thank you,” she said again, mentally rehearsing the spells for further defensive wards. She did not call her strength yet.
“There is much I could show you.”
“Oh?”
“There is power here. Power you can only imagine.”
The hunger in his voice sent a tremor through her. Some magicians were so mad for more strength they would do nearly anything to achieve it.
“In this place?”
“Yes.” He bent and pulled up a handful of grass. “See the strands of life here.”
Arrow blinked. She could see the strands of life, but she could also sense them, and use them if she needed to, in the first world.
“There is life everywhere,” she pointed out.
“But this can be more easily used. Turned to your will. Do with as you please.”
Definitely a power-crazed magician. His presence brushed against her wards, testing, a familiar twist to his signature. The rogue responsible for the sacrifice on Farraway Mountain, the surjusi summoning in Hallveran, the disgusting magic that had been performed in Lix. Deadly, powerful, and skilled. He had had years to perfect his craft, moving with assurance in this alien environment and she was not even a novice in this realm. Heart racing, her fingers tightened on the sword hilt.
Taellaneth Complete Series Box Set Page 45