The Sah'niir

by Kim Wedlock

  "He gave us the chance to come quietly, he didn't want to fight."

  "For his own sake. He knew you were dangerous."

  Petra shook her head, rose, and left in silence. Garon frowned after her, irritated and confused. She'd been upset since he'd found her, but he'd presumed it was because she'd been shaken by Rathen's power. But she'd stayed quiet. Troubled.

  "Can't you see that she doesn't want to instantly believe the worst of people?"

  His eyes travelled to Anthis. "You're saying I do?"

  "I think your profession demands some degree of scepticism, but it's a sorry way to live. She's only been able to tolerate my faults because of her desire to see the good - or try to. And to forgive Rathen. And, dare I say it, you?" Anthis frowned as Garon scoffed and walked away without a word, far more easily than usual.

  Eyila's eyebrows rose as she pressed a leaf over the final smearing of salve on Rathen's shredded shoulder, and she cast Anthis a smile. "I think we're wearing him down."

  Their attention turned back to the mage. Aria sat quietly beside her slumbering father, her young face twisted in consternation as she wrestled with a thought that had been plaguing her for some while, until finally she lifted her head and looked both the historian and the bronze healer square in the eye. "Why," she asked in a tone much too adult for an eight-year-old, "would the Order keep a spell like that alive?"

  "They wouldn't have known what it was," he sighed regretfully, pulling the girl close into an affectionate hug. "Your father's told me that they only have a vague understanding of most of the spells they maintain, and it's considered safer to keep them standing than let them fall apart because they don't know what else could come down with it. They patch holes, they don't re-cast the whole spell. They'd have analysed it as far as it being something for defence and left it at that." He chose not to voice his surprise that disasters like these didn't happen more often.

  The girl nestled against him, her brow knotted and eyes fixed on her father. "That's irresponsible."

  "It is, a little. Perhaps you should take that up with the Order."

  "Yes. Perhaps I should."

  He gave her a gentle squeeze, then a thought occurred to him. He looked between the girl and the tribal, then smiled. "I think you need distracting. Would you like to hear a story?"

  She looked up at him with big eyes. "Yes."

  "Go and fetch one, then."

  She stared at him for a further moment, a question in her round face, but when he nodded, she looked around to Eyila, beamed, then scurried off. Eyila frowned after her while she rifled through her bag, then pulled out two books and considered them both very carefully. With a decisive nod, she stuffed one back inside and returned in a rush, presenting a book with a picture of three children in a forest on the cover.

  "What is it?" Eyila asked, peering at it curiously.

  "It's a book!"

  "She can see that," Anthis chuckled, then looked a little more tentatively towards Eyila. "I thought, perhaps, you might want to read to her."

  "M-me? Read to her?" A thick shadow of intimidation clouded her ice-blue eyes. "Anthis, you know I--"

  "I know, I know - I'm going to help you. She needs distracting, wouldn't you agree?"

  Her eyes flicked sadly to the little girl, then to her father, lying wounded and unconscious on the ground beside her, dotted with bandages and notched leaves. "Yes," she sighed grievously, both for the child and her own impending strife, "yes, she does. All right. What is it?"

  "It's Old Gruel!" Aria declared. "There aren't any cities in it, and only a few children, and an old lady - she's Old Gruel. She--"

  "No, don't ruin it!"

  Anthis grinned at her enthusiasm, then patted the ground for Aria to sit down. Eyila shuffled up closer beside her and sent Anthis a confused smile. "Why didn't you tell me you'd found a book?"

  "I...well, things have been a little hectic." He opened the book on Aria's lap, and Eyila immediately shrank back from the first page. "It's all right. Look: you know the meaning and the sounds of the words, you just need to learn their shapes. Follow with me: 'Once upon a time...'"

  "Once upon a time..."

  "'There was a little house...'"

  "There was a little house..."

  "'Shaped like an acorn...'"

  "Shaped like an acorn... I don't think this is working."

  "You're doing perfectly."

