Taellaneth Complete Series Box Set

by Vanessa Nelson

  With the double questions of Gilean’s disappearance and Teresea’s death to solve, Arrow suspected she might be in the Palace some days. A prospect which would have seemed impossible a handful of days before, and an exciting mystery. Now she was here it was another matter. She needed to be able to find her way without guidance. There were memory spells that could help and nothing, now that the oath spells were gone, to stop her from using them. Her back straightened slightly, eyes shading to silver for a moment as she set her will to creating a mental map.

  The main building was approached from this side by a wide walkway of rose quartz gravel, the stones making almost no noise under her feet, the path leading to an enormous pair of glass panelled doors set in rose stone that reflected the colour of the walkway, the doorway twice as tall and twice as wide as it needed to be. The doors were open wide, in Erith tradition, to signal welcome, a third of White Guard keeping a casual watch, positioned here and there around the entrance, somehow managing to blend in. Above the extravagant doors, the glass sparkling with ward spells, the main building rose. Within its shadow Arrow felt for a moment as small as one of the pieces of gravel underfoot. It was the single biggest building she had ever seen, set here in the heartland as a blunt testament to Erith power and skill. Twisting her neck to look up, she caught a glimpse of several more floors above ground level, and a haphazard array of architectural styles reflecting the centuries it had been in use. The library, as large as that was, was a small fraction of the whole building. Her mind could not hold the concept of its sheer size and her curiosity spiked instead, wondering what purpose all those rooms served in the middle of the city-sized array of other buildings scattered around.

  She made her way from quiet quartz up stone steps, smoothed from centuries of use, to soundless, handmade carpeting, abruptly aware of her human-made boots tramping across the ancient Erith work. Impossible that Miach had failed to see her boots, and yet he had said nothing. So, a little piece of the human world was touching the heartland of the Erith. She could not help a small smile at the thought of how furious that would make Seggerat and Eshan, particularly when they realised that neither of them had the power to give her orders. The Preceptor’s appointment and the Queen’s request took priority.

  The smile vanished as she remembered the promise she had given to the Queen. To do everything that she could to find out what had happened to Teresea and Gilean. A heavier, wider promise than the undertaking of the Inquirer writ provided by the Preceptor. A greater promise than she had intended. But the words had been spoken, the promise made and she would not go back on her word, even if she could. Someone had killed Teresea and possibly destroyed Niasseren’s library at the same time. Something had happened to Gilean, serious enough that a skilled war mage had not been able to resist.

  A babble of chattering ahead drew her attention. There was a large group of brightly dressed Erith strolling along the corridor towards her, taking up the entire available width. They were caught up in their own concerns, not paying any attention to Arrow, dark clothing probably marking her as a servant in their minds. Every one of the group, all of them strangers, was moving with the absolute assurance of Erith nobility who knew they were entitled to be there, steps light and carefree.

  All at once Arrow was conscious of her borrowed clothes, tangled hair and the human-made boots she had found so amusing moments before. She was alone among strange Erith, with only her magic to defend her. Even with her wards, modified and reinforced since she had left the Taellaneth, there was an itch between her shoulder blades. She had also had enough of strangers for the moment. There was a small, unlit, side corridor nearby and she stepped into it, moving into shadows where she would not be easily seen, stomach uneasy, eyes prickling with the unexpectedly sharp sting of not belonging. Foolish. She had never belonged.

  Safe and alone in the dark, she wiped a tear from her face, what might have been a sob firmly lodged in her throat. The chattering group went past the end of the corridor, a waft of perfume reaching her, a scent she did not think she had come across before. It was another reminder of how strange everything was around her, and how vulnerable she was. Among the Erith, in the Erith heartland. For all that the Queen had seemed happy to see her, the monarch had ruled for many times Arrow’s lifetime and, outside the Queen’s vibrant presence, Arrow found herself doubting the warmth she had been shown. Too used to condemnation and disgust from the Erith, it was hard to believe that their Queen could accept her so easily.

