Taellaneth Complete Series Box Set

by Vanessa Nelson

  She made to place the skull on the sheet. Con took it for her, hands gentle, carefully placing it at one end.

  They went through the rest of the bones in the box in the same manner. Arrow examined the bones to make sure there was nothing more to learn, then handed each one in turn to the ‘kin for them to place on the sheet.

  They were trying to see how much of the student’s skeleton remained, she saw. Laying the bones out in order. A collar bone. Forearm. Fingers. Thigh bone. The student had been a petite build, too many of her bones fitting into this box.

  Eventually there were no more bones left.

  The inside of the box was surprisingly clean, unmarked by blood or viscera. No spells remained.

  “You’re frowning,” Zachary remarked.

  “It seems a lot of effort to hold bones,” Arrow answered absently. She tried to pick the box up again and again found it too heavy.

  “It’s made of lead. Heavy,” Paul observed.

  “And soft,” Rose commented, crouching by the box. “But there’s not a mark on it.”

  Arrow tapped on the bottom of the box, brows lifting. “That is not metal.”

  “No. Here,” Rose handed Arrow a slender knife.

  The knife tip fit into the tiniest of seams at the side of the box and the false bottom lifted up in one, smooth move to reveal parchment.

  “There you are.” Arrow handed Rose back her knife and slid into second sight for a moment to make sure there were no more spells before she carefully lifted the parchment out. Pages and pages of parchment with scribbled notes.

  “You were expecting this?”

  “Not exactly. But there has been nothing in any of the places so far to show how the Magister knew about blood magic.”

  “This is blood magic?” Rose scowled at the pages. “Looks like normal magic.”

  “Magic is just power,” Arrow said absently, carefully sifting through the pages. “A lot of times it is about intent. And runes can be used for many purposes. These are old. Older than the Magister.”

  “So the writer is dead? Pity.” Zachary had no mercy in him just now, eyes travelling across the skeleton they had laid out.

  “Long dead, I would think,” Arrow confirmed. She had reached the end of the parchment pages. “And human. This writing was not done by Erith.” She did not need to tell the Prime of the shifkin nation that his people did not use magic in this way.

  “Any identifying marks?” he asked.

  “Not at first glance. I would need to study them more.”

  Zachary nodded in acknowledgement, eyes still bright.

  “Will the human authorities want the bones?” Arrow asked.

  “Yes. We have photographs,” Rose answered. Arrow had not noticed the photographs being taken. “We can photograph the pages as well.”

  “Yes. There is no hidden magic on them. Pictures would do,” Arrow agreed. She hesitated a fraction. “Multiple copies, if I may? It is sometimes useful to trace the words.” Her stomach clenched at the thought of tracing blood magic, even if it might be necessary. Rose nodded, face tight, and took the parchment from her.

  “And then can we destroy this damned thing?” Zachary wanted to know.

  “Yes. Mage fire would work.”

  “Can we blow it up?” Will asked unexpectedly. His eyes were as bright, reflecting the fury she saw in the others. Arrow understood the impulse to violence.

  “Can you make an explosion that will burn down lead?” she asked, surprised.

  A grim, determined smile came over his face.

  “Oh, yes.”

  “See to it,” Zachary ordered Con and Will. “Paul, call Lisa. Arrow, if Rose gets photos of the pages, do you want to look at the rest of the stuff?”

  “A moment.” Her eyes travelled back to the bones. The student had not deserved this. None of the sacrifices had.

  She knelt near the skull, mentally recording the extent of the bones that were here, and the extent of those missing. The Magister had used a lot of this young woman in his quest for power. And carefully, too, keeping his blood magic hidden. Before the summit at Crossings Abbey, there had been no hint of corruption about him.

  Recording made, she called a small spark of power and said an Erith blessing, words soft. Something she would not dare with an Erith. She did not think this young woman would mind. She remembered the intent faces of her students from the day before, listening to every word. They were so enthused by real magic. No, she did not think this young thing would mind her blessing. The silver sparks carried over the bones, fading as they fell.

