Mother of Heretics: Bastards of the Gods Dark Fantasy (Enthraller Book 2)

by T. A. Miles

  Korsten followed the girl out of the corridor, and up a lengthy flight of stairs. The area at the top branched out to accommodate a walled, rectangular district, through which water fell. It sourced from a mouth high above, dropping into the central canal far below. The steep slant the water followed, housed many articulated tiers along the way up. The street wound a path through buildings set close to one another and in some places precariously near the rim. Great houses jutted over the branching cascade, which produced a peaceable roar.

  The mid-morning air felt cool and damp in the water’s wake. There was something…false about this. Not wrong or deceptive necessarily, but more in the way of a facade one put on to distract attention from the fact that something wasn’t right.

  The city was quite large—quite populated, Korsten realized while Dacia led him through the moving crowd. He found himself quickly thinking about Indhovan’s military capabilities, the city’s vantage, its accessible sides…

  The farms and fields along the cliff range would go first in the event of attack. The Morennish army would trample over it and have only to consider the most effective approach to descending upon the city below. There was the portside of the city to consider as well. Several ships were docked alongside one another—merchants and traders from various towns along Edrinor’s highly populated coast, undoubtedly.

  Korsten speculated that the bulk of Indhovan’s soldiers were nearer to the water and wondered next if they would be able to mobilize quickly enough to defend the other side of the city as well. Although, there could be adequately manned guardhouses throughout the city that he simply hadn’t noticed or recognized for what they were. The main constable hall was an impressive structure embedded on the lower side of the city, not far from the port. He would have to ask Irslan for better details on the placement of Indhovan’s soldiers, or perhaps Vlas. From what he could tell of Vlas, after their brief meeting, his fellow priest may well have been informing their host of his own city’s defenses at this very moment.

  A small stair off the main thoroughfare carried up to a colonnade, which he and Dacia followed past several doors and corridors before another stair was discovered, nested between two doorways. Dacia took the steps up several paces before stopping at a narrow green door to the left of the stairway. A woven assortment of dried plants hung from it by a thin strand. From the brief overhang above the door, a small wooden hoop with several glass drops attached to and dangling from it had also been hung. The glass caught the morning light and painted rainbow images upon the door above the plants. The images shimmered as the breeze brushed against the crystals.

  “Here it is,” Dacia was saying as she entered her home.

  Behind the door was a circular room, neither large nor small. The floor above it was open to allow for daylight to pass through a round window that Korsten noticed due to the prismatic images on the walls, which he followed to their source. Looking over his shoulder, he found the round glass portal also had crystals hung before it, identical to those hung at the entry. A short bench with a plush cushion below the window contented a pair of brown cats, who were quick to lift their heads and assess who had entered their domain, but otherwise couldn’t be bothered.

  The second level surround offered an archway on either side, the first floor boasting three such entryways, one to either side and currently below the lights dancing on the wall, which reminded Korsten of Analee’s movements. When not flitting about nearby, the butterfly liked to settle on the back of his shoulder or just along the edges of his hair. It wouldn’t have mattered where she set herself; soulkeepers were not often seen by those who had no cause to consider their existence.

  “Do you live here alone?” Korsten decided to ask Dacia.

  The girl stepped across a round rug of deep green with a bronze pattern of scrolled circles woven into it. Apart from that and a short table and small chair beside the entry door, there was no furniture to speak of in the central room. “It’s me and Mother,” she answered.

  “Is your mother at home?”

  “Yes,” came a voice notably deeper and stronger than Dacia’s. “She is.”

  Korsten’s gaze was drawn to the second level, where a thin, though not necessarily fragile woman was stood at the iron railing. Her hands were set lightly upon it, deep green sleeves loosely embracing her wrists, gathering more tightly as they traveled up to the shoulders, where the material again became looser. The dress draped the woman in a way that neither hid nor revealed her shape. There was no adornment to it, but around the woman’s neck hung a pendant that resembled the ornaments Korsten had seen twice in her home already. Her dark blond hair was straight and worn past her shoulders. Dark eyes with a steady set to them studied Korsten in return.

  He recalled himself and bowed his head politely. “Madam.”

  “Ersana Cambir,” she provided. “And you are?”

  “Priest-Adept Korsten, of Vassenleigh.”

  The silence that followed the exchange could not have been more deliberate. It was cool and unwavering, speaking nothing to Korsten, though his mind ventured readily into wondering about this woman, while her very presence traced through his blood like chill fingers across the surface of a pool. There was something to her that was more than ordinary. He knew that much.

  “I’ll come down,” Ersana said finally, and turned from the railing.

  Korsten watched the space where she’d been standing for a moment, his gaze lowering gradually to Dacia, who pleasantly said nothing.

  Ersana emerged into the central room in an unhurried manner, her hands folded loosely in front of her. “Where is your pendant?” she asked her daughter.

  Dacia lifted her hand reflexively to her collar and looked at the bareness beneath her fingertips. “I must have lost it during…”

  “No matter,” Ersana said. “We’ll get another one made.”

