by Kim Wedlock
The moment the latch clicked into place his last fragile hold on his decorum snapped.
He'd been ducking Malson about this for a while, but that morning he'd been in the most tolerant mood to deal with it - and, thanks to his code-breaker, had armed himself with more than enough information to be able to give him only what was needed in order to smooth it over. But still the old fool remained critical and pompous. Infuriatingly pompous.
He knew if he held onto the teacup he'd grasped to steady his nerves any longer, he'd crush it. So he threw it instead. And once it had shattered against the wall with a satisfyingly shrill peal, he collected the pieces with a negligent flex of his fingers and floated them into a pile on his desk, which promptly received the next lash of his rage.
Fortunately the need to bellow into his hands passed with the bone-cracking clench of his fists, and he whirled back behind his desk to begin poring furiously over reports and plans, if just for some sense of progress and control.
All key tactical locations were manned; there was not a back alley or window left ajar for anyone to slip through and into the country, and not a rat hole or bird's nest in which anyone could hide anything in within their fair borders. The incompetent phaeacians were gone, each and every one of them, promoted where appropriate or cast out of the way, and the phidipans had taken up their old jobs well.
Well. But not perfectly.
They'd found little to reinforce his suspicion on Malson, which was a result of failure rather than there being nothing to find. Malson was doubtlessly careful - his position towards the Crown was a precarious one, and if they suspected him of dissent he would be cast out, and then Salus would have to deal with someone else - someone with even less clue of how the Arana worked. Malson had been here for years, and for that, Salus had to concede, he was the lesser evil. But that didn't mean he could be trusted.
The single thing they had discovered was that, very occasionally, he had been seen going somewhere at night, in the trade district of the city rather than the royal or stately, but anyone who had spotted him had been observing something else at the time and were unable to determine his destination. And while his surveillance spells now hung in every city, most towns and a few crossroads, Kulokhar was ceaselessly busy and pulled the spells in all directions. He needed him followed, on foot and discreetly.
And, looking down at the most recent report from an accomplished phidipan, he knew just who to send.
But the Order were still solid, too. He needed his spells around the towers - and inside them. The mages were still rebelling, and in the last week it had reached new heights, with attacks in the larger cities and, devastatingly, the port in Roeden, which had killed sixteen people, five of whom were self-appointed mage hunters just bold or stupid enough to think they could stop her, as it was so often the lone mages who were the deadliest. But how to get those spells inside those twisting spires was another challenge.
Non-humans, too, were proving a trial, but in this case he wasn't sure he could blame his people so heavily. It may have been his own fault for under-estimating them. Because the beasts were wisening, and wisening fast. Fortunately they took out great swathes of them before they could catch on, but there were still too many ditchlings, harpies and the like scurrying around on their doorsteps. And yet, while they were nothing more than vermin, animals, the phidipans seemed as yet unable to handle them. Perhaps that very perception was the problem. Rather than seeing them as rats and pigeons, perhaps they should consider them among weasels and eagles - smarter beasts. Hunters rather than prey, but animals all the same. That kind of simple adjustment always yielded results.
But while he scribbled that down in a hand still trembling with pent-up rage, the final matter that weighed so heavily upon him at night began to parade around the front of his mind with a fanfare of trumpets. He was loathe to face it, even had his mood not begun to deteriorate. Koraaz hadn't been seen for two and a half weeks. Not since he'd been heading towards the Wildlands. And he didn't like that one bit.
Perhaps he'd died in there - it was a notion he entertained from time to time - but he found a sickening confidence against it. And a sickening helplessness to follow. All he could do on this matter was trust that his people would spot him. There were enough looking, and there was nothing in that wretched forest but trees and the things that so often went bump in the shed at night or howled savagely at the moon. He would have to come out at some point. Unless he really had died...
A long-drawn sigh breathed out some degree of the tension knotted between his shoulder blades, and another blue, flocked teacup floated out of the open cabinet to settle in his steadied hand. But as he poured out the last contents of this newest pot, his mind drifted towards another individual he'd not seen or heard trace of in a very long while. But Liogan's absence, while troubling, at least wasn't a hindrance. She'd been an uncontrollable element from the beginning and he'd decided early on to disregard her as a blessing - she was not to be counted upon, and he was making great progress without her help anyway.
He'd already joined Halen to Ausokh, Ausokh to Dustwatch, Dustwatch to White Barrows, and only a week ago turned west before all of Halen's magic could drain away through those channels to the east. He wasn't sure if it actually worked like that, but he wasn't prepared to take the risk. But no sooner had he pushed from Halen to Fendale than the military moved and Doana gave chase, forcing his attention away. It was excruciatingly frustrating, but it was progress. The only concern he had on that matter was that these delays gave the Order the chance to ruin his progress or usurp it - if not the elf herself.
That frustration returned the rapid boiling in his veins, and he quickly put the cup down. He took a few deep breaths, concentrating on the bergamot of the tea that writhed in every inhalation, until his temper began to settle and the many-pinned map and various report papers fell mentally back into order.
Then snapped up at the composed and lacklustre knock against the door. Teagan entered at his tight grunt, and the pair filled one another in on the past two hours' occurrences.
