by Kim Wedlock
"For Turunda's safety," she replied plainly, placing her hand upon his shoulder and nodding towards the map. "Halen is the most potent of these magically-charged locations - for the moment. So I suggest you start from there."
"But how?" He asked with frustration as she gave him the slightest push towards it. "You've shown me...puddles of magic and told me to push them. How?" He looked back around, but the silver woman was gone. He growled. "Cursed elves!" He snapped towards the knock at the door and gestured vaguely for the food to be left on a side table.
He sighed wearily as the servant obeyed and left without a word, then noticed the unbroken scratching of the quill. He frowned and leaned over the desk. The fresh scrawlings stood out immediately from the memorised cartography, outlining twelve locations on or near Turunda's borders through settlements, forests and mountains alike, and a number of them immediately struck a familiar chord. It didn't take him long to recognise that many were places reported to be corrupted by magic just like Halen, places where mages had been found snooping around - mages who would tell him nothing even once detained, before the Order secured papers for release into their own custody.
A snarl rumbled free, but Salus left those thoughts alone, choosing instead to chase almost desperately after that sense of tranquil bliss the day had greeted him with. He managed, as diluted as it was, and looked back to the map with a more critical eye.
The markings consisted of a number of lines - a scale of destruction, he surmised, as the highest count of six rested upon Halen. In fact, outside of the ravaged village, the next highest numbers remained in the northernmost reaches of the country, while those further south along the Pavise and Olusan mountains ranked lower. The smallest graced the southern coast, and those few were, he discovered, unknown to him. But that was not unreasonable; they were marked beneath the sea.
If the destruction - or perhaps, he mused, the strength of magic - was greatest in Halen, and Halen was to be his starting point, then by...'pushing' that destructive magic along, he could bring those lesser places to the same intensity, or close...and...
Suddenly, a laugh burst free, uncontrollable and absurd.
And, just as suddenly, it stopped.
How could he possibly be considering this nonsense?
But was it nonsense? Could it be so simple? Could it be possible? Magic was involved, and that very fact seemed to render the term 'impossible' worthless. And the chasm in Halen...it could have stretched into infinity. If they could all be so severe, so deep, and they could all be joined up...why couldn't it work?
He needed only to decipher how to push something intangible and he could crack the base of mountains, sunder the seabed - obliterate passage over the borders and rescue Turunda once and for all.
He needed only to figure it out.
A knock came at the door. Teagan. Salus rolled the map away and turned his attention, at last, onto the egg and cinnamon toast before getting down to the day's work.
But even as he read over the reports his favoured had brought with him, of successes, failures, and trivial interruptions from the movements of tribes and evacuees notably reported by phaeacians, his mind remained upon that map, and upon the magic surging in his veins. For it had the potential to do so much.
So very, very much.
Chapter 12
"He could never achieve it. Magic, elves, whatever - it isn't possible! If the elves really wanted this to happen, they'd be in a better position to deal with it than he is!"
"That's what I said, but he's rationalised it in a way I'm struggling to dispute. For centuries we've believed the elves were dead, and yet here are two individuals using magic in an impossible way - a way only elves could use it. One of them awakens Salus's magic and teaches him how to use it, and no sooner has he been removed from the proceedings than another comes along, another single elf, to put that very magic to use. He thinks they're trying to save the land through his magic rather than their own so they don't reveal themselves. Why they've been hiding away all this time is anyone's guess, but if they're hiding here, then Turunda's fate affects them as much as it does us."
A wave of uneasy looks rippled among the group. No one seemed able to argue or agree.
The oldest among them, an elegantly robed man with a bearing deceptive of his advanced age, soon sighed in deliberation. "Salus is an intelligent man," he reminded them slowly. "It's not surprising that he'd reach such a logical conclusion. But that doesn't make it true. I'm unable to dispute that Denek and Liogan are elves, and neither can I dispute that they were working together and using Salus as a tool. But there is nothing at all to suggest at their motives. Perhaps they want to obliterate Turunda. Perhaps they intend to kill us all and reclaim the land for themselves and they're hiding to maintain the element of surprise. Or perhaps this is little more than one part of a much larger plan. We just can't know, and I don't think we would be able to get the truth out of them with magic, deceit or eavesdropping, whatever the case. But they've chosen to consort with the Arana, and for that fact they'll play their hand very close to their chest. They won't want to risk Salus discovering whatever they're truly up to, and who is more observant and duplicitous by nature than Aranan operatives? No offence intended, of course."
"You're not wrong, my lord," the blonde mage sighed, folding her arms across her chest, "on any count. But what can we possibly do against elves? He's driven to the point of obsession as it is, and with that kind of help and encouragement, how could he ever be dissuaded?"
"He claims not to fully trust her," Taliel assured them, "but how far that mistrust goes, I can't be sure. He says he's being cautious, but he believes her too readily. And, I think, after he took Denek out so...easily...he doesn't see Liogan as great of a threat as he should. He seems to believe he can handle her the same way. The difference is that she doesn't seem inclined to play the inferior role like Denek did; he disguised himself as a human and allowed himself to be imprisoned, but Liogan teleported herself right into the heart of Arana House on her own accord, and Salus said that no spell seemed to affect her. And she left just as easily."
