Taellaneth Complete Series Box Set

by Vanessa Nelson

  “Foolish.” Saul shrugged slightly, a gesture that looked odd with Priath’s body. The courtier usually had his physical presence under better control. “To trust humans.”

  “Foolish of you,” Arrow countered, “to let your host have so much freedom.”

  “Hosts like Priath must be hard to find. Too careful,” Kallish said, speaking mostly to Kester. She had her arms folded, a casual pose the Saul would ignore but Priath would not. “But perhaps imprisonment has given him a taste for bad company.”

  One of the Erith behind the tree moved, an uncontrolled, instinctive half-step forward. Arrow thought he was one of the courtiers who she had seen around the Palace. Her eyes narrowed as she looked at him, the hungry expression as he stared at Priath.

  “So you were the previous acolyte,” she said to the courtier. “But you were not good enough for Saul. He moved on when he found someone more suited to his tastes.”

  The courtier’s face flushed with rage and he took a full step forward, hand going to the jewelled sword hilt at his waist.

  “You know nothing,” he hissed.

  “Quiet,” Saul ordered, sounding fractionally less bored.

  “You do not seem to be in control,” Arrow commented. It was probably unwise to provoke him, yet her instincts were telling her to press ahead.

  “You are mistaken.”

  “Priath is fighting you. Your former host seems jealous. And this one,” she tilted her head to the Gardener, “is here entirely for his own reasons.”

  To her surprise, the Gardener turned to her, axe lifted slightly, and smiled, a baring of teeth that might have been frightening if he had not been standing so close to Saul.

  “You do not like my new friends?” he asked, voice laced with contempt.

  Definitely here for his own reasons. After seeing the wounds on the warriors’ bodies in the temple basement, Arrow could guess what they were. She shivered, clamping her jaw shut for a moment to swallow the nausea, mind snagging on that curious word. Friends. The Gardener either did not know or did not care how powerful Saul was, using Saul to get what he wanted, like tainting the bowl in the temple. Killing Duraner, slowly.

  Arrow wondered how Saul felt about being used.

  Priath’s face was a mask of fury, amber and black warring in his eyes for a moment. No, Saul was not fully through. And Priath was not giving up his own body just yet.

  “So boring,” Saul said, eyes shaded fully to black, and waved a hand at the Erith around him. “Kill them.”

  It was predictable. Kallish and her cadre were ready. As were the mages.

  Arrow ignored the oncoming Erith, staying still, Kester at her shoulder, eyes travelling past Saul and biting back a curse. While Priath and Saul had been distracting them, the Gardener had been busy continuing to chop away at the tree. There was a great gouge in the trunk, almost halfway through, the heart of the tree pure amber, glowing in the daylight.

  She took a step forward, Kester with her.

  “Saul?” Kester asked quietly.

  “Not yet. The Gardener.”

  Battle wards flared to life in front of her, a hail of arrows coming out of the shadows on the other side of the trees.

  “He has more people,” Zachary noted, sounding almost as bored as Saul.

  Kallish and her warriors surged past them, meeting the oncoming Erith, battle wards flaring as another flight of arrows struck.

  Mage fire seared past the oncoming Erith, into the shadows beyond, and screams rose as the fire bit. Evellan and Seivella were to one side, Orlis and Gilean to the other, all of them grim-faced, aiming at the archers.

  There was no way through the battling Erith. Saul had taken a step back to stand on the other side of the tree from the Gardener, watching the battle with an intent, almost hungry expression.

  None of the enemy were getting past Kallish’s cadre, the Prime or the mages. Arrow was as safe as she had ever been for the moment, eyes scanning the fight. It was very uneven. Kallish’s cadre could have defeated the other Erith without aid.

  “What is that?” Kester asked, pointing at something on the ground beside the Gardener.

  “Urjusi.” Arrow’s stomach twisted. It looked like a waterskin made of pale leather. She could not see clearly but she thought that it might be made of strips of skin. “It is the blood,” she realised. Blood drawn without consent. From Erith with no active magic. And carried in a sack made from the donors’ skin. It would be poison to the tree.

