Taellaneth Complete Series Box Set

by Vanessa Nelson

  Before his disappearance. Before the struggle in his rooms.

  “Would he always stop here?”

  “Not always. With Orlis, yes. That young one loves company as much as breathing and Gilean knows it. On his own, Gilean would stop when it was convenient. If he was in a hurry, no.”

  Arrow absorbed the information in silence. A running horse. In a hurry, then.

  “Did your lady think the horse had been running long?” It was a question in the dark, Arrow knowing little about horses, but it seemed a sensible thing to ask.

  “Not long. It was not sweating, running freely with a spring in its stride. If she had to guess, she thinks he had started his journey not far from here and was heading back to the Palace.”

  Thirty days ago. Or a little more. Arrow’s heart skipped, remembering where she had been. Had it only been that short time ago? The easy pace of life in the human world, among the shifkin, had distorted her sense of time. About that time, Gilean had appeared at the Academy, warding a room where a surjusi had possessed a spoiled Erith. He had not explained his appearance, or disappearance, to anyone, as far as Arrow knew, beyond wanting to speak with Evellan. But the Preceptor had been gravely injured, and there had been a fight. Not long after, Gilean had left the Academy, leaving Orlis to care for Evellan.

  “What is nearby?” she asked. What could Gilean have found that sent him running back to the Palace and then to find his old friend Evellan. Something he wanted to discuss with Evellan in person, not via a communication disk or through letter. Something dangerous, then. Dangerous enough that a war mage, one of the Queen’s favourites, had disappeared in the Palace, with violence.

  “A lot of forest. It would not be easy to hide much in that. The forest itself would know and it would be easy for any tracker to find it. There is the flower farm not far away.” The host paused, tone shifting slightly as though he had just realised something. “We have not seen the farmer for a while. Butris. A good man. Trusted by the Palace.”

  Arrow’s mind tried to understand what a flower farm might be, having only seen flowers in carefully tended gardens before. The farm, then. How flowers could be dangerous she did not know.

  “Whatever you find, you will be welcome here at any time.” The host rose, and stretched, easy in his movements as any Erith warrior. Not a simple host. Naturally not. Too near the Palace. Too many high ranking Erith passing through. Arrow wondered how closely he kept in contact with Miach. Or perhaps even the Queen. She did not ask the question, as it would be rude. He had given her the information he thought she should have, and the invitation extended was quite genuine. He bowed slightly. “Now I should get to bed. Stay as long as you wish.”

  With that little fuss, he walked away, disappearing into the building, leaving Arrow with a head full of clues and the unknown skies above.

  CHAPTER 12

  They left the waystation early, Orlis having woken them just before first light, hammering on Arrow’s door until she opened it, woken from a confusing dream filled with people she knew wearing the wrong faces. He had woken Kester first, so Arrow was behind and had no time to give her breakfast the attention it deserved before Orlis had almost dragged her out of the waystation and onto her horse.

  She woke up properly as they passed the waystation’s wards, the heartland’s magic coursing through her, every sense sharpening, taking in the fresh bite of early spring against her face, the ice of winter still in the air. The great trees, their tops far overhead, and the shrubs closer to the ground all showed the first signs of green growth, full of rustling life as the small group rode along the path. Arrow caught glimpses of four legged, furred tree creatures scampering through the trees as they rode. Like and not like the squirrels found in the human worlds, these creatures had vibrant auburn fur that shimmered now and then with the amber of Erith magic.

  Despite Orlis’ rush to leave the waystation, they were riding at the same sedate pace of the day before, and in the same formation, with Kester and Orlis ahead. Arrow was grateful for the steady pace. She was sure that if Kester and Orlis had been travelling alone, they would be riding much faster, and was tempted to suggest that they ride on without her, sure that Orlis, at least, would want to do so. Even as she thought to suggest that, the trees ahead of them thinned showing open ground ahead. Her horse’s ears pricked and his head lifted, snorting out a breath as some new scent caught his attention. The abrupt movement reminded her that her body was still healing, bruising across her back tightening in protest. The bruising on her face was nearly gone, a shadow across one cheek that would be gone by nightfall.

