The waystation, when they reached it, was by far the most humble Erith public building Arrow had seen. Seen more clearly, it was also not particularly low or small, simply dwarfed by the ancient forest around it. Built from wood, it was a two storey structure shaped like a large box, with plain windows and no decoration at all. There was a long, rectangular structure, of similar construction, to one side that she identified after a few moments as stables.
Humble or not, the place was steeped in Erith magic, the wards sparking in Arrow’s sight as they rode up, powerful magic woven in.
“Are there many predators in this place?” she asked, startled by the spellwork.
“Occasionally,” Kester lifted a brow, “why?”
“The building has some of the strongest defensive wards I have ever seen. Even next to the Palace.”
“A lot of Palace courtiers stop here on their way to and from the Palace.” Orlis’ lip curled.
“The owners pride themselves on providing a comfortable rest,” Kester added, lips twitching in response to Orlis’ sideways glance. “A lot of the courtiers consider this wild territory.”
Arrow blinked, looking around and casting her senses out a moment. It seemed very tame to her. But the waystation was the only structure within range of her senses and she could, perhaps, understand how a courtier used to the vast sprawl of Palace buildings and constant bustle of other Erith might find the apparently endless stretch of woodland to be intimidating.
Getting off the horse required a moment of standing, head resting against the horse’s side, before she was able to move away on her own feet. Her legs had grown new aches in the afternoon’s ride and returning to the ground had woken the bruising across her back.
“Hot baths, I think.” She thought Kester was hiding a smile and lowered her eyes quickly. She was sure she was highly amusing, not used to the experience of riding, and bit her lip to hold back a moan as she shouldered her satchel, careful to put it onto her less injured shoulder. She might be mostly healed, but there was no point in making things worse again.
There was no time for more conversation as the waystation’s hosts arrived, a surprisingly young Erith couple. Not all Erith, Arrow realised after a bare moment. The woman was wholly Erith but the man had something else in his lineage. Not human, but something.
She was distracted by the building, the layers and layers of warding, to focus much on the discussion that took place around her, allowing herself to be shown to a small room furnished with a single bed and nightstand, and a second door that opened onto a small bathroom complete with a full-sized bath tub. And taps. She had not thought that indoor plumbing would be widely available in the heartland and spent a moment blinking at the sight before she realised that Orlis was trying to get her attention.
“You have time to bathe before the meal. Do you need healing?”
She thought a moment and shook her head.
“A bath will help.”
He frowned slightly then held out another small vial.
“First time on horseback. This should ease some of the ache. Let me know if you need more.”
“Thank you.”
The bath was an extraordinary luxury. Arrow could have stayed there for the rest of the evening but her growling stomach forced her out eventually. She cast a quick cleaning spell over her clothes before putting them back on, still feeling a frisson of delight that she was able to use such common household spells without restriction, the oath spells completely gone. Orlis’ potion chased away the last of the aches, although she left her glamour in place, knowing that the bruising would take more time to fade.
She paid more attention to the building on the way down the flight of shallow stairs to the main entranceway. For all its plainness, the building was beautifully crafted. And old. Now that she had got used to the strength of the wards, she could sense the age of the place. Whoever had built the place had built it to last. The stairs did not creak at all, floorboards steady under her boots, window glass clear, letting in the very last of the daylight and the first glimmer of stars.
She followed the sound of voices to an open doorway, finding a haphazard arrangement of tables and chairs in a large, low ceilinged room with an enormous fireplace opposite the door. The hosts were standing behind a waist-height wooden structure she thought was a workbench at first but soon realised must be a bar, large jugs set at one end and a set of shelves behind it holding a variety of bottles, a wooden stand at one end holding a large barrel.
Stepping into the room, she looked about with open curiosity. The layout was not that different from human bars she had passed through, although the materials were very different and the unlabelled bottles, she suspected, held drinks far more potent than would be legal in the human world. Erith bodies, and shifkin for that matter, could handle alcohol far better than humans.
There were a few other Erith in the room. The hosts were chatting quietly with a medium height male in the plain clothing of a workman, and three Erith nobles sat at another table, the two ladies staring around the room with displeased expressions while their male companion sipped from a large metal drinking vessel.
Orlis and Kester were settled at a table near the wall, Kester with his back to the wall and a clear view of the room, Orlis to one side. The table was covered with closed dishes, and three plates with eating utensils set beside them.
Taking her place opposite Orlis, Arrow breathed in the scent of food.
“The food here is very good,” Orlis told her the moment she sat down.
“I am sorry if you were waiting,” she answered, having little attention for anything apart from the food.
“Can you …” Kester made a brief motion with his fingers, part of the runes for a confusion spell.
Arrow dug in a pocket, producing a short piece of chalk and sketched the spell on the table surface, faint sheen of silver showing the spell active.
“The hosts are reliable,” Kester told her, “but I do not know the others.”
“Can we eat now?” Orlis asked, voice plaintive.