The portian looked down at the assignments he was handed while Salus dropped heavily into his chair. "So," the keliceran sighed, "they've abandoned Korovor and Hoarwood. And they're reinforcing the west - Greentop and The Ghost Patch." His eyes dropped briefly to the map. "They're keeping Kora in their sights."
"Your reinforcement of Splintertree and Eening are almost portentous." Teagan replied, to which Salus grunted humourlessly. "By keeping an eye on the approach, we'll notice should they begin to move more individuals towards the city."
Salus snarled beneath his fingers. "We can't let them find whatever they think is kept in there. Dusty maps, royal bloodlines or ancestral records, whatever it is..."
"Their claim wouldn't go through, whether they find it or not."
"And then they will attack us zealously because we support a supposed usurper! They can't find those documents! I will not bow to some muddy-blooded queen on our throne!"
"I dare say you will find no argument."
Salus began to eye his favoured closely. He was no quieter than usual as he continued through the papers, but he could see a thought buzzing around him. "What is it?"
He looked up without surprise. "Fair allocations. It's a shame Hower and Moroes are unavailable, they would be well-suited. But those you've selected in their place should do well enough."
Salus's eyes narrowed. "But?"
"Taliel's speciality. She's one of our most adept at coaxing information."
"Yes...?"
"She's easy to trust. And she's inconspicuous. All valuable attributes when time is of the essence. Roviin is only four hours from Kora; she would be better suited than David for picking the place apart."
But Salus was already shaking his head. "No. Roviin is a very small village; they probably haven't seen all that much, and she's too beautiful to slip in under their noses. An attractive woman appearing alone like that? She'd be noticed."
"At which point she w
ould be able to weave a cover in a heartbeat, if she allowed herself to be overtly noticed at all."
Salus's eyes narrowed again. "Is there something you'd like to say?"
"Only that you are not utilising her to her full potential," he replied smoothly, the portian's face thoroughly unchanged. "You've not sent her outside of the grounds in over a week."
"I need her here."
"For?"
Salus bit back his frustration and began busying himself with the nonsense on his desk. "She's intelligent. She provides a third opinion."
"I see."
His eyes shot towards him. "You think I'm being protective. I'm not. She's more than capable of handling herself. But right now, given every sodding thing that's going on, she is of the most use to me here. There is nothing more. Is that understood?"
"Perfectly."
"Good." The teacup clattered as he set it roughly back on the desk, dark droplets leaping out and staining the strewn papers, and he rose sharply from his seat for the cupboard across the room. "Get those assignments in motion. I'll deal with Bowden."
"Sir--"
"What, Teagan? You have objections, do you?"
"Sir, with all due respect," he spoke calmly even while the keliceran proceeded to change his shoes, "while many avenues may be going well, you are still needed here. You know how dynamic conflict can be, and this situation is far from conventional. Doana snuck in right under our nose, and we still haven't clarified whether or not Skilan is looking our way again."
"What do you expect to happen? That Doana are going to launch an attack on all sides in the hour or so that I'm gone? What's the military there for if they can't hold them off?! And there's the standing, overriding order that any intel crucial to the urgent defence of the country is given first to the person most capable of putting it to good use. Which, in the case of a sudden attack from another direction, would be General Moore, not me. The only thing at risk right now is Kora - and as you have already advised me against getting involved in that myself, there are eleven other agents working on it instead!"
"We can't know what will happen--"
"Which is why I leave you in my stead, Teagan!"
"Let me--"
"You can't!" The cupboard door slammed shut and in a flash Salus was before him, his eyes burning, face twisted into impatient menace. But the portian didn't flinch. "It's been left under spells, which means you can't do a thing about it. I can. And if I can't break the spells, I can, at least, find them. Whatever catastrophes occur in the next hour, they're yours to deal with." He snapped away and threw the door open. "I need to get out of here!"
Stepping out through the back exit of the cobbler's shop, Salus's skin prickled at a sudden chilled breeze. Cool air swept in from the east, carrying with it the crisp, clean scent of the Olusan Mountains that stood glowering in the distance, and offset the midsummer heat which was now only set to get worse. For a moment, he stopped and breathed it deeply. He'd always preferred the assignments that had sent him into colder climes in his youth, and though it was only a handful of degrees cooler here than back in the city, he felt his tensions evaporate. It smelled so...free. It was only on occasions like these when he truly appreciated how stifling and imprisoning that office was.
But there was no time for disconnection or yearning for simpler days. What Teagan had said may have been melodramatic, but it wasn't incorrect. He couldn't afford to be away for long - especially if Doana realised that the existence of their contingency plan had been discovered, left here in their first wave of brief occupations three excruciatingly long months ago.
So he scuffed his boots in dust from the alley, mussed the knees of his trousers, dropped a flatcap upon his head and softened his scowl into the look of trivial bother that any other man would carry. Then he stepped out into the wider streets, a perfect example of ordinary.
