The Sah'niir

by Kim Wedlock

  "But why would Koraaz show himself there of all places...?"

  It seemed more a thought than a genuine question, but Teagan replied all the same. "For that very reason, perhaps. A quiet stop for supplies."

  "He couldn't conjure them? Summon them?"

  "It seems to be beyond their abilities."

  "He's at least partly elven."

  "The evidence suggests that it makes no difference."

  Salus leaned back against the edge of the desk, succumbing at last to his thoughts. The others waited patiently. Taliel begged her heart to quieten.

  Finally, Salus straightened in decision. "I'll go."

  "You cannot."

  His eyes snapped hotly onto him. "Why?"

  "Koraaz is a mage."

  "As am I."

  "I understand that, sir," he continued carefully, "but he has far more experience wielding magic than yourself, and he knows we are hunting them. There's no knowing what he will do when he sees you, regardless of recognition, and given the state of things as they are, we cannot risk you getting injured."

  "Then what do you suggest?! Our nearest mage is in Attleton, two days away! They'll be gone by then, and a phidipan can't handle it!"

  "Then a portian is our best chance."

  Salus growled, but a grudging consideration was already edging in, and when he looked back to his favoured, he was shrouded by a sudden confidence. "You will go."

  Teagan straightened without expression. "As you wish."

  "Teagan is not a mage," Taliel protested a little too quickly, and silently chided herself for her panic. But fortunately, neither of them appeared to have noticed. "He may well be injured in your place."

  "You underestimate a portian's abilities," Salus said with a softer tone, the slightest hint of a smile in his voice though his expression betrayed nothing. "He will be fine. And," he fixed the portian, "he will succeed. Go to Red Heath immediately. Meet with Beryn. Tail them until they're clear of the village. The women are of little consequence, but I want Karth alive. I want to know what they're up to. Seize the Zi'veyn. Kill Koraaz and the inquisitor."

  Teagan nodded his acknowledgement and left. Taliel felt the blood drain from her face.

  Salus stepped towards her as the door closed, and his voice became so soft that, for a moment, her heart jumped with the involuntary image of her husband's face. "What is it?"

  "I'm..." she breathed into a smile and concentrated her shakes into the tight curling of her toes. "I'm just pleased. It looks like we're finally in a position to bring their meddling to an end."

  "If I'm honest...I almost don't believe it."

  Her thawing heart jumped in hope. "You don't?"

  "No. They've been a thorn in my side for months. The thought that they will finally be out of the way, it's..." He smiled peacefully. Then shook it off. He returned to her with eyes suddenly as bright as when he'd first received the news, but she saw something else running as an undercurrent. Something that evolved her sickness into revulsion. And inhuman guilt.

  He took her hand, she unable to stop him, and drew her close. He kissed her, untempered, unrestrained; his enthusiasm poured in, for her or for the removal of the thorn in his side, it was impossible to tell. His emotions were always unfettered, mingling together like white-water currents. Wild. Dangerous.

  Cataclysmic.

  She forced herself to melt into him.

  She staggered when he pulled away. He was smiling; she smiled back. And then they left, taking the bag from the chair beside the archives as they passed, imposing a respectable distance between them as they made their way through the open corridors. Taliel followed his lead. Her mind had grown silent, her gaze unfixed; she suspended herself in limbo, unwilling to be too present nor withdraw into her thoughts. She didn't dare be alone with him. Or herself.

  The rain had returned by the time they left the cover of the forest. It descended in a thin, fresh curtain that pattered softly against the city on the other side of the walls, through which they slipped via a well-hidden crack and into the back garden of a small and empty house at the edge of the lowest district. From there, they moved openly through the city.

  Salus buzzed in excitement. Progress, on so many fronts. And Taliel was right beside him to share in it. And he wanted her to be, to truly be a part of what he was doing, to share in his protectorship, in the responsibility, and the victory when it all came together. Was that normal, he wondered? Past marks and conveniences had always expressed a desire to visit him at whatever kind of establishment he claimed employment to, and he'd allowed it, where possible, to allay them despite the inconvenience, but he'd never understood it. Now, though, he was beginning to.

