Taellaneth Complete Series Box Set

by Vanessa Nelson

  “And I am summoned?” Arrow asked Ferdith, brows lifting.

  “Among others.” Ferdith was so stiff he resembled stone.

  “You are entitled to escort,” Kallish put in, voice mild. Anyone who did not know the warrior would think she was relaxed. Arrow read the tension clearly.

  “If I accept the summons,” Arrow said.

  “Yes. If.” The ghost of a smile crossed Kallish’s face, hidden from Ferdith, who was looking at Arrow with wide-eyed, genuine horror.

  “You must accept. No one has ever refused a summons.”

  “I find that hard to believe,” Arrow told him, bite in her words making the warrior stiffen again. “And in any case, whatever rules you may have do not apply to me. Exiled, remember?” The Erith were very good at overlooking that issue when it was convenient for them. From the trace of a smile of Kallish’s face, she had not forgotten, and was pleased that Arrow had brought it up.

  “You will be escorted.”

  “By you and your cadre?” Arrow’s brows lifted. She cut off a hard bark of laughter before it could emerge. “I do not know you, svegraen. Or your warriors. And as honourable as you doubtless are, many Erith have tried to harm or kill me over the years.”

  “You would set your personal interests over the heartland?” He seemed genuinely confused, unable to imagine why anyone would refuse the summons. Arrow could understand why the temple had chosen him.

  Arrow was about to make an angry and hasty reply when she remembered Undurat’s request. She tilted her head, considering the warrior for a moment.

  “Where are we summoned to?”

  “The temple.”

  Arrow glanced across at Kallish and saw that ghost of a smile again. She turned back to Ferdith and narrowed her eyes. He seemed the sort to take his duties very seriously.

  “If I go, I will require Kallish nuin Falsen and her cadre as my escort.”

  “If Kallish agrees.” Ferdith hesitated, then reached into a pocket, producing a folded and sealed parchment. “We have a waiver for you.” He handed the parchment across.

  Arrow took it from him and looked at the writing on the front. In the Erith language. To the mage, Arrow. Not a hand she recognised. Not Eshan, then. She wondered briefly what had happened to him then turned her attention back to the parchment. The seal on the back was the official seal of the Taellan. Her brows lifted. Very few Erith were entitled to use that seal.

  The seal broke under her fingers, spark of magic assuring her it had not been tampered with, and she unfolded the parchment.

  Be it known that your exile has been lifted in this time of need to fulfil the heartland’s request.

  It was signed by Eimille vel Falsen.

  Arrow shook her head, handing the parchment to Kallish, nearest to her. The warrior’s brows lifted.

  “Curious you did not mention this to start with,” Kallish commented, handing the parchment on to Xeveran.

  “There is nothing to stop you coming with us. You may pack now,” Ferdith said.

  “There is also nothing to compel me to go,” Arrow told him. She got up and went to the sink, needing to move. “I do not answer to the Erith.”

  She set her back to the sink, facing the room, feeling the weight of expectation from the warrior, backed up by the Taellan and the temple. Powerful forces among the Erith. Invisible ties that she could not seem to shake off, no matter how hard she tried.

  From her new position she could see out the window and her stomach clenched, reminded of the fleet of sleek, black vehicles and the better part of two full cadre of White Guard outside. The carefully crafted beginnings of her life had been torn apart with their presence. The anonymous life in this little cottage, peaceful and free of Erith ties, was gone.

  Even as she glared at the warriors outside, she saw Undurat among them, talking with one of the unfamiliar warriors. Another weight of expectation fell on her shoulders. This one carrying with it the promise she had made. Undurat’s brother had died to bring her a message and the mage cloak in her bag.

  She folded her arms across her unsettled stomach. She did not want to go back to the politics and the sneers and the disdain. To the taunts. To the knowledge that she would be forever barely tolerated.

  But she had made a promise. And it was no longer quite true that she was barely tolerated. There were Erith she could call friend. One who was much closer. And the numbers of Erith who would willingly spend time in her company had grown, and included some of the most respected Erith alive.

