Taellaneth Complete Series Box Set

by Vanessa Nelson

  “Stay by the door,” Arrow suggested. His eyes flared a moment then he shook his head, irritated with himself.

  “I am too weak,” he agreed.

  “Svegraen, is there more food for the mage?” Arrow asked. Kallish shot an irritated look over her shoulder, doubtless wondering if this was the right time for snacks. The warrior assessed Gilean’s state and jerked her chin at one of her third. More food was provided, along with a small vial of healing potion.

  The warriors pulled the damaged doors back together, blocking that exit, and left Gilean there to recover, the rest of them moving forward into the vast space. It was too dark. Arrow looked up at the domed ceiling and saw that someone had painted a new design. It looked like a child’s painting, hasty brush lines in vivid paint colours, but it was in fact a series of runes.

  “Stop.”

  The warriors halted at once, following the direction of her gaze.

  “What is that?”

  “An amplification spell.”

  “That is forbidden,” Kester pointed out.

  “I do not think this person cares,” Kallish answered.

  Arrow took note of the extent of the spell and began a careful circle around it on the floor, drawing a little of her own power with her. Amplification spells were not all forbidden, just those requiring a sacrifice. And this one required a sacrifice. She could trace the runes designed to draw power from whatever creature was to be used.

  The spell work was oddly crude, like the alterations of the constructs. Perhaps because a paintbrush was harder to use than chalk, but Arrow did not think so. The spell crafter had definitely undertaken some training but had not completed their studies. Or perhaps they had been denied access to the Academy. Or were too old to have gone through the Academy’s programme.

  “Do you recognise the mage?” Kallish asked.

  “No. Quite untrained. The work is primitive.” She wrinkled her nose in distaste. So much ignorance. Paired with enough power to do serious harm. There was a reason the Erith had an Academy. “Not a graduate.”

  “Homeschooled.” Gilean’s voice made Arrow jump. He was looking better and was following them in their slow circle of the spell. Arrow glanced back to the door to find he had left it guarded with a fierce, offensive ward that crackled in her second sight.

  “Who?” Arrow asked.

  “No one I know,” he answered, tilting his head back to look at the spells again. “How did they get up there?”

  “Levitation spells,” Arrow answered dryly. They were in the library that until recently had held floating shelves.

  Gilean made a noise, acknowledging her point, then blinked and looked around the room. “What happened here?”

  “The Lady Teresea was killed. Over there.” Kallish pointed.

  “Someone used a very fine blade of mage fire to cut through one of the levitation spells and brought a bookshelf down on her. After they had hit her over the head,” Arrow clarified.

  “I am sorry,” Gilean said softly, directing his words to Kester. The Taellan’s face was grim, shadows under his eyes. There had been too much death, Arrow thought.

  “The same person?” Kallish wanted to know.

  “Definitely not. The mage fire was delicate. This is … not.”

  They had nearly completed a complete circuit of the spell, a thread of Arrow’s power following them, nearly invisible in the first world, Gilean and the warriors careful to stay outside the slender line.

  The centre of the circle, on the floor, was a jumble of bookshelves and shadow. Arrow could not see into it and, from the others’ frowns, they could not either. A magic shadow. It could conceal a cadre of White Guard, a rogue magician or two, or nothing at all. Arrow did not think it was nothing.

  The deep pools of dark elsewhere in the room held no threats, rippling with movement as the constructs paced, tireless, in search of hidden prey.

  “Is the magician here?” Kallish wondered as they reached their starting point.

  Arrow shook her head for an answer, unable to tell, focusing instead on drawing the ends of her power together to complete a circuit that flared once in the first world.

  “The spell is contained. We should investigate,” she told them. She opened her second sight a fraction, overlaying onto first sight and, seeing no immediate threat in the circle, stepped over the line and into the influence of the amplification spell.

