by Kim Wedlock
"It has affected so few, and of those few only two were ever positioned near any such places. If anything, especially with the information Owan has delivered us, the more mages around, the lower the risk becomes."
"This is beside the point," Roane spoke up for the first time, his voice rough though not indelicate. "Now we know what is happening, we have to act, regardless of the risk. Mages can intervene if another seems to be losing control, but these defences are a priority for the sake of the people and the Order's honour. We will do all that we can." He looked directly at Rathen, his eyes hard and guarded; professionally offended, personally threatened, and touched by a shadow of grudging respect. "As, I trust, will you."
Rathen looked only briefly at the bag he extended towards him. Neither's stern expression moved as he took it. "All that we can."
"There are horses waiting outside," said Delas with a curious glance between the two. "Where will you go now?"
"West. We'll try to reach one of Salus's targets before he can, and with any luck we'll punch a big hole in his plans."
"I see...well, luck, haste and the will of the Goddess, then." She stepped forwards and embraced him again, an act which surprised him no less than the first time, then crouched to embrace Aria. She delighted in it and accepted eagerly the small bundle of cloth the older woman handed her with a few whispered words. Delas then straightened and bowed to the rest while Arator shook their hands. Once again, Roane kept to himself.
"Rathen," he looked around towards Owan as he stepped forwards from the side, "a word, if I may?"
He nodded respectfully to the elders and followed him towards the wall, leaving the rest to offer their own thanks.
Outside of earshot, the scholar's sharp eyes became tentative, yet decided. "You say you're gaining control over your transformations." He ignored Rathen's brief, uncomfortable shift. "Could you, in time, have it fully under control?"
"In time," he sighed quietly, "perhaps. I hope so."
"And when that day comes...would you consider returning to the Order?"
"What?"
"You were always a valuable asset to the Order's military wing - your skills, your leadership - even I know that. And now we have an explanation, we could petition the Crown to reverse your sentence."
"No, Owan. They would need proof, and there's nothing to guarantee I wouldn't lose control in the future. Look at what's happening to other mages - if that happened to me...it doesn't bear thinking about. Even if this whole matter was brought to a decisive close by my own hand, the Crown would never accept it. No one would. Not after what I've done."
"If the grand magister vouched for you--"
"With all that the rebellion and this magic have done, the grand magister's word probably doesn't carry the weight it used to."
"It's true they would take some convincing, but he would do it with facts and they'd be left with no reason not to trust you."
"Paranoia would give them one. Listen to me, Owan: put the thought out of your mind. It isn't going to happen. Mages are out of favour; they'd rather see our ranks thinned, not bolstered, especially by someone like me. No amount of grovelling will change that."
His eyes became frosty. "Despite the general consensus, Rathen, the Order is not guilty. We will not walk with our tails between our legs, we will not shy away from our duties or our rights, not in the shadow of false claims. That would only give us further to climb. We will not grovel for anything."
"Wise words, but walking tall will seem like hubris."
"But it will be innocence. The Crown will see that in time."
"You give them too much credit."
A lopsided smile touched Owan's lips. "I have to believe some reason remains. Otherwise I might just escalate the rebellion myself." Then the gravity in his eyes changed; they became less worldly, less expansive, and suddenly his concern became personal. Rathen frowned and turned directly towards him. "I have a daughter of my own along the way. If you get this spell wrong--"
"A phrase I've been just dying to hear," Rathen smiled helplessly. "You don't need to tell me, Owan. I know. I know well. I also know what will happen if it isn't done at all. So it looks like we're all going to have to hold our breath and pray to the gods that I don't get it wrong."
"Gods?"
He smiled smoothly. "A slip of the tongue." He extended his hand and grasped Owan's firmly with a broad smile. "Congratulations. Truly. Prepare to have your heart stolen."
"I'm sure I can handle it," he said with a foolish grin, to which Rathen merely laughed. "I'll keep studying where I can. If I learn anything useful, I'll pass it along."
"Thank you. I'll need it. Now let's get out of here before the sun comes up."
No one spoke as they wove their way through the quiet, frosted streets. While they stalked among or within the wake of illusions, the city guards continued their listless watch and craftsmen their noisy trade by lantern light. Not one lifted their eyes towards them.
The city was no different for their exit than it was for their arrival, but the familiar tension they shared was spiked now by the anticipation of passing through those towering gates - a task made easier this time by their direction. No one was likely to make trouble leaving the city, and the authenticity of the coffin wagoner accompanying them negated the need for questions. Craitic burials often took place at dusk or dawn.
Their silence remained well beyond the reach of the city's walls, with many backward glances cast to ensure that no figures were following them. They saw nothing even in the expansive snowlight, but still their urgency persisted.
"Are we sure we weren't seen?" Anthis asked at last, his voice careful as the louring sky began to wake.
"I don't believe so," Rathen replied, forcibly loosening his gloved hands from their tight grip on the reins, "but there's no knowing just what Salus's spells are capable of. He may have seen through whatever deception the elders cast against them." 'Assuming they managed to pull the wool over his spies' eyes in the first place.' He shifted uncomfortably in the saddle. His bones ached against his sleepless night. "It might be best to assume we were seen and act accordingly."