It was late morning and suitably busy, thick with the sights and sounds of commerce and sociality while guards looked on, mostly alert, though the eyes of a few drifted tavernwards, anxious for the coming of lunch time. Dogs barked at passers-by for warning or attention, another caused chaos while it chased down a cat, heedless to its surroundings and its own enormous size, and children played and thieved just out of vendors' sight until one clumsy individual sparked a similar chase and awoke the attention of two drifting guards.
It was, in short, unremarkable. But while Salus scanned each and every face for any sign - expression, twitch or colour - that set them apart as suspicious, a number of the more quiet and subdued individuals paused at the rise of cheering to the west, close to the town walls. Salus heard it, too, moments before the rest, and he didn't miss the distinct thread of malice laced through its core.
It took all of half a second to work out what it was, at which point he promptly disregarded it, ceased his own examinations and turned his sights upon his task.
The town square; the hub of sociality, where the tavern, ever-changing travelling merchants' stalls, tea and wine houses and other such establishments had long since gathered, accompanied by simple wooden bandstands and fountains all within easy reach of the well, auspicious tree or whatever else had encouraged the settlement to take root there those many forgotten years ago.
But the sounds began to change from bustle to merriment as the square opened ahead of him; with laughter and gossip came the sound of warm, seasonal music from the wandering players, and beside it the scent of bread and ale from the inn and sweet, fruity festival cakes from the red- and orange-hued stalls. But while he appeared to smile and enjoy the surrounding festivities as much as anyone else, Salus paid them no internal attention as he melted seamlessly into the crowds. Carried by the current, he made his way casually to the farthest side, and the very moment a fire-breather astounded the crowd, he slipped away into an alley.
A few light, hurried steps later, he arrived at the back of the bath house.
It was busy inside; he needn't have taken a moment to listen against a window, the laughter and chatter could be heard even over the music, and the smell of fresh rose petals and damp contended easily with the pitch and fragrant sweets.
He paused to work the matter out.
There was no question over whether or not Doana knew of the Arana. They had taken out his residential spies at every site they'd struck, and they'd done so tidily. They knew he and his people were the greatest threat to their activity, which seemed to be recovering some kind of archaic evidence that would put their own queen on the Turundan throne where she'd supposedly belonged all along, so keeping all of their plans, orders and intel in-hand was foolish. The Arana would doubtlessly make it into their camps sooner or later - as so they had on several occasions - so it was far better, if they had to keep any plans in writing at all, to secret them away somewhere else. Somewhere out of thought. Somewhere in plain sight. Somewhere the public would overlook, and somewhere Salus's subordinates wouldn't gain access to without drawing attention.
That most recent and most successful raid on a random handful of Doana's camps had uncovered in one their intentions in the ancient city of Kora, and in another, with great pains, the code to decipher it. In fact, the very existence and location of the contingency plan he was presently on the hunt for was discovered within the code-breaker itself, disguised as a part of the key. Hidden in plain sight, as, it seemed, were those secreted plans - but only for a mage who was looking for them.
The bath houses were some of the oldest structures still standing in cities, riddled with dark corners and loose stones, and the elven spells that powered a few necessary details were maintained to this day. No ordinary person would notice anything hidden away, and a mage would not notice the appearance of a new and subtle spell without knowing precisely where to look for it.
But Salus was no ordinary person, and neither was he blind to its location.
But there were, just as Doana had planned, people in his way, and he wasn't prepared to wait for the baths to close that night and risk a Doanan slippin
g in and recovering it in the mean time. So his first move was simple. And one he'd now decided upon the means to handle.
Quietly, he hurried further along the alley until he was a suitable distance from the festivities but close to one of the wider roads. He could hear relaxed voices talking of work and trade, and, to his satisfaction, the sound of hooves over stone and wooden wheels rattling along behind them.
He wasted no time. With a practised twist of his fingers, a torrent of fire, bright but harmless, erupted on the other side of the buildings that shut the alley in. Voices rose in a sudden rage of shock and terror, and two horses screamed. Another sign and another flare rose on the opposite side of the road, seemingly out of nowhere, and then another, for good measure, towards the head of the road.
The panic spread quickly, and Salus was all too ready to direct it. "Mages!" He yelled in flawless hysteria as he made his way coolly back down the alley. "Mage attack! Run!" The alarm spread in moments; the nearby merriment collapsed into terror. And he slipped into the emptying bath house.
The heat within was stifling, and the pungent, floral miasma was laced with cedar wood which dried and choked the breath. It took Salus a few controlled breaths to overcome it, but at least he hadn't to waste time for his eyes to adjust. Like most bath houses, the main halls were bright - the elves had known what they were doing when they'd built in the windows - and even though newer structures had been built up around it as the over-sized town had sprawled, the light that leaked in through the fogged glass was still plentiful.
He moved quickly, lightly, avoiding the puddles the clientele had left in their haste to escape the phantom threat, and sent his mind out to the magic. He was suddenly awash in spells, but simple chains for simple matters, and he could tell even at a glance the old from the new. They had their differences beyond age, too - some were distinctly less elegant than others, and it wasn't difficult to work out why. But when he found one particular spell, as small and insignificant as a mouse in a room of dogs and wolves, he knew he had found what he sought. And it was the most inelegant of all.