"Perhaps she's looking to plant a seed of fear in him?"
Taliel's fingers tapped thoughtfully along her lips. "Perhaps. But if she's succeeded, he isn't showing it. He's too focused on what she's offering him. And as Vari said, I doubt there's any way to discourage him from this elf's influence, either."
On an unspoken thought, all eyes turned then onto the Crown's liaison. The singing in the tavern beyond the door rose raucously.
Malson dropped his hand from his chin and looked across them all. "I had a meeting with Salus yesterday. He's seeing to his tasks and he's getting results, so his official work isn't suffering, which means I can't accuse him of professional negligence to distract him."
"Only because he already set out on those tasks before the orders were given."
He sighed wearily. "I thought as much. So he's truly acting on his own, now. Turunda may not be paying for it yet, but it's only a matter of time." The wrinkles in his old brow deepened in thought. "Doana have still made no hint towards their intentions, correct?"
David shook his thinly-haired head. "Absolutely nothing."
"Mm..." Malson breathed a chuckle, earning him inquisitive frowns. "They should be commended, really. To keep their hand hidden under such close scrutiny and in enemy terrain for so many weeks is no mean feat."
"And yet, if they had, he'd have been forced to set his own ambitions aside - at least for the duration."
Marie's ever-serious and almost portion-like expression softened for a moment. "Perhaps," the phidipan mused, "we should provoke them." She surveyed the startled expressions, but didn't deign to explain herself. Instead, she waited, and one by one, they grew just as contemplative.
Malson eventually nodded. "I think I can take care of that. And--"
"Reports can be adjusted," Jora finished. Malson smiled. The usually doubtful young man seemed more sure of himself lately, but wit
h Salus's increasingly erratic mood swings, independent orders and personal activities, the phaeacian appeared to have finally made his mind up about where the best course of action for Turunda's safety lay, and it wasn't with the keliceran.
"Of course," Malson continued, a little more dubiously, "I can't be sure how effective my pressure will be. I can't read my position any more; Salus is being too cordial. There's little hint of the irritation or disdain he usually greets me with. Perhaps because he feels as though he is the one in control."
"Well, he is, isn't he? Look at the situation he has us all in; none of us know any longer what to expect of him."
The old man sighed heavily in agreement, but the words didn't pass his lips. "We can only attempt to distract and delay him--"
"That's all we ever seem to do," Marie growled. "One would think a body such as ours, dominated by phidipans and aided by a liaison to the Crown, would be able to do more than forge reports, run interference and stand back, chewing our nails, hoping that one morning Salus will wake up and decide it's too much trouble, reject his magic and return to traditional measures for defence."
"One would think," Malson agreed, but the smile on his lips suggested that he did not. "But you forget that it is not just the thirteen of us." His gaze slipped onto Taliel, and while Marie's followed, scrutinous, she didn't see the hint of apology flicker through his. Taliel did, and braced her reactions. "Tell him what we've learned."
"I've already been deployed. Information has stopped coming in from the resident spy in Adeliene; I've been ordered to find out why. I'm leaving after this meeting."
"A suitably low-risk operation..."
She smiled grimly. "You noticed that, too? Whatever the case, I'll make a deviation."
"The tail lost him," David frowned. "He knows he's being hunted. How will you find him?"
Her smile became impish. "I have my ways."
Awkward, hostile, brooding and thoughtful, silence in all forms was a thing of the past. Once Rathen had informed Aria of their encounter with the elves, the recovery of the Zi'veyn and their subsequent separation and entrapment, every waking moment had been filled with questions. Many were anticipated, and a number of those that coaxed frowns of bafflement or surprise from the others didn't faze Rathen at all - though there were, in her true fashion, a few that were either too clever or too strange even for him. But every question was answered to the best of their ability and it quickly developed into a group activity, passing the time while they rode along on the horses Kienza had left them. The atmosphere lifted for the first time in days, and even Garon seemed to relax a little. He didn't join in, but he didn't ride on ahead.
When the darkness fell and Aria finally drifted off to sleep, the usual dispersion of the camp came more slowly, and even Petra's hostility towards Anthis was slow to rear its head. But despite the near-pleasantness of it all, Rathen and Anthis wasted no time in throwing themselves back into their work. They were exhausted by the time they retired to their blankets, and slept deeply, harried in their dreams by thoughts and theories. Then, come sunrise, it all started again.
Drowned by a flood of new questions, their route continued to wind south towards the Korovor Woodlands. The trees began to thin on their approach, as though whole copses had decided to uproot and move on ahead into those thick forests with the rest of their kin. But despite its extent and density, it didn't house the same dangers as the Wildlands. And if it did, the beasts kept rigidly to themselves.
With every beat of the horses' hooves they drew nearer to the ruins concealed in those woods, and the breath of expectation brushed hotter down the back of Rathen's neck.
Between staring closely at the shape of her father's quite human ears, Aria noticed his distraction. But she didn't point it out. Instead, she directed her questions towards the others, and he soon buried his attention back into the open scrolls balanced precariously on the mane of Anthis's mare. The pair remained engrossed for the rest of the day.