  “That was beautiful,” Rose said as Arrow got back to her feet.

  “An Erith blessing for the dead,” Zachary said. Arrow knew she should not be surprised by the extent of the Prime’s knowledge about the Erith. And yet he kept surprising her.

  ~

  While Rose was photographing the blood magic instructions, Arrow inspected the other things in the garage.

  Whatever had been used to destroy the residence had been powerful, and set a fire hot enough to burn metal. The ‘kin had salvaged a wide variety of things including the remnants of a set of knives that had been wrapped in heavy canvas. A series of odd shapes, badly distorted by fire. A trapper’s set, the Prime confirmed on Arrow’s question. Usually for dressing animals after a kill. His gaze drifted towards the outside where the bones lay open to the sky, and he added the knives to the lead box, ready to be destroyed.

  The most significant find was a pile of old books. They had been protected with ward spells, fashioned with clean magic, and bound with heavy leather covers, which had preserved some of the pages inside against the fire. The ‘kin had respected the still-active ward spells. Arrow made sure that there was no destruction in the spells then sliced through them with little finesse and no patience, opening each book in turn.

  A diary. Some kind of recipe book which seemed perfectly innocuous at first glance. And what looked like a genealogy record.

  This last held Arrow’s attention. It seemed that the Magister and his co-conspirators had paid close attention to the families of powerful magic users, where they could. There was an almost-blank page devoted to Oliver Anderson, described as a founder of Sanctuary, with a notation of his death.

  “They were tracing the Ancestors and Descendants,” Arrow said, startled. The Ancestors had been a group of humans who had somehow got into the Erith heartland, intent on the destruction of the Erith. The Erith kept a close watch on their families, the Descendants. Not close enough. At least some of the Descendants had been involved with a rogue magician also bent on the destruction of the Erith.

  A chill ran up her spine. There had been no suggestion before now that the Magister or the pro-human movement had played any part in the rogue magician’s plans. Now, she wondered.

  “The Magister was one.” Zachary pointed to a full page, where a pair of the Descendants had led complicated lives, with a pair of spouses each and multiple children recorded, including one name out on its own. Reginald. The Magister’s name.

  “Father not recorded on the official record,” Arrow noted. “That is how the Erith missed it. The mother had no connection with the families.”

  “He is old,” Zachary said in surprise, looking at the birth date.

  Arrow lifted a brow at him. He shrugged.

  “I know you said he was old, but he doesn’t feel that way.”

  “Too many spells,” she told him.

  “We’ll make copies,” he told her. He was frowning as he looked down at the pages. “And share them. Human and Erith.”

  She understood his reluctance. The Erith were ruthless in protecting their own interests and would be furious they had missed some of the Descendants.

  She flicked through more pages, noting that quite a few of the prominent members of the pro-human movement were tied into the Descendants families. The Erith had not taken account of human society, she realised. They seemed to have assumed that human families worked like Erith Hou
ses, with familial links being obvious. There was nothing obvious about some of the connections set out on these pages.

  “Where were these books found?”

  “There was an underfloor safe.”

  “And they were all together?” She turned back the diary. It did not seem significant. Mundane recordings of day to day activities in curving handwriting that was unfamiliar.

  “Yes. What’s wrong?”

  “The record book is significant. But the others.” Arrow shook her head, flicking through the pages to the end of the diary. “I do not think the writer is identified.”

  “I’ll get Matt and Tamara onto it,” Zachary promised, taking the book from her and tucking into a pocket. Arrow suspected that the pair would have answers by the end of the day. “The other one?”

  “Recipes. An old, printed book.”

  “First editions can be worth a fortune,” Zachary told her.

  Arrow gave a half-laugh, startled. She had forgotten that potential motive. So simple.

  There were a few notations through the book in different handwriting and different colours of ink. Innocent observations. Use less salt. Cinnamon improves the taste. The sorts of observations families might share.