  They rode out of the woodlands to a series of large fields, neatly bordered by wooden fences, each field full of flowers that she mostly did not recognise, Kester and Orlis slowing their horses until they were grouped together.

  “Decorative blooms,” Kester told her.

  “So many.” She turned slightly, tracing the patchwork of fields that stretched as far as she could see, the bright shades reminding her of the Taellan in their finery.

  “The Palace is as large as a city, and the courtiers very fond of cut flowers.”

  Arrow remembered the great displays of cut flowers in the Taellaneth, fussed over by the Steward and his staff, each carefully woven with preservation spells. Even with preservation spells, the flowers did eventually fade and Arrow remembered the Steward complaining, at length, that no magician had been able to create a preservation spell that kept the scent as long as the flowers.

  “It seems extravagant,” Arrow said, turning again, almost unable to believe her own eyes. A farm for flowers. She had never imagined such a thing, having assumed that the flowers in the Taellaneth came from the extensive gardens. Not from somewhere like this. Dozens of fields. Purples and blues and reds and yellows and oranges. Each colour available in a range of hues. She could see shocking pink and, a short distance away, a softer, paler shade. And all to supply the courtiers’ whim. She liked the Queen’s meadow far better.

  “It keeps the farmer and the courtiers happy,” Kester answered, shrugging one shoulder.

  “And does this farmer have cows?”

  “Cows?”

  “Red spotted cows.”

  Kester blinked at her, then his eyes narrowed. “Is that a joke?”

  “I do not think so. Gilean had left an unfinished letter in his rooms. There was reference to a farmer with a cow whose milk had spoiled. And I recall he wrote to the Preceptor about red spotted cows.”

  “So he did.” Kester’s face was grim, doubtless recalling the letter, too. “Orlis, can you see any cows?”

  Orlis looked ahead, power rising in his eyes for a moment before he blinked, turning to them. “There are a few large beasts, possibly cows, behind the residence.”

  They were riding in a narrow, grassy lane between fields now, having to travel in single file, Kester in the lead, one hand on a weapon hilt. Difficult to imagine there was danger here, Arrow thought, and was immediately wary. There was always danger among the Erith. The rich scents of the flowers rose around them, a heady mix from deep, rich tastes that were almost edible to fresher, more frivolous smells that teased her nose. The field next to them was full of bright yellow flowers, huge heads turned towards them. Beyond that was a field of purple, an odd patch of slightly different shade in the midst catching Arrow’s eyes for a moment.

  Ahead of them, tucked in the middle of the patchwork, was a modest-sized residence built of red brick, accompanied by several large, wooden, outbuildings and a few fields of plain grass.

  The lane ended at an open expanse of grass around the residence, large trees here and there providing shade. It was an idyllic scene, and yet Arrow’s shoulder blades prickled with unease and the sense of being watched.

  Orlis rode ahead and got off his horse with more grace than Arrow had yet to manage, knocking loudly on the closed door.

  The closed door. The quiet fields. The scent of flowers.

  ~

  “Something
is wrong.” Arrow got down from her horse and winced as her muscles protested. On reflex, using a fingertip to draw, she sketched a quick rune for protection across the horse’s shoulder, silver sparks making him snort, but, Erith bred and trained, he remained still, ears flicking back and forth.

  Kester was on his feet, too, readying his weapons.

  “No one home,” Orlis said as he came back to them.

  “The flowers are ready to harvest. No farmer would leave them.” Kester’s voice was calm, at odds with his keen gaze, eyes flickering across their surroundings, taking everything in, and with his stance, the apparently relaxed poise of a warrior ready for battle, feet apart, knees relaxed, hands casually resting near weapons.

  “The cows are restless,” Orlis observed. “Though none of them have red spots.” He was much less calm than Kester. Worried, Arrow thought.