  Perhaps she could stay in the dark for a while. She was hidden. No one knew where she was. A little time to gather her composure would be welcome. A much longer time to unpick all the revelations since her arrival here would be even more welcome. Unlikely, though. Orlis would be looking for her before long, she was sure, and the weight of the promise given to the Queen lay across her shoulders.

  She brushed another tear away, blinking rapidly to hold back more, annoyed at her lack of control. Being told stories about her mother had opened a void inside that she had never known existed, a void that was filling with old hurt that she would never meet the woman and avid curiosity to know more. What had driven Alisemea, younger than Arrow was now, to throw her lot in with Serran’s half-breed son, breaking faith with House Regersfel and infuriating Seggerat? And how had her parents died? They had died soon after Arrow was born. A matter of months, she had been told, and not by natural causes. No one would tell her more, and the Queen, grieving for her most recently lost friend, had not mentioned Alisemea’s death.

  Arrow found more tears on her face and brushed them away, hard enough that her skin felt raw. She could not hide forever, however tempting it might be. Besides, she had no idea where this corridor led. It might be full of people in a few moments, or deserted for hours.

  Still she hesitated, not wanting to move. She was not ready for more strangers just yet. She had a momentary, unexpected, wish to be back at the Taellaneth. Familiar territory with people she knew, however hostile they might be.

  Too much too quickly, she thought, closing her eyes. Answers to a dozen questions she had never dared to speak, and many more questions to take their place. And a pair of mysteries to solve with no real idea where to start.

  Nothing would be resolved here. She forced her feet to move, the slight breeze of another opening nearby catching her cheek. There must be another corridor opening. Any Erith would be able to see it, but, without enhancing her sight, she could not. She hesitated, considering the enhancement, and a trace of something other crossed her senses. Her wards flared, every single one, blinding her, the sword at her back blazing silver. Something other. Something that should not be here. Surjusi.

  It was a matter of moments to enhance her sight, sword springing eagerly to her hand as she moved carefully along the corridor. She must be mistaken. There was no possible way that there could be a surjusi loose in the Palace and the ward keepers not know.

  She lost track of time and direction as she searched and failed to find that trace again. There was nothing. So much so that she began to wonder if she had imagined it. But her wards and sword had reacted on their own, without her command, which meant there had been something there. She just could not prove it. Or find it.

  Frustrated and conscious of time passing, she shoved the sword back into its scabbard and mentally reviewed the finding spells she knew. She was completely lost.

  The rustle of cloth in the dark told her she was not alone. She turned towards the sound. A hard grip landed across her mouth and jaw, smooth and cool. The faint scent of leather. Fingers clamping, bruising. Band around her middle, trapping her arms by her sides. A stranger’s arm. Trapped. Jerked up. Off her feet. Hauled backwards. Wordless sound muffled. Lip split under pressure, sharp sting, blood in her mouth. The rapid rhythm of footsteps, bearing her weight with ease. Further into the dark. Turn and turn again. Truly lost. Again. She struggled, kicked. A harsh grunt. The hold tightened. Ribs bruised.

  “You are not welcome.” A stran
ger’s voice. Male.

  Kicked again, as hard as she could. Another sound of pain, grip closed in. More blood in her mouth, the creak of bone at her ribs.

  “Stop interfering.”

  Almost full dark to her stupid eyes, even with enhanced vision. Faint wash of silver from her own power. Just enough to make out the plain dark cloth of the sleeves holding her. No House insignia, or any trace to show one had been removed. The faintest scent of a spice she knew. Erith. She struggled harder. Her captor swore, and moved, too quickly to follow, releasing her and throwing her backward. She slammed into a hard, upright surface. Wall. Breath gone. Knees did not work. On the ground. Thick carpet underneath. Curled up in instinct, too many years the brunt of Gesser’s fury. Impact of a hard boot to her back rather than her face. Another kick and she slid across carpet, into the wall again. Breath returning, she gathered her power, silver crackling as her wards formed.