  "Because I'm just repeating everything you're saying!" She huffed and slouched. "I'm never going to learn."

  "My daddy made me write the words when he taught me to read." They looked towards Aria, whose heart-shaped lips were pursed in thought. "Maybe if she does that, she'll learn the shapes better because she'll have to think about them rather than just look at them. It's easier to forget things you've seen than things you've done. It's the same with Petra and swords - she told me it's no good watching, you have to feel the sword. Maybe Eyila needs to feel the words."

  Anthis blinked at the eight-year-old girl, then leaned over, snatched his satchel from beside the tree, and withdrew a notebook and a pencil. "Thank you, Aria."

  She beamed proudly while Eyila eyed the pencil in doubt.

  Garon stood among the gnarled and tangled trees and watched Petra from a distance.

  The last time he'd tried to talk to her had not gone well, and in three days he'd devised no new ideas on how to approach her - nor any real understanding as to why she'd reacted the way she had. Or, he had, but was disinclined to accept that it was a result of his own doing. So he kept an inoffensive distance and pondered the matter that troubled him so unreasonably.

  She sat alone beside the stream which reflected the purple light of the setting sun like a mirror, freshly filled waterskins piled beside her, and examined her locket with suspicion. No one could work out why the ditchlings had returned it, and that fact seemed to trouble her. It meant so much, that little piece of silver, and yet she'd given it up in payment for a map that could have been sheer nonsense, knowing she'd never see it again. It was worth it, she'd said; she'd trusted that the map was good, and trusted the ditchlings with her most cherished possession even though they'd have done nothing but fill it with mud and let it tarnish.

  He adjusted his shoulder against the trunk of the chestnut, shifting away from a knot.

  She did seem to want to see the good in people. It was a failing. Had she been more reserved or suspicious, she wouldn't have gotten involved with them in the first place and she'd be free of this mess. And yet, somehow, at the same time she wasn't all that naive about it; she'd jumped immediately upon that bounty hunter and only began to doubt him after the fact, she'd fought off bandits along The Ghost Patch's road while Khryu'vahz had divided them, she'd attacked the phidipan outside Nestor without hesitation, she'd come to their defence in Mokhan even when the whole city was charging against them, and more besides.

  It was foolishness, there was no question about that, but she had saved their skins too often for it to be bald-faced luck. And yet, despite it all, she seemed to know who was worth a second thought. And the bounty hunter's death seemed to plague her.

  Not for the first time, he thought she was ultimately too gentle to pursue a course of vengeance. She had a harshness to her, but it was only a stroke, and she carried her heart's scars well on the outside. As for inside, he had no idea what was truly going on. She was difficult sometimes and open at others, and it seemed to change with the winds because, beyond a certain point every four weeks, there was certainly little sense to be made of it.

  Quite suddenly a voice spoke up in his mind, one of reason he'd come to rely on in his professional years, and he listened to it intently. 'Why does any of this matter?' It asked of him, and he couldn't find a rational response. 'You have a job to do. An important one. Nothing else matters. The whimsy of these people is getting to you - shake it off.'

  He straightened, as if his senses had come crashing back down on him. What was all of this? If his superior could see him now...it did
n't bear thinking of.

  And yet, even while these very reasonable points presented themselves, he lingered beside that tree, watching her open the locket, stare at the pictures and lose herself in her thoughts.

  It was only when she put the locket aside with finality and began to disrobe that he finally turned away, seeing as he did so a flash of the horrific burns that enveloped her right arm and stretched about the side of her torso.

  The camp was quiet when he completed his patrol. Anthis and Eyila sat together around the fire, a book laid open between them and parchment on the girl's leg, which she wrote upon with the greatest care and concentration while Anthis supervised. Petra wasn't yet back, and Aria had fallen asleep at her father's side. But Rathen's eyes were open and turned darkly towards the trees he emerged from. They were quick to shift onto him.

  "Garon," he said in a mildly rasping voice, to which the inquisitor approached to spare him the need to speak loudly. He knew what he would ask, and even had his throat not been shredded by those terrible, spine-chilling howls, he wouldn't have wished to conduct the matter from across the camp.