  But as he cast her an eager smile, he belatedly realised that she'd been quiet ever since they'd left the House. And as he took the time to look closer, it was clear that she was troubled. And she was trying to hide it. Which meant that it was personal.

  Once again, he felt guilt swarm through his chest. Of course. His rage. He'd frightened her. What else could it have been?

  For a moment an apology formed on his tongue. But it never made it through his lips. He didn't want to acknowledge it, he didn't want the sound of his voice at that moment to revive the memory that so clearly rattled her and nor did he want to see it come to life again in her eyes. So he said nothing at all, and the pair walked on through the rain in silence, matching the slightly hurried pace of those around them who had been caught short by the sudden return of the showers but continued stoically about their business anyway. Their shoes were quickly caked in the filth churned into sludge in the rain.

  The density of bodies increased as they neared the trade district, where stalls, taverns, brothels and baths made their business, and among those many heading to work or to procure essentials with what little they had to barter with, there was a distinct and growing unease. The city was smothered by it. Every few minutes they passed someone with a nervous look on their face, but their eyes never met anything of another person but their shoulders, where a cloak would be fastened, or their waist, where a weapon would be hung, born of self-preservation rather than ill will.

  As they moved deeper still, where the roads widened, the buildings separated, the light improved and the stifled smell of sickness and misery was finally replaced by that of spices and flowers, the populace changed again.

  Thrice they passed mage hunters, groups of twos and threes wandering the city with the same self-importance as fresh-faced young guards, marking themselves out from the masses as vigilantes with white rags, kerchiefs and even silks tied to their upper arms. They surveyed the populace they walked among with keen, suspicious eyes, but no tact; it was clear that at least a few of them were present purely for the power. There was no doubt that these individuals would die at a mage's hands, and quite possibly get other people killed in their reckless provocations; the title and gratitude were all they sought, and the fact wasn't missed by everyone. While many cheered blindly at their undemonstrated heroism, others eyed them cautiously; children were pulled close to parents, customers concluded business at a hasty price and gadabouts made excuses to leave.

  But the responses to the mages they hounded, never within their range by chance or design, were not so politely performed.

  They walked in pairs, guarded and edgy; everyone avoided them, parting at the sight as though they were lepers, goggling at them as they passed, staring with open fear and disdain. The mages in turn regarded them with equal discomfort.

  Salus found himself moving protectively closer to Taliel.

  Their awareness heightened, they made for the centre of the city.

  The trade district, the city's social hub, ringed the Order's towers that rose like three twisted beacons, an ever-visible point of bearing in the vast capital city, and was broken only by the mage district that splintered a short way into the north east. Here, people thronged despite the rain and proximity, and the pair appeared to walk as a couple, he leading her towards a privat
e midday appointment promised in the luxuriant heart of the city. But despite their relaxed and leisurely gazes, he observed their surroundings attentively - the people, the buildings, the snatches of conversation, searching for anything suspicious or crippling to his plans. But there was nothing. The rain was prevalent; it hastened chores and discouraged lingering. No one would interrupt him.

  They soon reached the edge of the shadow cast by the Order's spiralling ebon towers, the edge of relative ease in the city; the edge of the mage's district. Here stood the oldest and grandest buildings, the baths, wine houses, city hall, even upmarket tailors, all a mixture of elven and human construction that were both complimented and offset by the equally expansive and beautiful public gardens. Aside from the western temple, it was the only place in the city where the rich crossed paths with the lower classes - the lower classes who could just about afford the luxury of these central establishments.

  But while the buildings bustled, the gardens in full summer bloom were almost empty; grass and benches soaked by the rain, those few who entered did so only for a habitual walk in the brief window between showers. And of those few they witnessed, each were well-known to do so.