  Another kick, blow landing through her wards, and a grip on her arm that wrenched her shoulder joint, dragging her away from the wall.

  “Leave this place. And do not return.”

  Wards fizzed, silver sparks giving a little light. Trying to see her attacker’s face, Arrow almost missed the heavy fist that punched out of the gloom, turning her head a fraction too late, taking the blow across one cheek, momentarily blind with pain before the sound of rustling cloth told her that her attacker had left.

  She lay still, breathing hard, mind scrabbling to make sense of what had happened. Beatings she was familiar with. This was different. Her wards had failed. They were rebuilding now, settling around her with familiar warmth, the sword at her back waking up, spells shivering against her senses. But they had not stopped a stranger from seizing her, or landing several blows.

  Her back ached, a hard knot of pain below her ribs, a higher, sharper note under one shoulder blade, a line of pain across her back where a kick had shoved the scabbard into her, fine points of agony in her shoulder joint, her face pulsing with each heartbeat.

  Faint voices brought her to her knees and then to her feet. There were Erith around. Showing weakness was unwise. She swayed on her feet, lightheaded, points of pain merging into one mass of discomfort. Gathering her power she pushed some healing through her body, then had to rest against the wall, breathing too fast, prickle of sweat across her face. When she could stand straight she spent a few moments constructing a small glamour to hide the bruise she could feel along one side of her face. Just enough to get her through the Palace without questioning.

  That done, she turned her focus to the scene, pulling more power to enhance her sight further. Her attacker had been careful not to leave any trace. The faintest trace of the medicinal herb, which every Erith had access to. Commonly used for headaches. The anonymous, dark cloth. The leather gloves. All items which any Erith could access.

  The only thing she could be sure of was the determination to see her gone. To remove her interference.

  Her breath was loud in the quiet space, betraying her presence. Another faint burst of laughter, closer than before, and she stirred. Time to move.

  She was glad of the dark as her first few steps were shaky, feet going in different directions as she went towards the sound of voices and laughter, correctly guessing that was the main corridor.

  Finding a page and making her way to the magician’s dormitories took a frustratingly long time, the various aches taking up residence in her body meaning she had to focus on moving normally, not betraying the soreness. Gesser had liked to use a stick, not wanting to sully his hands with her. She supposed she should be grateful in an odd way for the practice of walking normally while every muscle ached.

  CHAPTER 10

  At length she reached the magicians’ building, the page who had escorted her accepting her thanks with a shallow, solemn bow, leaving her without a word, travelling away at a far faster walk then she had managed, his straight spine and upturned nose suggesting he had more important matters to attend to. Arrow did not care. Even the slow, steady pace she had managed was difficult, muscles cramping in waves, every footfall sending a jolt of pain across her back. She had pretended to be interested in everything around her, to give her the excuse of the slow walk, and the effort had been exhausting.

  Her head was ringing with echo of the blow across her cheek, the occasional stabbing pain behind her eye, growing worse as she had walked, making it impossible for her to focus on healing herself. That pain would fade, she knew, but it would be a while before she could use focused magic.

  The idea of lying down in a quiet room had formed somewhere on the walk and that was all she wanted to do, to rest for a bit and to examine her wards for the flaw that had allowed someone to break through them so easily. Her mind, sluggish with pain, was working on possible explanations for why lying down for a while was necessary. She could not tell the Erith she had been attacked. Could not reveal that vulnerability.

  As the page left she realised that her defences were already badly compromised. She had been focusing so intently on keeping moving forward and not showing weakness that she had not noticed Orlis, waiting outside the building. Her wards flared a moment, silver catching in the sunlight, a display of unease and lack of control, reacting to the lurch of her stomach and the prickle across her skin that warned of danger. Even from Orlis.