  As soon as she stepped over the threshold she knew she had made a mistake. An all-too-familiar form rushed out of the shadows, knife raised. Dark cloth, bright knife blade. Soundless and quick. She thought she made a sound of alarm, tripping over something on the floor as she tried to move away from the attacker. She hit the floor with a thump, hard edges biting into her leg and hip. Books. Pages skidded away under her feet as she scrambled to rise, one handed, calling mage fire to the other hand. Silver snapped around her as her wards rose, useless against the null.

  Kester joined her, blades ready, as a third of White Guard piled onto the attacker, pinning him to the ground, tearing at the null clothing he wore until it was in shreds around him, useless, threads gathered by one of Kallish’s cadre. Stripped of his disguise, the attacker was revealed to the uncertain light.

  A tall Erith male, face unfamiliar to Arrow, wriggled under the warriors’ hold, teeth bared as he spat a stream of curses at them. Older, somehow, than Arrow had expected, he had the same ghost white skin and pitch black hair as many within the Regersfel House.

  Even as she thought that, one of the warriors made a low sound of discovery and named him. “Learvis nuin Regersfel. Sell sword.”

  Arrow’s attention caught on the venom in the warrior’s tone. Sell swords, those who would sell their services to whoever would pay, were rare among the Erith, most Erith staying loyal to their Houses.

  “Regersfel?” Kester asked. “Well, that explains a few things.”

  “Does it?” Arrow asked.

  “Why he might want you dead,” Kester said, as though that should explain matters. Arrow felt a frown gather on her face. She was missing something. There was no time to ask about it now.

  “Although it does not explain how a Regersfel got hold of null clothing,” Kallish observed, straightening as her warriors tied up their captive so securely they had to help him to his feet.

  At full height, he was a head taller than Arrow, deep blue eyes glaring at her with barely a fleck of amber in their depth.

  “You should be dead,” he told Arrow, voice low and vibrating with anger and disgust. “Abomination.” He spat in her direction, her wards flaring at once. Freed of the null clothing, he could not harm her. Not physically at least. She tried to keep her face calm.

  “I do not think it was your idea to kill me, though,” she said, taking her cues from his clothing, which was fine, but old and worn, repaired rather than replaced. Adopted into the House, not part of the inner circle. A sell sword. Almost as embarrassing as she was. Not favoured.

  “I was happy to do it,” he replied, baring his teeth again.

  “No doubt.” Arrow ducked her head away from the hate in his gaze. There were more important things to focus on. She picked up one of the scraps of cloth. “This did not come from the House. Where did you get it?”

  He gave a sharp, sarcastic bark of laughter. “Why should I tell you?”

  “You will tell us,” Kallish said, silky smooth.

  Before she could go on, the silver containment circle flared.

  “There is someone else in here.” Arrow dropped the cloth and called mage fire again. The warriors dropped their captive back to the ground with no ceremony and Arrow could not help a sympathetic wince at the sound of pain he made, hitting the scattered books at full force.

  Battle wards rose around the small group, Gilean coming to stand at Arrow’s shoulder.

  Across the other side of the circle a figure detached from the shadows and ran for the silver shimmer of the line, covered in a heavy cloak that disguised their shape. The figure
hit the circle at a full run and Arrow hissed, going to her knees with the pressure of another magician’s power against her own, the scrape of pain passing quickly as the other simply kept going, running for the edge of the library.

  Arrow expected the warriors to give chase but she had forgotten about the constructs. Kallish had not, issuing a quick series of shouted commands that had the constructs converging on the running figure, bringing him to the ground, cloak ripped from him as he fell to reveal a familiar face.

  “Queris vo Lianen,” Kallish said, grim, and stalked out of the circle, careful to step over Arrow’s power rather than through it on her way towards the prone lord. Undurat gathered their other prisoner, simply lifting him over the circle, dropping him on the floor beyond it and then dragging him by his collar across the polished wooden floor of the library, not caring if he bumped against furniture or fallen books on the way, the others following.