  Garon crouched beside him and nodded for him to go ahead.

  "Did I kill anyone?" He asked the question quickly, and closed his eyes in disgrace when Garon nodded.

  "The bounty hunter."

  "And others?" His tone remained harsh.

  "No. Not by your hands. But your transformation triggered something. Anthis believes it was the spell the elves set into the city when it was built. It was supposed to be some kind of protection from elves who were getting too confident with their magic, so it was designed to react to a Zikhon devout."

  "A Zikhon devout." His eyes opened and he stared up into the leaves overhead. His gaze was black with insult. "Someone who changes, you mean?"

  "That's what he believes. The sentries took your transformation to mean that your people were in danger in the city. They only attacked what they determined to be threats, and only from outside the walls. Unfortunately, they weren't very sophisticated creations..."

  "So they attacked anyone waving lanterns or torches..."

  "It wasn't your fault, Rathen."

  "It would never have happened if I hadn't been there." His voice was acid.

  But Garon had no answer for him. It was the truth. There was no sense in denying it to make him feel better, and he wasn't foolish enough to believe such a falsehood anyway.

  Rathen turned his head away and stared back into the trees, a hard set to his jaw and the threat of fire in his eyes.

  Silently, Garon rose and stepped away, leaving him to his shame, and Anthis and Eyila returned their pitying eyes to the surface of their parchment.

  Chapter 44

  The evening hung heavily, though it seemed to Salus that he was the only one to feel it. All around him the city was abuzz in the light of celebratory fires and frivolous, unceasing melodies; Midsummer was still a week away and yet already the more decadent of people were gorging themselves on the festivities and throwing all care to the wind, and the lowest of the populace were taking full advantage of it. No one was paying attention to anything but their own enjoyment, and that made it only that much easier for insidious plans to crash into action. And at present, Kora was prone to more than most.

  Closing himself off from the offensive mirth, he stormed through the blithesome city, his eyes catching on anyone who may not have belonged even as he abandoned his vigilant purpose, making straight for the city's library. The agent who had been tasked with fetching him was left in his dust.

  He wasted no time in feeling out the dark, secreted cellar entrance and all but leapt onto the unassuming rug cast into a corner inside. He was back within the confines of Arana House in a moment, and continued directly for his loathsome office. As usual, no one stood in his way, and he threw the door open without breaking his gait. "Report," he demanded of the portian behind his desk. "Now."

  Teagan coolly handed him the miniature scroll and paid no attention to the frustrated fumbling and cursing of his superior while he struggled in his rage to open it. Salus's teeth clenched while he read, but he made not a sound. His jaw must have been ready to shatter.

  His eyes were very nearly aflame when he finally looked back up. "How did Koraaz get out of the Wildlands without anyone seeing him?! How did he get into Ferna without my spells seeing him?!"

  "They know we're tracking them," he replied, unaffected by the glass-shaking yells, looking straight ahead towards the door, "they would have waited for a window. And the incident in Ferna occurred outside the walls."

  "And they stopped nowhere after getting out? They needed no food? No supplies? Nothing?!"

  "If they had, your spells would have detected them."

  "Would they?!" Salus's seething eyes searched the dim office for some kind of answer while his mind raced to make sense of it all. "No, they must have stopped somewhere...Koraaz is a mage - perhaps he knows about my spells. He must have sensed them - it's the only way he could get around them like this. There's no other explanation. But to go through all the trouble of circumventing them..." His expression dropped, and his eyes widened into near-perfect circles. He looked towards Teagan as the helpless thought took perfect shape. "He's half-elf. What if he's in league with them? Destroying the world and paving the way for their return - we know they're still out there, we know first-hand. But...what would they get out of it? Koraaz would get protection by blood, and, no doubt, a promise of some seat of power - but what about the rest? Safety? Or are they just that gullible? The inquisitor is a rogue, the historian a psychopath, and the duelist...she's had her brain beaten out of her...