Nothing more was said as the dishes were opened and nearly all the contents consumed, Arrow pausing frequently as unfamiliar flavours hit her tongue. Orlis had been right. The food was good.
Once most of the food was eaten, the three sat back and only then did Arrow spot the beaker of plain water at her elbow. She took a sip and watched her companions for a moment. Kester had not asked her to disguise their eating. They had news, or something they wished to discuss.
“Gilean has not been here for months,” Kester said without warning. “The hosts were surprised he had been seen in the area.”
“If he had been nearby, he would have called in,” Orlis added, face grim.
“Was your information good?” Arrow asked.
“Several people said they had seen him travelling in this direction.”
“After the struggle in his room?”
Orlis scowled at her, amber sparks rising in his eyes.
“The struggle suggests he may have been injured,” Arrow reminded him, “so was he injured when people saw him riding this way?”
“I … did not think to ask.” Orlis’ anger vanished into irritation.
“You have investigated matters before,” Kester noted.
“Several times.” Arrow did not look at him, staring at the dark windows. The Taellan had sent her on several tasks over the years which had required her to find people, or investigate things that had happened. Kester vo Halsfeld had been in the room for many of the reports she had given to the Taellan on her return.
“Well, what should we do, then?” Orlis’ voice held a hard note of challenge, amber back in his eyes.
“You said several people saw him riding away from the Palace in this direction. And that he was seen at a farm near here? Then we should continue on to the farm,” Arrow suggested. “He may not have come to this waystation if he was in a hurry.”
“And how do we find out if this was before or after
the struggle?”
“Check dates,” Arrow answered promptly, drawing another scowl from Orlis, “and ask the people who saw him leave if he was injured at the time, or appeared so.”
“No one remembered dates,” Orlis grumbled, “I did ask.”
“Very few people remember dates, but they may remember by reference to events. Was there a …” she hesitated to use the word party as it seemed too undignified for Erith nobility.
“There have been several musical recitals,” Kester put in, “and a few receptions hosted by different Houses.”
“Yes. Ask whether it was before or after those. And about injuries.”
“He would try to disguise any injury,” Orlis objected, sitting up straight, glaring at her.
“Then was anything different about him that day. Was he more stiff in the saddle,” Arrow speculated, remembering the pain of the ride here.
Orlis’ mood darkened, amber sparks flaring in his eyes. Arrow spread her hands in a pacifying gesture.
“Most times enquiries are very unexciting. Lots of questions. Often really dull questions. But they yield information. Little bits at a time. And most puzzles can be solved by asking the right question.”
“The farm is not far from here,” Kester put in, voice calm, “we can go there tomorrow morning and be back to the Palace by nightfall if need be.”
“Very well.” Orlis rose from the table and stalked away, the confusion spell disappearing as he moved.
“He is worried,” Kester said as quietly as possible.
“Yes.” Arrow agreed, then hid a yawn behind her hand. As she stumbled to apologise, he bit his lip against a smile and then hid a yawn of his own. It was a surprisingly peaceful end to the day.
~
The waystation was near silent in the middle of the night, just the faint sounds of an old, well maintained building. The gentle creak of a wall. The brush of wind against a window. The wards quiet all around, and yet something had woken her. No sense of danger, just a tug at her sense that suggested something worth exploring. There was a bite of chill in the air that had not been there when she went to bed. She got dressed in the dark, years of practice coming to her aid, moving quickly despite sore muscles, and paused at the door of her room, opening it a crack, the lock turning quietly.
The corridor outside was dimly lit to her eyes, adequate for Erith. She paused to enhance her sight, then stepped out. No one. A brush of chill air, carrying the scent of the outdoors, crossed her cheek and she turned to follow it, along the corridor, past several other closed doors, to a door at the end which was open a fraction, letting in the outside air.
Curiosity drew her through the door and up the stairs she found behind it, treads of plain wood coated with some kind of heavy varnish that her boots could grip.
The roof of the waystation opened out before her, a pitched roof design with a wide, flat area near the stairs. Even the tallest points of the roof were lower than the canopies of many of the trees around, but still high enough that the night sky shone, seemingly close enough to touch, stars glinting in the bottomless black.
The waystation’s host was settled on one of a pair of chairs placed on the flat area, leaning back, what looked like a pottery mug held against his stomach, face turned up to the sky.
“Do join me,” he said, voice soft but carrying in the still night. “Although I did not bring another mug.”
“That is alright. I did not mean to disturb you.”
“You are not. Come and sit.” The tone made it an invitation, not an order. He glanced across with a small smile. “I run a waystation. I enjoy company.”
The sky above was reason enough to stay, but the host was also only partly Erith, only the second she had spoken with after Orlis. Arrow’s feet moved before her mind caught up with her and she settled in the other chair, finding it piled with blankets, ready to ward off the chill.
“It is beautiful.” She tipped her head back and was overwhelmed for a moment by the spread of stars above, mind immediately trying to make familiar patterns out of them. None of the stars were in the right place compared to those above the Taellaneth. She was completely out of place, far from everything familiar. And safe. The old building’s wards were settled, ancient. The host nearby was not threatening.