  She shoved past Kester’s instinctive protest and could go no further. Too many weapons in her way. Kallish and her cadre were winning, no doubt of that. They had not won yet, though. Even as Arrow watched, the Gardener struck another blow to the tree.

  As the Gardener swung the axe back, ready for another blow, cries of alarm came from behind her, the direction they had come from.

  Iserat.

  Nearly two full cadres and the rest of the six to guard him. It was more than enough against the Erith they faced here.

  But the Erith here were not all the resources that Saul had. Her stomach twisted. He had been playing for time as much as she had. There were more enemies on the way.

  “They really are quite vicious,” Saul commented, setting his shoulders against the tree. He had laced power into his voice so it carried over the clash of steel.

  “What are?”

  “Oh, no, you need to see for yourself. Telling would spoil the fun. I will wait. I have all the time in the world.”

  For some reason, Arrow believed him when he said he would wait.

  She turned back to check on Iserat and her breath stopped.

  All the warriors were there. Miach and Elias’ cadre and the six were surrounding Iserat, holding bright battle wards. Kallish and her cadre were merging with them. The Erith who had attacked were all but done, the Prime finishing off the last few.

  But they had not won. Far from it.

  Out of the shadows crept another army. An army made up of the heartland’s creatures. Baelthras. Surrimok. Rallestran. Death monkeys.

  Miach was giving orders in a steady stream, voice tense.

  Arrow moved forward to Kallish’s shoulder, Kester still with her.

  “Suggestions?” the warrior asked, slightly out of breath.

  “Wards,” Arrow said at once, eyes on the gathered masses. So many creatures. All staring at the warriors. “Hold for a moment,” she requested the warrior. Kallish lifted a brow but stayed silent.

  Arrow slid into second sight. The gathering was unnatural. Saul must be controlling them somehow.

  “Kester?”

  “Here.”

  “If the control spell is removed, the creatures should attack each other, yes?”

  “Some of them. Some of them will just attack us on principle,” he answered.

  “But it would help a bit.”

  “A bit,” he agreed. “Is there a control spell?”

  “Yes.” A twisted of unclean magic running through each of the creatures. Hastily executed, sloppy work. She recognised Priath’s hand. It seemed that whatever mastery Saul had was not fully realised in the world just yet.

  “They are about to move,” Zachary told her.

  “A moment.” She searched through the unclean magic, looking for the weak point. There. No, there. There. Priath was cleverer than she had given him credit for. Or perhaps that was Saul. There were several points of apparent weakness, and one knot that looked impenetrable. She called her power in second sight, formed it into a slender blade and sliced through the knot of spellwork, using pure force to destroy the spell.

  She came back to the first world to shrieks of fury from the gathered creatures. Some were turning on each other. They would not mix normally, their habitats too different, but they all recognised the other predators for what they were. Competition.

  Not all the creatures were fighting each other. Some were moving towards the gathered warriors. A snap of amber mage fire cut an approaching death monkey in half, the dead
swarmed a moment later by rallestran, eager for fresh meat.

  Arrow wanted to be sick.

  There was no time for that.

  More cracks of mage fire darted out, each weaker than the last. The mages were tiring. And there was no more power to draw on, the heartland fading fast. Almost gone in second sight.

  She glanced across to see Iserat in the midst of two cadres, abstracted expression on his face. Arrow’s heart skipped. He did not seem to know where he was or what he needed to do. She was tempted to stop, to go to him. She forced herself away. Their one advantage. Saul could not know.

  The other mages might be low on power. The silver pool inside her was full.

  Mage fire came to her bidding in a crackling cloud, stirring her hair.

  She sent a blinding sheet of mage fire out, across the approaching creatures and tried not to hear the shrieks of agony as they died or smell the burning flesh.