  “I have business in the heartland.” She did not make a conscious decision to speak. “I am not sure it will be in the same direction as you want me to go.”

  “You are summoned to the temple, near House Nostren,” Ferdith’s reminded her, voice a sharp snap.

  “Near House Nostren?” Arrow repeated slowly, seeing the irritation on Ferdith’s face. He had not meant to give that information away. She tilted her head as though considering the matter. “That could work, I suppose. Kallish?”

  “I suppose,” Kallish said, apparently reluctant. “Ferdith is the senior warrior under the temple’s direction. If he were to guarantee you safe passage both into and out of the heartland, at a time of your choosing.”

  “I cannot go against the Taellan’s will,” Ferdith said at once.

  “I thought you were working for the heartland?” Arrow asked.

  “I am.” The warrior touched the new insignia on his uniform in a self-conscious gesture that told Arrow just how much that piece of embroidery meant to him. The Erith revered their heartland. The Taelleisis. Acting on her behalf might be the high point in the warrior’s career.

  “If the heartland wants me to be present, then as well as Kallish and her cadre, I will need assurances that I will be allowed to leave safely,” Arrow pointed out.

  Ferdith thought hard for a long moment, a scowl across his entire face, before nodding once.

  “Very well. We will escort you both into and out of the heartland and do all we can to ensure your safe travel.”

  It might not seem like much, but that promise from a warrior was a solemn undertaking.

  And just like that, Arrow found herself caught by the Erith again. Tied into obligation once more. The demand of the temple. And the far more important promise to Undurat. She had an impulse to scream in frustration. No matter how hard she tried, escape seemed impossible. And the Erith had ruined her life here. She could not stay in this cottage.

  “I need to make arrangements,” she told the warriors, then blinked. “Apologies, svegraen,” she tilted her head to Kallish, “I have asked for your aid, but did not give you time to answer.”

  “Things are always interesting around you, mage,” Kallish told her, open smile surprising Ferdith. “We should be happy to come with you.”

  “We would have come anyway,” Xeveran told her candidly. “Even without Kallish. It is an honour to serve the heartland. Even guarding an exile,” he added, lifting the parchment he still held, Eimille’s handwriting precise and black across the page.

  Kallish lifted her brow at Xeveran who grinned back, unrepentant, and handed Arrow the parchment back. She tucked it into her messenger bag and stilled, looking around the room, the cottage, at least the parts of it she could see. There was a dull pain in her chest. Another space she had to leave. Like the workspace, invaded by magic-wielding humans.

  She could not come back here. Too much attention had been drawn by the cadres of White Guard. Kallish and the members of her cadre that had visited here had always been discreet, disguising themselves if they could not use a glamour. And she and Kester were always glamoured as human when they went outside. So until today, none of her neighbours had known about her connections to the Erith. And now they did.

  Kallish moved. A slight shift in her position. Letting Arrow know she had been silent too long. The warrior seemed unruffled by events, carrying a core of calmness that Arrow envied. Kester had that same calm about him. It was deeply soothing. She h
ad often wanted to ask him what training the warriors had, to bring them that inner calm, and whether they would teach it to her. Particularly lately, she had no inner calm and not even the peace of sleep.

  CHAPTER 9

  They would not drive all the way to the temple. The Erith would not permit the vehicles past the Taellaneth boundaries and so, naturally, their first stop was the Taellaneth. Despite having two cadre of White Guard around her, one of which she trusted, she had an itch between her shoulder blades as the vehicles passed through the Taellaneth gates.

  And even with the sloppy wards of the Taellaneth mechanic covering the vehicles, Arrow was still struck by the presence of the Taellaneth as they crossed the boundary. Every part of her being sang in the knowledge she was back on familiar ground, however temporary that might be. Her nose filled with familiar scents, not found in the human world.

  She was tempted to demand that the vehicle stop, let her out, and she would go back to Lix. Back to the life she had been building. The pull in her chest was almost-pain, the familiarity of the scents and magic around her stirring up unwanted feelings. No matter how she felt about the Erith, the essence of their lands was grafted into her bones as a place she belonged.