  Then, tucked into the back of the book, where someone might put something for sake-keeping, was a folded over parchment that she recognised as Erith as soon as she saw it.

  The writing was in common tongue, but written with a quill pen and ink. And recent. The parchment had not had time to age.

  “An Erith writing in common tongue?” Zachary was grim again. “Who?”

  “I do not know the hand,” Arrow told him, spreading the parchment out on the table surface. “Most likely a scribe. There are a bare handful who could write this fluently.”

  “Something about a meeting.”

  “A meeting between an Erith and a human,” Arrow concluded, face tightening. In a recipe book among possessions from the pro-human movement. They had believed that the conspiracy was confined to humans. This single sheet suggested otherwise. It might be innocent, like the recipe notes. And yet Arrow had a sick feeling in her stomach that it was not. Hard experience made her trust that instinct. “We need to tell the White Guard.”

  The Prime of the shifkin nation stared back at her, face expressionless, eyes bright green. Arrow held his gaze and did not back down. The Prime had brokered peace for his people with the Erith and the humans. It did not mean he was peaceful. Or happy about sharing intelligence.

  A soft footstep broke the deadlock, Rose coming back into the garage.

  “The printer’s making copies for Arrow. And Lisa Summerland is here.”

  Rose did not apologise for interrupting, or back down when Zachary turned his grim expression to her.

  “There’s something else,” Zachary told her, indicating the parchment with a wave of his hand. “An Erith parchment. Written in common tongue. Do forensic tests. Get copies made for Arrow and us. Then speak to our White Guard liaison and pass it on.”

  “Prime.” Rose acknowledged the order with a brief dip of her chin.

  “Lisa will probably have questions for you,” Zachary told Arrow, and strode out of the garage into the open. Not angry, Arrow thought, as she followed him. Disturbed. The Prime would understand, far more clearly than she did, the implications of friendly relations between the Erith and the pro-human conspirators. And he may know, likely did know, what was going on among the Erith that made Kester doubt his position as Taellan and meant that a respected warrior was having to wait days before he could take his brother’s body back to the heartland for his funeral rites.

  CHAPTER 8

  Lisa Summerland had brought a full forensic team with her, all of them as nauseated as Arrow and Zachary had been when Arrow described the reason for the bones and the box. Disgusted enough that the Deputy did not even protest the destruction of the safe box, her team taking their own photographs and samples for evidence before gathering the bones with exquisite care into a plain wooden coffin that they had brought with them.

  Arrow left the muster house as dusk was gathering, the early summer day coming to an end. She turned down offers of a lift from Zachary and Rose, wanting to walk, her magic back at full strength.

  As she drew closer to the cottage, she thought about going back to Sanctuary. The cottage was a simple place, normally a refuge, and yet she did not want to be alone with her thoughts just yet. No matter the hour, there was always someone else at Sanctuary and she could sit in the quiet space and not feel quite so isolated.

  Her feet had already made the turn when the cottage’s wards flared, an alert travelling back to her. She changed direction and quickened her pace instead. Someone was at the cottage.

  She turned the corner of the narrow street and stopped. The quiet, residential street was full of Erith. And not just any Erith. White Guard. Two full cadre at least, one of them familiar, and a whole convoy’s worth of sleek black vehicles.

  She had a clear impulse to turn on her heel and go to Sanctuary. She still had the memory of those fragile bones in her hands, even through gloves. And nothing the Erith asked of her was easy.

  She did not run. The outer guards had spotted her anyway. More importantly, the Erith had come to her place of refuge. She moved past the outer guards, exchanging nods with a few, and kept on her way to the cottage’s front door. The space between her shoulder blades was itching fiercely by the time she reached the door. This many White Guard was not a good thing.

  The unfamiliar cadre leader had his fist raised to her door, about to pound on the surface again, when Arrow heard Kallish’s voice, full of exasperation.