“Yes. The lights of heaven.”
“Caphaisan,” Arrow identified his other species. Distantly related to the Erith. Very distantly, according to most Erith. An elusive and not numerous race, they preferred the dark.
“My grandfather. Apparently my grandmother was worth coming out into the light.” The easy way he said it spoke of many years’ affection and knowledge.
“He lives among the Erith?” The question was out before she could stop it. “I beg pardon. That was rude.”
“Natural curiosity.” He was laughing, the sound soft and warm.
That was another feature of the Caphaisan. They might prefer the dark, but they welcomed anyone who cared to visit into their homes. Arrow had long thought that they were one of the races she would like to meet. The Erith despised them for their lack of magical skill or battle prowess, but left them alone as the Caphaisan could venture deep into the ground without worry, bringing back treasures that the Erith prized and which the Caphaisan then traded with the Erith. And other races.
“Grandfather is dancing in the heavens. Some twenty years now.”
“I am sorry.”
“So am I. So is everyone who knew him. He had a long and full life, even in the light.”
They sat in silence a few more moments, surprisingly comfortable. Arrow’s mind was still trying to make sense of the stars. To be quiet, still and unthreatened among the Erith was a rare treat. And one she would not have had if she had stayed in her bed.
“You left the door open for me,” she said after a while. Oddly the thought did not irritate her.
“There are few of us. The mixed bloods. And Seggerat has had you confined to the Taellaneth your whole life. I thought you may not have met many others.”
“You thought right.” Arrow closed her lips before anger could spill out. This peaceful night was no place for her old anger or bitterness. “Orlis is the only one I had met before. Before him I did not know that there were any others like me.”
A soft laugh, no mockery in it. “There is no one like you. Trained mage. Most powerful one he has ever met, according to Orlis.”
“He talks too much.”
“Often,” he agreed easily, taking no offence at the bite in her words. “But often for good cause.”
A small pause. Arrow stayed silent, sensing he had more to say.
“And none of us are as well connected as you. Claiming kinship to two of the oldest Houses.”
Arrow could not help the laugh that escaped, a hard sound. “They do not acknowledge me.”
“Serran would, if he were still here.”
“You knew Serran.” It was not a question. The waystation had a plentiful bar and, even on a quiet evening, several other people to talk to. Serran was as famous for his love of drink and conversation as he was for his magical abilities.
“His was a sad loss.” The host laughed. “And not just for my bar takings. He had a way of cutting to the heart of a matter, not caring who he offended on the way.”
“You knew him well.”
“Quite well. He was friends with grandfather.” No need to say which one. Serran had always been curious about the other races, travelling outside the Erith heartland to meet them. “He would have been proud of you.”
Arrow breathed lightly, the notion that any relative of hers would be proud of her sending a sharp pain through her chest. No one had been proud of her. She had passed the tests required of her to graduate as a war mage and the Preceptor had simply nodded, as though he had been expecting it. She had defeated surjusi and the Erith had accepted her efforts as their due and complained about the mess.
“Serran did not fit well into the Erith nobility.” He kept talking as if
he had not noticed her indrawn breath or stillness. “As much as he was a favourite of the Queen, he was also an irritant. One of the few people who dared to openly oppose her will. Just before he disappeared, they had a furious argument. No one knows what about, but the Queen was angry enough that she did not send anyone to look for Serran for many days after he vanished. And by then it was too late. Gone without a trace. Swallowed up by his magic, some say.”
“You seem to know much.” And had painted an image of her grandfather far more vivid and real than the snippets of information she had gathered over the years. And had given another insight into the Erith Queen. So furious, all those years ago, she had not sent after one of her favourites. And now one of her favourites was dead and another missing, and, in the middle of the Erith Court, the Queen had charged Serran’s granddaughter to find the truth. Another twist of pain. Growing up in the Taellaneth, her heritage had been a source of shame and derision, that such famous Houses should produce her, of all things. In the Court, things were different. Just how different she did not know. Yet. And did not wish to find out. She wanted to go back to the quiet workspace the shifkin had provided, to plans for her future. Away from the Erith.
Another soft laugh from the host drew her attention. “People talk. Even the Erith who pride themselves on holding their secrets. And waystations are meeting points for all sorts of odd combinations. A lot of talk. A host is invisible to most Erith.”
“Like servants.” It was not a fair comparison, but it fitted.
“Indeed. House retainers and the like would never talk outside their House. But they forget to put wards up. And the rivalries between the Houses run deep. There are arguments.”
“People talk too much when they are angry. Or drunk.” Arrow nodded, eyes catching on something almost familiar in the sky.
There was another silence.
“We are looking for Gilean,” Arrow said at last, “as I believe Orlis told you.”
“He was last here before mid-winter. But my lady thought she saw his horse running past perhaps twenty or thirty days ago. Difficult to be sure. Perhaps a little over thirty.”
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