  “What did you hope to gain?” Arrow asked, crouching between two of the constructs to get a better look at the lord. Far from the polished courtier she had seen before, he was in disarray, hair tangled, eyes red-rimmed as though from lack of sleep, or perhaps grief for the Queen’s passing, his lips trembling slightly as he stared back at her. His personal wards were disrupted but she could easily trace the same clumsy hand that had drawn the spells on the library ceiling and tampered with the constructs.

  “Take your power. Take the throne.” His voice quivered, tongue darting out to lick his lips, pale amber growing in his eyes as he stared back at her. “Frey’s mind was gone. No fit monarch. I was next. It should have been me. Unstoppable.”

  Arrow drew a breath and stood up so fast she was lightheaded for a moment, glancing back at the amplification spell drawn across the library’s ceiling.

  “Kill me in the circle. And draw my power.” She was freezing inside her clothes. If the warriors had not been with her, he could have succeeded. She had nothing to combat the null clothing. No defence against physical confrontation. Unlike the oath-spells she had carried for so long, her cooperation was not required for this spell. Between them, Learvis and Queris could easily have held her down, sent her blood across the remnants of the library, drawing her power out.

  She looked down at the Queen’s cousin, the feverish glint in his eyes and wondered how he had hidden his ambition for so long. Even as she thought the question, she had her answer. This was the Palace. The Erith Court. Wearing a mask was second nature. Everyone did so. So, Queris vo Lianen had played the part of a dutiful cousin, eccentric but harmless, and studied forbidden magic in his spare time. Not very advanced studies, judging by the crudeness of his efforts, but effective. She wondered if he had practised on anyone else first, unwelcome memories rising up of the rogue magician Nuallan, who had perfected his bloody craft over decades. She did not think Queris was as ruthless as Nuallan, though, and was thankful for it. If Nuallan had been given access to a null, she would not have been able to stop him.

  And still, there were pieces that did not make sense.

  “If you wanted to bring me here and kill me,” she turned to Learvis, “why did you warn me away the first time?”

  “Interfering bitch.” His eyes glittered with fury as he stared up at her from the ground.

  “Warn her?” Queris tried to sit up, movement checked almost at once as the constructs growled. The lord had not lost his voice, though. “You said she escaped. You were supposed to bring her to me!”

  Arrow tilted her head, considering Learvis. She remembered the tiny scrap of cloth, evidence that he had been there at Teresea’s death. Had perhaps held the lady so that someone else could deliver the fatal blow.

  “But you did not expect Lady Teresea to have a knife, did you?” she murmured, mostly to herself, and saw by the tightening of his face that she had guessed right.

  “Stupid bitch,” he said.

  “You were there when she died. With her killer. So, who else are you working for, Learvis?”

  His face paled to chalk, ghost-white, eyes widening in fear, and he shook his head, unwilling to even open his lips to refuse her question.

  She gathered some power, reviewing the truth spells she knew, and did not get a chance to use any.

  The library doors exploded inwards in a thump of magic that had all of them huddling down for a moment, wards not proof against the backlash of power and rain of splinters that soared through the vast room. Gilean made a small sound of pain, the protections he had woven on the door ripped apart by whoever was coming inside.

  Miach and his cadre, faces pale and strained, marched inside and stopped short at once, staring at the spell crafted across the ceiling, the silver containment circle, then across to the group, at the constructs guarding the lord on the ground, the tied up Regersfel scion and Gilean vo Presien, wobbling slightly on his feet.

  “I look forward to the explanation.” Miach’s voice was hoarse, grief and exhaustion warring. “But for now, we need your help, Arrow.”

  “Of course. What is required?”

  “The Queen is dead.” Miach had to pause, voice choking. “And Noverian is missing. We searched his chambers. We need your help to find him.”

  “Noverian is Regent until a new monarch is appointed,” Kallish explained quietly.

  “Do you have more guards available?” Arrow asked. Miach’s eyes narrowed in suspicion but he nodded. “These two need guarding.”

  Miach lifted a brow and Kallish provided the briefest, baldest, explanation Arrow had ever been privileged to hear. It said something for Miach’s many years as the Queen’s first guard that he accepted the blunt explanation with barely a blink, issuing a few terse orders to the junior third in his cadre which had them running out the door at a full sprint.