  Then the vehicle stopped, in front of the main Taellaneth building, and one of Ferdith’s cadre opened the door.

  The statue was still there. Fallen not Forgotten. Gleaming white stone, crafted with the absolute mastery the Erith were capable of. Six life-size figures. The six, who had held against the last main incursion of surjusi into the Erith world, believed to have died in their efforts. A hundred years ago.

  The statue had been a favourite of hers for years, a large part of her convinced that the artist had taken liberties with the features and expressions of the six. They were depicted as heroes, implacable against their enemy, unwavering even in the face of their own death.

  She now knew that the artist had not exaggerated. The six were heroes, although they would all laugh at the term. They had survived the incursion and ended up trapped in the surjusi realm. A hundred years in the world. An unimaginable stretch of time in the surjusi realm, as time worked differently there.

  She wondered what the six had thought when they saw the statue, and felt an unexpected smile cross her face. Onalla, at least, would have found something acerbic to say. The others would be less vocal, and she could easily imagine Pateris and Yvan staring at this sculpture with slightly bemused expressions.

  “The fallen amuse you?” Ferdith asked, tone sharp. He seemed offended.

  Arrow suppressed a sigh. She suspected he would be offended by whatever she did. He was still bristling with anger that she was wearing human clothes, seeming certain she was hiding an entire wardrobe of Erith garb somewhere.

  “No,” she answered him, keeping her voice even. “I was just wondering what the six said when they saw this.”

  Kallish gave a quick bark of laughter and shook her head slightly, dark eyes bright.

  “It was amusing,” Kallish told Arrow. “Although Onalla thought it would be appropriate to have the sculpture taken to House Sovernis. Or possibly the Palace barracks. Apparently, she feels Iserat would like to look at his own image.”

  Arrow choked on another laugh. Iserat, the cadre leader, had no vanity despite Onalla’s teasing.

  “We do not have time for this,” Ferdith said. He was still bristling.

  “I need to pay my respects,” Arrow told him. Ferdith flicked a glance to Undurat, still wearing the purple armband.

  “Of course.” The concession sounded forced. The Erith honoured their dead, though. It was the one request Ferdith could not argue with.

  Before they could move, figures appeared at the doorway of the Taellaneth, the double doors standing open in Erith tradition. A group that made Arrow blink. Kester, Orlis, Gilean. And Zachary, the Prime looking very relaxed. Dressed for combat, a number of weapons about his person, hands in his pockets, he grinned as he saw her surprise.

  “We’re summoned as well,” he told her, in common tongue, coming down the shallow steps towards her, the others following. She blinked, trying to work out how the Erith had persuaded the Prime to travel, without escort, to the heartland. And how the Prime had managed to get past the Taellaneth gates with so many human weapons. A heartbeat more and she bit back a smile. Zachary would have jumped at the chance to see the fabled Erith heartland for himself, to be in the midst of his ancient enemy. And he was far-sighted enough to have demanded reassurance on safe passage to and from their destination. And, without a monarch, the Erith did not have anyone who could tell him to leave his weapons at the gate. He was ruler absolute in his own right.

  “It must be annoying,” Zachary commented, voice mild. Arrow lifted a brow. “To have to admit one of their old enemies.” He grinned, face lighting with genuine humour. She bit her lip to hide a smile, not really surprised that he could apparently read her mind.

  A few of the warriors in Ferdith’s cadre shifted their positions slightly, uneasy at the Prime’s presence, and not understanding his words.

  “Before I forget, here’s the copies.” He handed her an envelope which she took automatically, finding it heavy and thick with papers. “Multiple sets, as requested.”

  The blood magic parchment from the Magister’s safe box. Arrow’s fingers closed around the edge, creasing the paper. “Thank you.”

  “Hope it’s useful,” he added.

  She slanted a glance at him as she put the papers away in her bag, glad she had taken the time to weave in spells making the bag lighter than it really was. It was getting crowded.