  Kallish’s cadre were around her, moving forward with her when she was barely conscious of moving at all. Kester was at her side. Zachary was close by, using his weapon with deadly accuracy.

  The first wave of creatures met Kallish’s cadre and fell. Some under the warriors’ steel. Some with arrows.

  The second wave were more cautious.

  She ducked on instinct as a pair of warriors flew through the air, thrown by either baelthras or surrimok.

  She had seen six pairs of surrimok. A single pair was a threat to a whole cadre.

  And the baelthras were like the one they had faced in the jungle. Battle-scarred, wary and cunning, dancing out of reach of the warriors’ spears.

  And she had hampered Miach and Elias’ cadre with the orders she had given. Orders which they were trying to follow, keeping Iserat in their midst, defending him with the same commitment and determination they had used defending the Queen.

  The warriors were overrun. There were too many predators intent on killing them.

  The ground was slippery with blood. Her eyes burned from the sweet scent of Erith death that saturated the air. Her ears hurt from the screams of agony from the warriors and the shrieks of fury from the creatures. Her body ached from effort.

  Around her, amber mage fire was dying out, the mages running out of power.

  Her heart hurt. There were so many of the creatures. And too few of the warriors.

  And worse was to come.

  Behind the creatures there were figures moving in the shadows. Erith. Not just Erith. Warriors. White Guard in uniform, coming into the light with oddly stiff movements, weapons ready. Arrow’s heart sank as she recognised one of them. Ferdith.

  The creatures left the warriors alone and the cadre marched through the death and gore without hesitation. As they came closer, and more of the warriors noticed them, a moment of stillness fell. A murmur rippled through Miach and Elias’ cadres. Not hope. Fear.

  The cadre leader, like his warriors, was staring ahead with blind eyes, sword raised and ready. And a bloody wound on his forehead. Not a random wound. Someone had carved a rune into his skin. It was not bleeding. Arrow knew that the blood was from someone else.

  “Is that-” Kallish sounded as though her voice had given up.

  “Yes.” Arrow’s own voice was choked. “Blood magic.” She looked around the cadre, standing perfectly still amid the chaos, and the ache in her chest spread. “They are being controlled.”

  “Can you stop them?” Kester asked.

  Arrow looked at Ferdith and saw that his eyes were not quite blind. There were tears gathered there. The most awful aspect of control, she knew, was being aware of what your body was doing and not being able to do anything about it.

  A fresh wave of creatures surged forward and were met by mage fire. Amber mage fire that sputtered and died. The other mages had nothing left.

  “Kallish. There is …” She could not go on. The power inside her was still strong.

  “To the end, mage,” Kallish answered.

  Arrow closed her eyes for a moment, feeling damp on her face.

  “With me,” she whispered, not wanting to give the command, but needing the protection of the warriors to work magic.

  The cadre closed around her, weapons mired with blood, steel flashing as more and more creatures fell upon them, a pair of the junior third using Erith spears to stab the rallestran trying to creep between the others’ legs.

  She made a slice across her palm, calling mage fire. Not the usual lightning strike but a lethal ripple of magic.

  “Svegraen, jump,” she called, hoping she would be heard, and put her hand on the ground, sending the fire out, away from the warriors, out into the mass of creatures descending on them.

  She had been heard. The warriors leapt as one, landing after the fire had spread.

  The air split with the rending screams of burning creatures, stench of charred flesh replacing the scent of Erith death and choking her.

  So much death.

  Charred remains littered the ground ahead of them.

  And still it was not enough.

  There were more creatures.

  And the mage fire had not touched Ferdith’s cadre, instead sparking across their wards. The warriors did not react, simply moved forward, weapons ready, attacking anything that got in their way.

  The heartland’s defenders were falling. The fresh scent of death rose.

  Amid the screams and the clash of steel was the steady crack of gunfire. Zachary. He was almost at the end of his ammunition, shooting surrimok as though he did that every day, wise enough not to waste his ammunition on the tough hide of the baelthras.