  They moved ahead in silence, going round the corner of the residence, the cows, all a creamy brown colour, greeting them with loud noises of protest as they came into view.

  “No one has tended them for a while,” Kester observed. Arrow glanced across and saw only cows, staring back at her with dark eyes, a few ears twitching.

  There were three large wooden barns behind the residence, long and low, the narrow ends, with wide wooden doors, pointing towards the house. The doors of the barn nearest to them were open, showing nothing but shadows behind them.

  They moved towards the open doors, Kester slightly ahead, Arrow raising her wards so that silver formed around the group.

  As they stepped from sunlight to shadow they all stopped for a moment, a familiar sweet scent rising to meet them. Erith death. And cutting through it, a scratching sound that raised the hair on Arrow’s neck.

  The gloom of the barn stretched out before them, odd shapes making no sense to her eyes.

  “Light,” Kester suggested.

  Arrow reached for her bag, only then realising that she had left it on the horse. The sword across her back pulsed in readiness, waiting for her command. She dug through her pockets and found a piece of chalk, crushed it in her fingers and blew, sending silver sparks out before them, spreading through the barn, giving her, finally, enough light to see by.

  Wooden racks were suspended from the ceiling, reminding her strongly of the Taellaneth laundry’s drying room, except these racks were hung with a range of flowers, blooms pointing down, stalks held on the wooden beams. A faint trace of amber laced through the flowers. A low-level preservation spell, she guessed. Nothing harmful.

  About halfway down the barn the racks had been disturbed, a large gap in the neatly ordered rows, flowers scattered over the packed earth floor underneath a crumpled pile of cloth. Kester went forward, swords out, movements silent on the bare earth, Arrow following, not silent at all, with Orlis her shadow, the journeyman’s breathing rapid and harsh.

  The cloth was dark, perhaps that of a war mage’s cloak. Orlis tripped against Arrow’s heels, wrenching the barely-healed muscles in her back as she fought to stay upright. He did not apologise, surging ahead of her, going past Kester to kneel by the pool of cloth, tugging it to one side.

  The cloth gave with reluctance, resolving into the shoulder of a plain cloth tunic, worn by an unfamiliar Erith, body turning towards them as Orlis tugged, expression distorted in his final cry. The hilt of a knife protruded from his chest.

  “Facing his attacker,” Kester noted, not relaxing, eyes darting around them.

  As he spoke the scratching sound came again, closer this time.

  “Rallestran?” Arrow strained, trying to see through the gloom. There were other small Erith predators, but that particular sound was familiar.

  “Sounds like.” Kester was grim. “They should not be here. This place is warded.”

  “The wards were down,” Arrow said absently, most of her attention on calling more power, extending her wards.

  “Down?”

  “We did not pass through any wards at the perimeter,” Orlis confirmed, straightening.

  Kester had not noticed, Arrow realised, his attention on looking for a more physical threat, but both magicians had spotted the absence of active wards at once.

  Orlis’ eyes lit with amber as he stared into the gloom around them. “We need to get the vermin outside. This scene needs to be preserved.”

  “Agreed.”

  The only sure way to kill the rallestran was mage fire, which would destroy the evidence. Arrow drew a breath, readying herself. Rallestran were cowards, but could not resist a chase.

  “Run.” She turned as she spoke and began running back towards the door and the light, not surprised when both Kester and Orlis outpaced her after only two or three strides. She lengthened her strides, blinking away tears as her injuries stung, the healing weakening as she abused her muscles, and made it to the doors of the barn just as the first creature sprang at her, trying to latch onto her calf. Her wards flared, silver burning the creature, and she kept going until she was standing with Kester and Orlis, turning to face the barn, breathing hard, speaking the necessary spell as quickly as she could, calling mage fire to her hands. No time for the kri-syang, or calling on the heartland’s power. All the mage fire would need to come from her own resources.

  The dark opening of the doorway shivered as a mass of creatures spilled out of the building, bodies swarming towards them. Arrow released mage fire, silver light scorching across the first wave of creatures, and the next, and the next. Beside her she was dimly aware of Kester’s swords flashing and the deeper amber of Orlis’ power as he used smaller bursts of mage fire, catching those rallestran that made it past her fire.