  The pair appeared to demonstrate the same intentions, making their way happily through four of the gardens until wandering into the third largest in the city. It, too, was empty, aside from the six-foot stone figure of a near-naked water nymph standing with playful demurity atop a fountain dais. Her feigned modesty was preserved only by an exquisitely sculpted fold of marble silk, while water spouted from the mouths of stone koi at her feet. Manicured trees served as a backdrop, casting dappled light over water and alabaster skin had the sun been out, and, more crucially, served as a far less exposed climbing frame for anarchistic children.

  It was far from the most magnificent fountain in the city, and neither was it the most spectacular garden. Indeed, both were relatively ignored by the populace, who favoured either the largest for gatherings, or the smallest for privacy. All of which made this garden and its simple fountain the perfect spot: tall enough to be a stretch out of reach, familiar enough to be ignored, not so hidden as to attract suspicion, nor so open as to catch a passing eye.

  And in the downpour, no one would notice his interference.

  At his lead, the pair meandered towards it, and though their attention appeared fixed upon the last lingering purple ash flowers, their awareness of their surroundings rose.

  No eyes were upon them - such had been the case for three and a half minutes - so as the path bowed around into a brief blind spot behind a tall, thick hedgerow, they broke into a dash for the trees. And waited.

  As time hung still, Salus's gaze drifted towards Taliel. Her face glittered with raindrops, her gentle curls dark and weighted, and she didn't look quite so distant anymore. Instead, intrigue had begun to settle in and her eyes had brightened, though they, like his, continued to scan the gardens beyond, and her shoulders weren't as rigid. He found his own relax a little at the sight, and the knot of shame in his gut evaporated, forgotten now that she had. And in that instant, as she wiped the rain delicately from her face, he couldn't hold himself back.

  She squeaked in surprise the moment he kissed her, sending him stumbling backwards a step as she pushed him away. Her eyes were wide and immediately regretful, and she whispered a hurried apology as he frowned back in confusion. "I'm sorry," she pressed again, smiling nervously, "I thought I saw something out there, I was concentrating and you frightened me!"

  He followed her previous gaze, but saw nothing through the rain. When he looked back to her, his hurt hadn't diminished. "What did you see?"

  "Nothing, just a bird, I think it was. A crow." She held his gaze, and though he scrutinised it, he saw nothing concealed in her eyes. He glanced back out into the rain, then back to her, breathed a laugh and smiled contritely. Then, the torrents came down.

  In that moment, the edge of duty hardened his eyes. With a single look, he told her to stay within the trees. She didn't argue. As he slipped outside, the bag slung over his shoulder, she released a ragged breath of relief.

  The instant Salus was clear of the cover he was pummelled by the deluge; raindrops struck as hard as tiny stones, stinging the skin, hammering against his skull. But as chaos ensued and the populace in the streets began crashing around for sanctuary, he pushed the presence of the rain easily out from his mind. The strikes, though sharp, were so numerous as to become numbing and were easy as a whole to ignore, allowing his focus to fix upon handholds on the slick, marble statue. But Turunda's summer rain was fickle; he had little time to waste.

  Years of nefarious practise carried him to the top in seconds, where he hung by one hand from the smooth, slippery lines of the water nymph's shoulders while the other plunged into his bag, and his eyes scoured through the creases and contours of the marled grey tresses. He picked his spot.

  Withdrawing a small hammer and chisel, he snatched himself close to the stone, released his hold and struck into the hair with a single precise blow, grasping the shoulder once again before gravity could pull him past its reach. The smallest fragment chipped away from the inside of a crease; a little more than he'd intended, perhaps, but the damage wouldn't be noticed from the ground - even the man who came by to clean away the algae and moss three times a year wouldn't spot the difference when he was done.

  Checking his grip, he returned the tools, oblivious to the battering rain, and withdrew another object - a splinter of wood from his own desk. It was no bigger than the tip of his finger, and yet had transformed from a consequence of frustration into a pivotal solution.

  He dropped it into the chipped stone.