  The journeyman had not noticed. He was almost dancing from foot to foot in impatience, both their bags at his feet. Arrow checked in her slow pace, muscles cramping in protest, dismayed again as she wondered if the simple wards on her bag had failed. No one should have been able to open her bag. The wards were intact in second sight, her heart rate slowing a little as she realised Orlis must simply have picked the bag up, ignoring the bite of defensive wards. Magicians were trained to focus through pain, after all.

  “Finally!” He threw his hands up, fading trace of silver along one arm showing where her wards must have woken. “Where have you been? Never mind. Come, we need to leave.”

  “Where are we going?” Arrow held her ground. Lying down was what she wanted to do. Or perhaps soak in a hot bath. A sharp pinch across her lower back had her hissing in a breath. Healing potion, then bath, then bed. Perfect. Orlis did not notice.

  “Gilean.” Orlis seemed shocked by her question. “He was a day’s ride from here not that long ago. The last place he was seen. Some farm. We are going to follow his path.”

  “A day’s ride?” Arrow’s whole being seized in rejection of the idea, her mind coming up with easy objections. “We do not have horses. And-”

  “I have arranged horses,” Orlis cut off her words. “Come on.” He handed her bag to her, silver wards flaring angrily at his touch, not noticing her wince as she took the weight of the bag, striding away along a path formed of bark chippings that curled around the side of the magician’s building.

  She watched his back for a moment, truly tempted to ignore his demand and go inside. Healing potion. Bath. Bed. The words slid through her mind with a seductive pull. But. There was Gilean’s absence, the war mage perhaps taken with violence. And Orlis was too disturbed to be rational.

  So, she settled the bag over her shoulder, bit back a cry of pain and set it on the other shoulder instead, forcing her body to move after Orlis. Bath and bed were out of the question for the moment, but there were healing potions in her bag. Her fingers fumbled with the straps as she tried to follow Orlis and get a bottle out without dropping the bag. She paused, nearly losing sight of his bright hair, and swallowed the potion in two hasty gulps. The bare tingle of magic through her body told her that she was more badly damaged than she had thought. Not just surface bruising, then. She was no healer, to be able to read the path of magic through her body, but she wondered if there was internal damage. Bleeding, perhaps, as she did not feel the ache of broken bones. The strongest healing potion she could conjure was barely touching the aches of her muscles, spreading lukewarm healing through her lower back and stomach. Internal bleeding, then.

  Her t
hroat closed in cold fear. Attacked out of nowhere. An attacker who had slid through her wards as if they did not exist. She shivered, wondering if she should follow Orlis. With a potential flaw in her wards and her whole body feeling like a single, freshly formed bruise, she was not sure she could defend herself let alone assist in finding Gilean.

  There were more healing potions in her bag, and for a moment she considered taking another one. Stern warnings from the Potions Master at the Academy rang in her head. Something odd happened to a magician who swallowed back too much of their own power too fast. She could not remember the specifics just now, but she did remember the forbidding tone. Deciding she needed what little of her wits remained, she left the other potions untouched and hoped that the worst was over.

  Orlis was out of sight now, too far ahead for her to call him back, so she kept walking. The potion settled to a distracting itch as it got to work, muscles barely eased enough that she could keep moving. Perhaps she could sleep on a horse. Or at least find some calm to pull some power from the heartland for more healing.

  ~

  Arrow did not remember much about leaving the Palace, almost her entire concentration taken up with moving as normally as she could and not betraying how badly injured she was, how vulnerable she was among the Erith. She remembered Orlis’ dismay as he learned she did not know how to ride, something she might have found comical on another day. She remembered the odd sensation of sitting on top of a horse for the first time, her body stretched, muscles pulling, the rocking motion as the horse moved, the scent of the creature, warm and soothing, filling her lungs, creak of leather and soft sounds of the horse’s great hooves meeting the ground.