  She was sweating and trembling by the time the creatures were all dead, the ground between her and the barn littered with charred remains, stench of burning flesh overriding everything else.

  Sure they were all gone, she released her fire, limbs shaking with effort, the well of silver inside dimmed to a small pool. Drawing in a breath, she choked on the stench, turning away, stumbling into a large soft leaved shrub and throwing up onto the ground underneath.

  “Here.” Kester handed her a flask and she took it, shivering as she knelt on the dirt under the shrub. She was freezing cold, teeth chattering. The grey weight of so much death pressed on her and she swallowed, hard, against more nausea before rinsing her mouth. Erith tea. It chased away the foul taste and the stench for a moment.

  “I will call Miach,” Orlis announced, digging a communication disk from his bag.

  “He will want to know about a death so close to the Palace,” Kester answered Arrow’s puzzled expression.

  “Of course.” She forced herself back to her feet, kicking dirt over her sickness, and tried to hand the flask back to Kester.

  “Keep it. Come, we should take a better look.”

  She wrapped her arms around herself for warmth and, now she had a moment, called some of the heartland’s magic to chase away the chill of death and try to ease the renewed ache through her body. The bright warmth of the heartland curled around her, more than she had asked for, steadying her steps as she followed Kester into the barn, silver sparks of light still active, past bunches of preserved flowers, to the body.

  “He knew his attacker,” Arrow observed. “Was taken by surprise.” The expression on the man’s face was horror and shock combined. There had been no time for him to defend against the knife.

  “The attacker knew what he was doing,” Kester said, kneeling by the corpse. “A single thrust upwards, piercing the heart.”

  “Trained in weapons, then.” Arrow made a slow circuit around the body, keeping close watch on where she put her feet. “A tracker may find more, but I cannot see any other footprints.”

  “We are trained to leave no trace.”

  “A warrior?” Arrow looked up, dismay clenching her stomach, nausea churning again. The Erith’s elite did not murder. It was one of the many codes of honour that bound a warrior’s conduct.

  “Perhaps.” Kester was still looking at
the body, bowed shoulders only sign of his feelings. “Or perhaps someone who has had some training but not passed the Trials.”

  “There must be a number of those.”

  “Many. And many at the Palace.”

  A shadow came towards them, Orlis pacing rapidly through the barn.

  “Miach was disturbed. There was something else going on here, but he would not tell me what. He was too disturbed for this to be a simple farmer.” Orlis was as serious as Arrow had ever seen him, face pinched.

  “Is he sending someone?”

  “One of the Queen’s cadres will be here soon. We are asked to wait.” Orlis was still serious.

  Soon. That suggested that they may have been on their way already. Arrow tilted her head. “What is it?”

  “He did not seem particularly surprised by the death. He was more concerned by the rallestran.”

  Rallestran who had been confined to a barn with open doors. Voracious eaters who had not eaten the corpse laid out before them, Arrow thought, and opened her senses a fraction, seeking active magic.

  “Something is wrong,” Kester repeated Arrow’s earlier words.

  “No more active magic. There was a containment around the body,” she told them, sight overlaid. “We should search before the White Guard arrive,” she suggested, glancing around the barn. This single building was large and would take a while to go through.

  “We are not splitting up,” Kester vetoed the idea before she had even voiced it. “Can you record the scene?”

  “Of course.”

  Glad to have something simple, and constructive, to do, Arrow spoke the necessary words and felt the pull of magic as the spell activated, preserving the details around them. Walking slowly, she made her way along the centre of the barn, traces of her spell cascading around her, committing everything to memory.

  There were no more apparent surprises in that barn. They walked through the other two barns with similar results. Hundreds upon hundreds of drying flowers in the second, and in the last, noticeably cooler than the other two, great, shallow troughs of water, full of cut flowers with the slight trace of a preservation spell running through them.