  "No, no - half-elf or not, it's too much to think he could do all that by himself...no, it was too big, too spectacular. He had help. And it was showy...what if it was all an elaborate distraction? Ferna's defences are still up, yes? And this happened hours ago. The stone creatures, the golems, they're still standing there and attacking anything that moves outside the wall - goodness only knows what else is there. And why?!" He whipped back around to Teagan, the wheels in his mind turning so quickly that he could hardly keep up with them. "Phidipans - portians! Get them after him - find out what he's doing, why he's working with the elves, what he gets out of it - this is my world he's trying to destroy! I want intel! By any means!"

  "His accomplices - if indeed--"

  "Accomplices," Salus spun away with the thought. "Yes accomplices - the child would be the easiest to break, but she wouldn't know anything. She wouldn't have made sense of anything that's going on. The tribal is a mage, but a savage - she won't know how to wield her magic properly; if her hands are bound she can be overpowered, and she's young enough to be broken. We can push on her easily - it was her tribe we massacred, we have a way in. The duelist is hard-headed, she would be too much trouble to break for what little she knows, and the same, no doubt, goes for the crooked inquisitor. Karth is weak, armed but only dangerous at certain times...and he would know a great deal...while Rathen is untouchable. He would need distracting..." He levelled towards Teagan. The zealous fire blazing in his eyes had steadied into terrible, cold decision. "I want Karth."

  "Sir," Teagan offered calmly, "Rathen Koraaz is not a full-blooded elf. We know from your dealings with them that they don't think much of anyone with less than 'pure' elven blood. Why should he be an exception?"

  "Because I am also an exception. Liogan and her kin are working through me - it's possible that Denek was trying to bring me over himself before I killed him. He was an elf, and he didn't have to tell me I had any kindred blood... This is it. This must be it - it's the only thing that makes sense. We're both pawns, with the single difference being that I know they're manipulating me. I have no intention of fulfilling my part in their plans; I'll take as much from them as I can get and turn it to my own needs, but Koraaz...oh, Vastal's Blood...what if Koraaz himself is an elf?! What if he's not just part-elf at all?! He's powerful enough, and Karth is with him - they've been together all t
his time, Koraaz and an expert on the ancient elven world, a world he never saw but wants to bring back..."

  "Sir, forgive me, but this--"

  "And perhaps they have no intention of using the Zi'veyn to gather up the magic to use for another purpose after all - an elf wouldn't need it! Perhaps they will use the Zi'veyn against mages and are still searching for the means to do so much more..." A sudden snarl ripped free of his throat. "'Perhaps perhaps perhaps' - we need certainties! We need to know what they're doing, once and for all - we need to stop them before I can rescue Turunda! Otherwise, what's to stop him or elves from hitting us once we've moved?! Nothing! Nothing except more elven--...except more elven magic..."

  "Sir, I must protest," Teagan managed at last, though he couldn't be sure it wasn't because Salus had lost himself in his rampant thoughts again. "Your magic is powerful, but you cannot possibly stand against elves alone. You destroyed Denek because Denek made a fatal error and underestimated you, but an elf won't make that mistake again, and neither will Koraaz."

  "I need to get stronger..."

  Teagan's heart sank in the briefest stab of hopelessness.

  "I need to get stronger, I need to surpass the handicap of signs, destroy Koraaz and move Turunda to safety. Decontaminate our lands of mages and foreigners - and elves. Anyone who would do it and its people harm..."

  But Salus was fully aware that the thought was preposterous. He was already strong. His arsenal of spells was unvaried, he ruefully acknowledged, but he had power, immense power, and the instruction of the elves. He could push magic, manipulate it directly which, as far as Erran had led him to believe, was supposed to be impossible. That feat alone was testament to his power, and it was one he already had a handle on - was there not some way he could use that against Koraaz? If he could avoid wasting time learning new things and just hone what he already had...but how could he turn that into a weapon?

  He sank into his chair, unaware of Teagan's continued protests, and stared deeper into his own musings.