  The Prime seemed relaxed, eyes bright with something that looked very close to mischief. Provoking the Erith. He might believe, with his whole mind and being, that peace between the ‘kin and the Erith was necessary for both of them. But Arrow had long ago realised that the Prime had a wicked sense of humour.

  “Do you know how we’re getting there? Are we taking the cars?”

  “No. The heartland does not permit such technology. I will ask.” Arrow turned to Ferdith, switching to Erith. “Svegraen, the Prime has asked how we will travel to our destination.”

  “Mirror relays are being prepared,” Ferdith answered. “We will need several stops.” He frowned at her. “We cannot delay much longer.”

  “Mirror relays,” Arrow repeated in common tongue, stomach churning. She hated mirror travel. Almost as much as she hated the vulnerable feeling of no wards around her. And not just one step through a mirror. Several. The distances were vast, and they were a large group.

  “I have heard about this. Never tried it.” From the sharp interest on Zachary’s face, he was looking forward to the experience.

  “Most people find it different. Not unpleasant. Just different.” Her fingernails dug into her palm. She forced herself to relax her grip, smooth out her hand. “He said several stops. That means a lot of mages. The mirrors usually only take one through at a time.”

  Zachary absorbed the information in silence for a few moments. A lot of mages. Arrow turned her own words over in her mind. More points of weakness. Of vulnerability. The echo of explosions and gunfire rang in her memory.

  And a sliver of bitterness crept in. At what seemed short notice, the Erith had found resources to transport a large group by several mirror relays. They had not been able to extend the same courtesy to Undurat.

  “Svegraen,” she said to Undurat, “may I pay my respects?”

  “Mage.” He inclined his head. “It is this way.”

  It was only when they were walking away that she realised she had not exchanged even the most basic greetings with Kester, Orlis, and Gilean. Her stomach churned again. She might have her magic back, it was just her wits she needed to gather. Being distracted could be fatal among the Erith.

  ~

  Duraner was in the small healer’s building next to the warrior’s barracks, a short walk from the Taellaneth main building. Even without Undurat’s guidance, Arrow would have fou
nd her way there, the sweet scent of Erith death carrying in the air. She wondered how the warriors were coping, with the potent reminder of their mortality so close.

  Somehow they had managed to leave Ferdith and his cadre behind, but the Prime, Kester, Orlis, and Gilean were with them. On the way Arrow managed to find manners enough to exchange brief greetings with each.

  “Are you coming with us?” she asked them.

  “We are summoned, yes,” Gilean answered. His mouth was set in a firm line, whether from the scent of death ahead of them or something else, Arrow could not tell.

  “All of us,” Kester added, perhaps seeing the question in her face.

  “And they will not tell us more,” Orlis added, frowning.

  There was no time for more conversation as they arrived at the door to the healer’s building. There was a third on duty who exchanged brief nods of mutual respect with Kallish and Undurat before stepping aside from the door. Maintaining a vigil over their dead was a long tradition among the White Guard. It seemed the honour extended to a warrior’s family.

  The door to the healer’s building opened onto a large room which just now contained a stone bed, raised to waist height, holding a too-still figure lying on his back. Even knowing Duraner was a twin, it was still a shock to see Undurat’s face at rest, the body laid out for funeral rites.

  And even though the scent of death was powerful, Arrow could not detect any trace of medicinal herbs in the building. Startled, she looked around and saw that what she had taken for one room was, in fact, the whole of the building. And this stone bed was the only thing in the room. The healer’s building at the warriors’ barracks was simply a resting place for the dead. A shiver ran through her, wondering how long that had been the case. It was no wonder the warriors disliked the healers.

  Stepping closer, Arrow could see some differences between the living and the dead. Undurat was serious in his manner. Duraner had laughed. There were faint lines at the corners of his eyes. He had also worn his hair much shorter, cropped around his head. It was doubtless more practical than the elaborate braids favoured by the White Guard, but there was still no mistaking them for anything other than twins. She wondered what other differences would have been apparent, if she had met Duraner during his life.