  “There are bodies in the Palace. Many bodies.” Miach’s voice caught.

  “Lord Lianen changed the constructs to respond to him,” Arrow told him, moving a few paces towards him, concern growing. “Are there more constructs still attacking?”

  “No.” The warrior’s shoulders slumped. “We managed to defeat the other two.”

  At cost, Arrow guessed, seeing the ripped uniforms and blood spattered across the cadre. Not the warriors’ blood. More Erith had died, though. The scent of the Queen’s death was strongest in the air, but far from alone.

  “I see you found Gilean,” Miach said.

  “She did,” Gilean confirmed. He was still pale, and too thin.

  Nothing more was said for a moment.

  “How did she die?” Kallish asked, coming to stand beside Arrow.

  “Another glass of tea. She had a seizure.” Miach closed his eyes briefly, a pair of tears sliding down his face through blood spatter. “Gone in a moment, before anyone could even send for the healer.”

  “Are her ladies under guard?” Arrow asked. She might not know the name, but she remembered the face of the one who had not looked surprised at the tea’s effect on her Queen. Poisoned by one of those closest to her, despite her fabled sharp mind, the same mind eroded by mercat. No fit end for a monarch who had ruled her people with a ferocious intellect and abundance of personal charm.

  “In the dungeons,” Miach answered, tipping his head to her, a glint of approval in his eyes. “Elias is on watch with his cadre. Her rooms are under watch by the third cadre.” Miach’s face hardened as he looked down at Queris. “And this one has questions to answer.”

  “Not about the Queen, though,” Arrow told him. Miach’s brow lifted, face still tight, skin pale. Decades of service. Many times Arrow’s life. The echo of the heartland’s grief, muted but still present, shone in Miach’s eyes as he stared at her. She blinked, finding her own eyes hot. “He thought her mind had gone. Not that it was done to her.” She glanced aside at the constructs, tamed under the White Guard’s command and her throat tightened. “But he should answer for the deaths caused by tampering with the constructs’ spells.”

  Miach’s chin dipped, acknowledging. She thought of the dungeons and the qu
estions that Miach, and other White Guard, would want answered. The Queen’s cousin was about to discover just how privileged his life had been.

  Running footsteps at the door drew their attention as the junior third returned, breathing hard, two more cadre of guard following in their wake, the new warriors pristine and alert compared to Miach and his cadre.

  “Thornis, take these two prisoners in hand. Separately. And be careful with them. Gea, with me.”

  Orders given, the cadres moved to obey without question. Arrow wondered if they were usually so quick to follow Miach’s commands, out of years of habit, or if everyone was still shocked by the Queen’s death.

  “Arrow?” Miach looked to her for direction.

  “The annex.” She did not look at him, heading for the door.

  “He is in the annex?” Miach hissed in her ear, catching up with her.

  “Not here,” Arrow answered. “We need to get to the annex,” she amended, glancing across at Gilean, “and regroup.”

  Miach made a low sound impressively close to a shifkin’s growl of anger and stalked beside her, tense and angry, all the way to the annex.

  ~

  Noverian was still on the chaise, looking healthier than he had been when they had left earlier, apart from the steady stream of tears down his face. Orlis was huddled on the ground beside the Consort, half-dozing, paler and more tangled than ever. He looked up the moment the group came through the door, eyes unerringly going to Gilean.

  “So, you are alright, then,” the journeyman said, and closed his eyes again, body relaxing.

  “He is nearly done,” Noverian said softly, brushing tears from his face, and sitting up fully.

  “Highness.” Miach, his cadre and the new cadre knelt as one.

  Arrow found a spot at the edge of the room crowded with White Guard and slumped against the wall. No one had tried to kill her for a while, the attacker who could break through her wards was in custody, and she was surrounded by warriors. She thought it was safe to relax for a moment. Just a moment to catch her breath and steady herself.