  Next came a jar, which he opened with his teeth and grasped in the crook of his elbow. The smell was unpleasant, noxious, and seemed to intensify in the rain. But it would fade, and within seconds he stopped noticing it.

  Working quickly, he scooped out a finger of clay and smothered it into the crevice, embedding the splinter and concealing the damage should anyone decide to take a closer look. The clay hardened in seconds.

  He looked at the surrounding stone, noting the spacing between its darker grey flecks and their own varying shades, and flexed his fingers just as Erran had shown him. He executed the spell perfectly. Dark patches bloomed in the clay like bruises; the marble was unscathed.

  He wasted no time admiring his work. He pushed away and dropped from the fountain to vanish back into the trees, where Taliel was waiting in intrigue. But there remained a crease of trouble in her brow. "Mages will detect this," she warned him as he returned, wiping away the rain, "masked or not." But she was silenced by the confident gleam in his eyes.

  "It's too close to the towers," he replied, as if it was all the reason he needed. He proceeded to elaborate at her dissatisfaction. "The towers are saturated with magic, there's too much around here for them to notice this one tiny spell. They won't detect it."

  "How can you be so sure?"

  "Because when I asked Erran the same thing, he told me to take it into the tapestry room. I could barely detect it even though it was in my own hand. Among all their spells in this city, the Order won't notice it." His eyes were firm, as though trying to throw his own confidence into her, and for a moment she appeared convinced - until another wrinkle of concern marred her beautiful face.

  "This won't be enough."

  "Of course not. I'll place more in other towns and cities."

  "And villages?"

  He shook his head shortly. "Too insignificant."

  "They've been attacked by mages."

  "Who planned their attacks in towns and cities."

  "And how will you conceal it anywhere else? These towers - there's nothing else like it in the country."

  "No, but among all the magic running rampant, there are many spells at work in Turunda, spells keeping buildings standing. I can place it beneath them."

  "Spells the preservers maintain?"

  "Taliel, please, I promise you: they won't
notice them. They're too subtle - they wouldn't find them even if they were looking for them." She still looked doubtful. His jaw and brow tightened in mounting irritation. "Taliel," he took her hands and smiled reassuringly instead, softening his tone despite the deafening downpour around them, "it will work. Trust me. I know you don't understand all of this, but I have given it plenty of thought. The Order is too arrogant to even think this is a possibility. We can hide these spells. And if a mage does happen to discover one, we'll certainly know if they try to disable them. There's nothing to worry about."

  'And should they notice and simply move their activity elsewhere instead?' But she didn't voice that thought through the hope that Rathen might also see through it. She couldn't risk drawing his attention towards the fact that his plan wasn't as iron-clad as he thought.

  Assuming Rathen escaped what was coming for him.

  Her stomach twisted.

  Salus was still looking at her.

  With the greatest effort, she beat it down, smiled and leaned forwards to kiss him, distracting him from any attempt at reading her thoughts. "I apologise," she sighed with the perfect amount of self-correction. "You're right, I don't understand it, but you have clearly thought it through. I trust you, my love."

  His eyes brightened at those two choice words, words she never often uttered - for fear, he'd concluded, that she might lose herself in public - and seized her by the waist. He kissed her hard, impassioned, empowered, and as panic, disgust and hate whirled in her mind, she savoured it all.

  Chapter 23

  Up beyond the rain that hammered the broad, dense leaves, the long-awaited sunlight peeked itself teasingly through the canopy. Bright, narrow beams glanced across bark and moss, freckling the ground with shards of gold. Even beneath the relentless patter of rain, the shining air exuded a peaceful silence.

  But, in true form with the mischievous forest, that peaceful silence was studded with snickers and mutters, and those beams and freckles only deepened the shadows rather than brighten the path, concealing the roots and rocks that seemed to snake and rise up just inches from their feet the moment they looked away. Only the native escort that had appeared like spectres out of the tall, closely-packed trees avoided being caught by the tricks - though they were decidedly unhelpful in pointing them out, and cackled at their every stumble instead.