By the dawn of the following morning, four days after fleeing Fendale, Rathen's shame in his failure hadn't dimmed in the slightest. He still felt ridiculous, ashamed, embarrassed, frustrated; angry at Kienza for not giving him the help he knew she could provide all because she'd decided that he had to do it all himself. And he was bitter over the fact that he knew she was right. Again.
He'd studied the Zi'veyn and blundered his way through the illegible scrolls for a month, secluded from distractions, helpless and with little else to do. He'd thrown himself into its workings, pushed his mind to the brink of its scholastic abilities. And it hadn't been enough.
'You're the only one capable of achieving it.' The wretched words seemed to chase him even in his dreams, which themselves had long since lost any trace of tranquillity since the elves had tampered with his cuff. But he was no academic. His magic may have been superior - a fact for which he sat taller in his saddle - but his mind was still quite limited, to the point that the whole situation was just a twisted joke. One which even Kienza seemed to relish in as she left him to struggle.
His single hope was Anthis. The man he'd originally mocked for his suggestion that an elven legend could be the answer to Turunda's problems. Because while Rathen could recognise a handful of words, Anthis was the only one who could truly read the scrolls. If anyone, besides Kienza, could provide the clues he needed, it was him.
But as the land dropped into another valley and the gathering trees imposed an early evening, their progress waned. Their minds were frayed and wandering, and Aria, too, had succumbed to weariness. By the time they made camp, the whole group had fallen quiet. They ate in reticence, and the stifling animosity was slowly creeping back in.
Eyila could take it no more. Despite the glassiness of his eyes, when she noticed Anthis fiddling absently with the chain about his neck, she eagerly shattered the silence. "You still wear it?"
"Hm?" His eyes brightened as he returned to his surroundings, and he looked down as she nodded towards his hand. "Oh...yes. Of course I do."
A snide grunt rose from beside her. "You still have some sense, then."
"Our beliefs aren't wrong, Petra, they're just misinformed." He managed to restrain the tired tone for fear she'd take it as condescension, but as he looked back to Eyila to grasp the opportunity to speak with her, she made another venomous noise.
"You're so gullible."
"Petra."
"What? It's true and you know it, Rathen - he'll believe anything he's told if it involves gods, and he rationalises it with insanity so it all fits together as neatly as a sword in a sheath." She shot Anthis a look of contempt over the fire. "How can you live like that? You! An academic!"
"Have you considered--"
"All right, fine." She slammed her wooden bowl on the ground so hard that Aria woke with a jump. "Your way. We learned of the gods from the elves, right? Then how could the elves neglect to speak of three of five gods for the whole time humans were their slaves? Or leave them out of all documents and archives? No historian has ever uncovered or even suggested such a thing, despite all their research - not even you came across this until a few weeks ago!"
"Long post-magic elves indentured humans," he replied as coolly as he could, if only because Eyila was still watching him, "and they were concerned only with wealth and status, living luxuriously and in high standing, and it being taken away in death. They never used their hands, never philosophised, disregarded the natural order in favour of magical advancement, comfort and control over everything around them. Doru, Mind; Feira, Nature; Nara, Hands - They were ignored along with what They represented. They only spoke so reverently of all the gods before they were gifted their magic, but they never differentiated between Them specifically enough for Them to have been entirely different beings, it was all balanced and intertwined." He continued calmly, despite her attempt to interrupt. "What few occasions long post-magic elves mentioned Them was always in line with Vastal, never Zikhon unless being referred to as a loss. But the elves never tau
ght humans directly, it wasn't the business of slaves and servants - even irreverent elves wouldn't have tolerated humans bearing such knowledge of their gods! Everything we learned, every connection we made, every bias we developed was from observation and what little of the elven language we understood. It would have been all too easy to get it wrong! And when the elves suddenly and tracelessly vanished and someone suggested that Zikhon, tied to death as they understood Him, had destroyed the elves while Vastal had swooped in just in time to save humans, all of whom were untouched, why would they question anything? They'd thank Vastal for saving them and consider it justice for the tyrannous elves!"
Petra blustered, her face surely as red as her hair, but appeared in her rage to have lost her tongue. But while the others remained silent, eating their supper quickly so they might flee the impending carnage, Rathen viewed the whole ordeal with calm and lazy disconnection. "How can you fit it all together without batting an eyelid?"
"I suppose I'm just not as close-minded as some people."
Petra still seemed unable to retort.
Brave or foolish, Anthis continued, though none were sure for whose benefit. "None of it is mutually exclusive. The Temple teaches of Vastal and Zikhon, but neglects Nara, Doru and Feira. But the tribes don't spread their efforts across all their gods, they dedicate themselves to the one element most relevant to their lives - correct?" Eyila nodded. "It's all intertwined. And, I suppose, having my mind opened to Vokaad has encouraged a less rigid view of divinity than most. The Sulyax Dizan concentrates on the Craitic prophecy of the end by Zikhon's hand, it doesn't work against the Craitic teachings of the Temple--"
"Except for murder, personal gain--"
"You're out for revenge."