  “She is not here. Trying to break the door will not help matters.”

  “Where is she, then?” the other asked.

  “Here,” Arrow answered. “I was not aware we had an appointment.” Her voice was cool, biting tone one that she had heard often from Seggerat.

  “You are the mage, Arrow?” The unfamiliar warrior demanded.

  She bit her lip against a hasty reply and settled for a bland one.

  “Yes, svegraen.” She frowned slightly as she realised that he was wearing the heartland’s symbol, a stylised curling leaf, sewn in bright gold thread just above his heart. She looked around his cadre and saw that they were wearing the same symbol, the threads standing out as new compared to the other braids on the uniforms.

  “Your attendance is required.”

  “Required?” Arrow’s brows lifted and she resisted the urge to take a step back. The itch between her shoulder blades intensified. Two full cadre of White Guard. And her.

  “Ferdith, stop being so cryptic,” Kallish said, rolling her eyes. Arrow blinked, apprehension vanishing to surprise. No, it was not her imagination. Kallish had actually rolled her eyes.

  “I have a duty to perform,” the other warrior answered, back stiffening.

  “It would help to explain matters first.” Kallish looked like she was resisting the urge to roll her eyes again. “Inside. If we may, mage?”

  “Yes.” Arrow opened the door and waved them inside ahead of her, unsurprised when Kallish brought Xeveran and Undurat with her. Ferdith came in alone.

  Ferdith looked around the cottage with an expression that seemed to vary between disgust and amazement. Not sure what to make of a human building, Arrow wondered. Perhaps he disapproved of the small proportions. Or some other reason that she could not guess at.

  She waited until he had finished his inspection, aware of Kallish nearby and Undurat and Xeveran placing themselves within reach of Ferdith. Interesting. At least one of the cadres was not here to kidnap her. The itch between her shoulder blades dimmed.

  “The Garden has determined that the chosen should attend to determine the next monarch. You are one of the chosen. Your attendance is required.” Ferdith told her, then shot a glance to Kallish, jaw set. “Better?”

  “Not really. Come and sit down,” Kallish suggested, “you are making the place look untidy.
”

  “I can make coffee,” Arrow added, seeing that Kallish’s casual manner was irritating the other warrior. His eyes nearly bulged at the idea. “You do not like coffee?” she asked. Years of practice with the Taellan allowed her to keep a polite front.

  “I have never had coffee before,” he admitted, in the same tone as he might admit to never having eaten mud before.

  “No coffee, then. Sit down, anyway,” Kallish ordered.

  “Do you want coffee, svegraen?” Arrow asked the others. They all shook their heads, Xeveran not doing a good job of hiding his smile behind Ferdith’s back.

  Arrow was quite sure that coffee was not going to make matters clearer and settled in a chair beside Kallish. Ferdith looked momentarily furious when he realised that, the table being so small, he would have to sit next to one of them. Arrow was interested to note he chose to sit next to Kallish. She was tempted to ask if she smelled, swallowing the childish impulse easily. There were serious matters to discuss.

  “Ferdith and his cadre have been assigned to carry out the temple’s wishes,” Xeveran told her. He was not sitting, rather he was standing a few paces from her. In a guard position. Kallish and her cadre did not trust Ferdith, that much was clear.

  Arrow puzzled that over for a moment, seeing the irritation across Ferdith’s face.

  “The temple is involved in choosing a new monarch?” she asked Kallish.

  “Rarely,” Kallish answered, lips set together for a moment. The warrior looked like she wanted something far stronger than coffee. “Only when the Erith do not choose for themselves. Which has not happened for a long time.”

  “The heartland requires a monarch,” Ferdith told her, echoing what Kallish, Kester, and Undurat had told her.

  “Where there is no monarch, the temple has authority in these matters,” Kallish told Arrow. The warrior was uneasy. And no wonder, with Undurat’s brother dead from surjusi taint. “Those who are summoned are expected to attend.”