"Wouldn't we have been attacked?" Aria asked sceptically, but her father's lips tightened.
"The Arana isn't so direct," Garon informed her. "And if they think Rathen has gone rogue or is working with the elves, they'll be intrigued by his visit to the Order. So, either they'll wait and find out his purpose, or...we'll be attacked on the road." He looked back through the trees in the direction of the city, though it was long out of sight. "We should hurry. We need to put as much distance between us and him as we can."
"Should we not just strike him now?" Eyila asked as she clumsily urged her horse on after the rest of them, struggling to feel its ribs through her thick boots. "He won't be expecting it..."
"No, he wouldn't, but neither are we. We have no plan - we don't even know where exactly the Arana is. And regardless, he would have immediate reinforcements. We wouldn't stand a chance." Garon's eyes now shifted onto Rathen at the lead, and narrowed in private suspicion.
"It feels wrong running away."
"We have no choice, Anthis. We don't stand a chance against them. And, for the record, we're not running away--"
"We're running away," Anthis confirmed.
"We're not running away. It's a tactical retreat." He cast a brief but dark look back towards the historian. "Eyila is fine, but she won't be if we go charging in with revenge on our minds. None of us will."
Rathen's eyes burned through the trees ahead. His voice growled low with convicted promise. "We will be back for him." He looked around at Garon as he reined his horse in alongside him. He saw the darkness now meant for him and knew well what was coming.
"West?"
"Well he's obliterated the east," Rathen replied matter-of-factly, assumption confirmed. "There's littlewhere else to go."
"Where did you have in mind?" Anthis asked, hurrying up beside.
"Whitemouth."
"Beneath the sea, yes, you've said, but Salus has an elf's help so I'd imagine his information on the existence of elven ruins is pretty reliable."
"Meanwhile, we have none." He stared at him levelly. "I can't find it, Rathen."
"I'm afraid you'll have to; none of the rest of us would stand a chance. And we have to get there before he does."
"And just what is it that makes you think he hasn't already?"
"We'd have heard something, and Taliel would've put in an appearance if his plans were that close to completion."
"Then he could already be on his way."
Rathen shook his head and steered his horse across a ford to avoid the upturned wagon further along the river. It had seemed the perfect spot for an ambush when they'd passed it two nights before, and he didn't like to stretch their luck needlessly when it would be crucial later on. "I doubt it. Now that Kalokh has attacked, his attention will be divided, and his accident at Toakh will have shaken him. Either he's exhausted, or something went wrong. Despite the evidence, he doesn't want to put lives at risk. He won't strike again until he's recovered or has figured it out."
"How can you be sure it was an accident?" Petra asked.
"Rathen is right," Garon agreed, "the town was deserted, but it was the closest outpost to the Doanan border and a valuable location for that fact alone. Salus wouldn't have wanted it broken, and the fear it has doubtlessly spread through the populace wouldn't have been of any benefit to him. People are angry enough with the mages, but anything more than the present animosity will be a hindrance."
"Fine," Anthis grumbled, pulling one of the coats the Order had given them tighter about himself, "so he's not heading there yet, but even assuming I did know where to find it, it would take us nearly three weeks to get there on horseback! Never mind all this...this!" He gestured animatedly at the snow all around them.
"He's right," Petra admitted uneasily. "He could sort himself out in that time."
"Can we not delay him?" Eyila asked. "If we hit him hard enough we might be able to slow him if he's licking his wounds."
"You did want to test his weaknesses..."
"The Zi'veyn didn't work against me, but could it work against him?"
"The Zi'veyn?" Rathen hesitated, chewing his cheek. "I don't know - maybe. But we've been over this, it's a huge chance to take, and even if it did work it would only stop him for as long as I was using it."
"But it could be enough to give him a reason to hesitate. Confront him, use that, and we'll frighten him."
"And he'll respond by attacking hard and fast when he recovers." Garon shook his head with confidence. "We won't stall him for long with that. He's a devoted man, and when people like him get an idea wedged in their head, it burns everything else away and they get very dangerous very fast."
The group fell tensely silent as they trotted through the snow.
Finally, Eyila's musical voice rose. "We need to do something..."
"...She's right."
"And just what exactly would that be?"
"We provoke him," Rathen replied with worrying ease, despite the fret he felt creeping along his spine. "We've already talked about it - we're going to be thrown in against him at some point and we need to know what he's capable of."
"Look around you. This is what he's capable of."
"This was a mistake. He can't replicate this - it's what he can do consciously that we need to know about, because those are the abilities he'll build his plans around." He watched Garon from the corner of his eye. It was clear by the fretting of his scowl that he was still far from convinced by the idea - none of them were, really, because now it felt like far more than just brainstorming. But just as he was about to inform Garon that he knew he was right, the inquisitor's expression softened in helplessness and he sat a little lower in the saddle.