  The Prime ran out of bullets. He shrugged out of the bandoleer, dropped his empty guns and flowed into his animal form, leaping forward to where a trio of death monkeys were harassing a pair of Kallish’s warriors. He bounded away from the still bodies towards Ferdith’s cadre. He had fought White Guard before. Many times. And he was more than powerful enough to break through a warrior’s wards.

  The ground shivered under their feet. A slight tremor at first, growing in strength. Another earthquake, carrying the scent of green, the bloom of summer flowers, the sharp sting of ice, the crunch of autumn leaves. The ground did not break, just trembled, ripples becoming fainter.

  The heartland’s death throes. There was no power in the air or the earth.

  The other mages, out of power, were each holding weapons and standing back to back, spattered with gore. Even Seivella, her face tight, dress soaked with blood.

  Miach and Elias’ cadres were decimated, still grimly holding to their orders, surrounding Iserat and the rest of the six. Willan was holding a battle ward over them, face pale with the strain.

  And somehow in the chaos and noise, the sound of another axe strike against the tree carried to her ears.

  CHAPTER 27

  The Gardener had continued chopping the tree while the battle raged around him. He was halfway there. At the tree’s core. Almost ready to use the poison.

  The amber heart of the tree was fading, the brilliance dying even as she watched.

  She shoved forward, careless of the danger, through the battle, wards flaring, conscious of Kallish and the cadre trying to keep up with her, Kester beside her, swords flashing as he cut down a death monkey and then ducked to slice through rallestran. Silver crackled around her and she kept going, no blows landing. Then she was past the line of fighting and striding across the open ground towards the tree.

  “You have left your protectors behind,” Saul commented. He did not move, small smile playing on his mouth.

  Arrow did not answer. She made a small slice on her hand, drawing blood, then formed mage fire, sending the fire into the awful thing behind the Gardener. The knot of dark exploded, spraying the Gardener with corrupted blood.

  “You bitch.” The Gardener dropped his axe, turning towards her. He moved faster than she expected, and was through her wards as though they did not exist. The silver flicker and died. She took a step back, pulse thudding in her ears. No wonde
r his suit did not fit. Null clothing. She recognised the cloth too late.

  He grabbed her by the throat, lifting her, fingers biting into the soft skin under her jaw, grip tightening. He shook her, stronger than she had thought possible, then threw her aside.

  She hit the tree. Breath knocked out of her. Ribs cracked. Throat bruised.

  And then he was there again, null cloth getting him through her instinctive wards again, taking her by the throat again.

  “It took hours of work to get that blood,” he told her, face close to hers.

  “You enjoyed it,” she hissed back, struggling to breathe. Her wards rose again and slid off the null clothing he wore. Her back was pressed against the tree, sword digging in. She kicked out at him, striking his legs. He did not let go.

  “That is true. There is something quite delicious about screams.” He was holding her with one hand, other hand cupping her face, sensation of his fingers making her skin crawl. “I wonder what your screams will sound like.”

  “Is that what Saul promised you? Screams?” she asked through the grip on her throat.

  “All the screams I could wish,” he confirmed, teeth bared in a smile.

  “There will not be anything left,” she told him. “Saul will destroy everything.”

  His grip loosened a fraction, disbelief and suspicion on his face.

  Arrow kicked harder and higher and he grunted in pain, doubling over and backing away from her. She gasped for breath, lungs burning, and drew her sword. The magic would not hurt him. The sharp edge of the blade might.

  Before she could take a step forward, the Gardener’s head disappeared, her wards rising just in time to stop the spray of blood spattering across her face.

  The body in null clothing crumpled and Arrow stepped sideways to avoid being crushed, into a familiar shoulder.

  Kester put a hand on her arm, gently, to steady her and flicked blood off his sword. Arrow reached up and covered his hand with hers for a moment, throat still sore.

  “And how is your grandfather?” the voice asked. Kester moved a pace in front of her, drawing his other sword.