"This is madness...but...you're right..." Even so, he turned the mage a cynical look. "But what exactly do you have in mind? What if you cast something and you keel over again? Without you we'll all be--"
Rathen raised a finger. "He would expect magical attacks - so what if we avoided them? He would build his plan around the certainty that I'd use magic and his defences will be tailored to it. If we go against his expectations, he'll be unarmed and we can strike hard and fast."
His brow flattened. "Yes. Very good. And what about when this highly intelligent man, trained to think and act seamlessly on his feet, abandons his defeated plan and decides to attack using magic himself? We won't have any defences, and we can guarantee he'll use it. We'll be entirely at his mercy."
"I'll teach Eyila a few things - she already has binding down and we know she's capable of knocking people off of their feet. A mage can't cast if he's worrying about hitting his head when he lands. And anyway..." His tone suddenly darkened ruefully. "It's me he wants, so it's me he'll be watching. He won't be paying attention to any of you."
"And what will you be doing in the meantime?"
"Luring him wherever we need him to be. Dragging him into traps."
"Or...you could...transform..."
All eyes turned onto Anthis in shock, but, slowly, reluctant reasoning stirred among them, and their gazes soon fell weightily back upon the ex-sahrot. Rathen however had fallen still, and his was the most reluctant look of all. Evidently, the thought had already occurred to him.
Aria looked up at him worriedly from the front of his saddle as he straightened and raised his chin. His expression was chillingly resolute. "If needs must."
"It's the only way it could possibly work," Anthis said carefully. "And it'll be a powerful ace up our sleeve..."
"But can he not transform, too?"
"Not fully," Rathen replied unhappily.
"What if that's changed, though?"
He released a deep sigh and smiled unconvincingly down at his daughter. "We'll find out, I suppose."
"How would we go about it? It won't be difficult to draw his attention, but how do we make sure we get him and not just Joe Lackey?" Petra looked between Rathen and Garon uneasily. "And how do we make sure we're ready when the time comes?"
They were all quiet for a while, wrestling at first with the weight of the matter, then with the futility, while their horses picked their own routes through the rocks and snow.
"We set the whole thing up," Rathen concluded long before the others could direct their thoughts onto anything useful. "A place of our choosing, somewhere we can control, somewhere with cover, and somewhere empty of people."
"We can use a tail to relay the location back to him," Petra added. "It won't be hard to find one. Showing our faces in a town could be enough. We wouldn't need to do anything suspicious, we just need to make sure we're seen..."
But Garon was already shaking his head. "Salus is the leader of an organisation of spies. They're trained to look for hidden information; they don't trust anything they find too easily. Suddenly walking around in the open in a town square will be too suspicious, he may well think we're up to something and send in his subordinates instead."
Petra sighed hopelessly. "So what are we supposed to do, then? Keep sneaking around and hope they spot us through the trees? That could take a very long time - I mean, they're surprisingly inept; it doesn't seem to take much to lose them..."
"We give him reason to think we're distracted enough to make that mistake ourselves, then we can plant bait without making it look like bait, to be picked up by sagacious people who are trained to be sceptical and to know a ruse when they see one."
"You want to deceive the deceivers... It will need to be convincing..."
"Tensions are getting high. We're falling behind and Salus is looking more and more likely to succeed."
Rathen turned a boldly bitter look towards the inquisitor. "That's not as helpful as you think it is."
"What I mean is that we
will be under pressure, and tensions between us will rise. It's only natural - as is the practise of venting them on each other. If we make it seem as though a rift is forming between us, Salus will think we're growing careless and vulnerable. He's more likely to come for us directly, and come for us himself if the odds are in his favour. Taliel said that he's aware of your power. He wouldn't face you if he didn't think he could win. But that means that he will bring reinforcements."
"If we knew how many to expect, we'd have a better shot at success..."
"We'll need Taliel's help, then."
"And a tail, as Petra said. Someone to observe and report a change in behaviour."
"But," Anthis frowned worriedly, "it would be a sudden change - won't that be suspicious?"
Garon looked around at him lightly. "Bickering, arguments, hostilities, the occasional punch..."
His cheeks turned pink, and a few sheepish looks passed among the others. "No, not so sudden, I suppose..."
"Which means this won't be a huge leap."
"So we need a tail to observe fake arguments? And they won't act on us because Salus will want to know what's going on - or he'll want the rift to widen further?" Petra nodded slowly. "Clever - but how do we let him know we're ready for him without making it obvious?"
"By making the 'mistake' and showing our faces, just for a moment, and dropping a single, very subtle hint to where we're going. We'll have to be careful if we have a tail - if it gets out too soon, he'll have too much time to plan against us. Otherwise, there are surveillance spells up in most towns and cities now, so our arrival won't be missed...but it will need to be somewhere low-profile or it might look too careless..."
"All right, hang on," Rathen said quickly, shaking his head in confusion while Aria merely blinked, her little mind racing furiously to keep up. "We find ourselves a tail, we act up, give them something to report back about straining tensions, we get Salus's interest, then we 'slip up' and mention our travelling plans out loud in a town square or some such? It seems a bit..."
Petra turned towards Garon. "You must know someone. Your contacts have to be nosy to pick up information, and I'd bet that one or two are chatterboxes."