  “Madam,” Korsten began, pausing while Ersana silently ushered her daughter from the room. He waited until Dacia had stepped through the central archway and out of their range to give his attention fully to her mother. “Your daughter was out last night.”

  “Yes,” Ersana said, her mouth tensing, while her narrow, but squared chin lifted very slightly.

  Korsten considered the many ways he could perceive that response, and let them all go. “Are you aware of the recent dangers?”

  “Are you a constable?” she asked him, and gave less than a breath’s span before she answered her own question. “No, you’re not. You’re a…priest.”

  She almost smiled when she said it. He felt humored.

  “The reason that I ask, madam,” Korsten continued, “is that your daughter—while out last night during hours that nearly every other resident of this city seems to hold dangerous—happened to come upon one of the Vadryn. It just so happened that it attempted to possess her. My colleague and I performed the necessary task to ensure that it would fail in that attempt.”

  “Then all is well.”

  “All is not well,” Korsten contradicted. “Your daughter could be very unwell, in fact. I came to advise you to watch over her. If it appears that anything’s wrong with her, I would appreciate it very much if you would to come to find us at…”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Ersana interrupted.

  “On the chance that it will…”

  “It won’t,” the woman assured him. And then she nodded in the direction of the door. “Good day.”

  Korsten ignored the dismissal, his attention fixed on Ersana. Honestly, he didn’t really need to know anything more about her at this point. The fact that something unusual was taking place here was evident, and also evident, was the fact that Ersana simply wanted him gone. With no grounds or authority upon which to insist anything, Korsten did eventually oblige the woman and retreated for the door.

  Before leaving he gave another look at the pattern of light shimmering on the w
all and said, “You will find us at the home of Master Irslan Treir. Please, be observant of your daughter’s behavior.”

  Ersana’s continued study of him was more to remind him that the door was behind him than to dignify his words.

  There was much more that he would have liked to say, but he held his silence for the sake of diplomacy and took his leave. They, at least, knew where Dacia resided and who her nearest relation was. That would have to suffice for now.

  Three

  “Why do you think she was behaving so strangely?” Merran was asking not many hours later, after they’d withdrawn into their shared guest room.

  They had taken the smallest, most distant accommodations Irslan had to offer. They’d insisted on a space on the uppermost floor, so as not to impede upon their host’s privacy and, admittedly, it was more important that they not have their privacy infringed upon in return.

  That wasn’t an endeavor to conceal their more personal engagements so much as an effort to protect Irslan somewhat from his own curiosity where priests were concerned. The man had a penchant for books and study that easily rivaled Korsten’s. That study extended to the individuals in his company, particularly when they were not of a usual sort. In some ways, the man had Korsten considering what he might have been like himself had he remained alone to his books and aged like a man not at work against demons. He was perhaps fifteen to twenty years Irslan’s elder. To look at them, it would appear the other way around.

  “Korsten,” Merran prompted, drawing Korsten’s gaze to him. His partner was perched on the edge of one of two narrow beds, elbows resting on his knees, Eolyn lit on his shoulder.

  Analee was presently attached to Korsten’s wrist, detaching herself when he lifted his hand to his hair to push back some of the untamable curls, which she then came to rest within.

  “I don’t know exactly,” he said to Merran. The room had a wide window looking out over the streets of the city, and a perfect seat for him to occupy. “By the feel of Madam Cambir…if I’m to go by such sensations…”

  Merran nodded. “You are. Your talent has reached Ambience.”

  “Not that long ago,” Korsten reminded, as he was reminded of how it came to be. He took a space to consider the rogue priest Ecland, and then he let it go as quickly, before he came to dwell on the manner in which they had met and Ecland had died.

  Merran quelled the moment by saying, “It doesn’t matter how long ago it was. The talent is there, and will only grow stronger as you work it.”

  “I’m not sure what to conclude about Ersana,” Korsten continued, and returned his sights to Indhovan and its cradling sea. “She was not cold, necessarily, but she lacked warmth. She lacked emotion. And it was more than clear that she wanted me nowhere near either her or her daughter.”

  “You said there were crystals arranged around her home.”

  Korsten nodded. “Yes, and she wore one. She asked Dacia about a necklace as well…presumably it was a crystal. She said that another would be made—her daughter seemed to have lost hers—so it may have some spiritual or ritual significance.”

  He explained the arrangement of the ones within and without of Ersana’s dwelling again. While he did so, he considered the sensations he’d gotten from Ersana and how her home was reflective of that, and of her.

  In only a few moments, he had felt strangely familiar with the woman, like someone he had known—or rather known of—for a long time. Meeting her was weirdly unsatisfying and he found himself instantly wanting closure. He wanted to know precisely what she was about, so he could stop thinking about her. It may have been the most peculiar response he’d ever had to meeting anyone.

  “I noticed similar adornments within doorways while I searched the city,” Merran said. “Not an overwhelming abundance of them, but enough to take note of.”

  Korsten looked at him again. “I’m reminded of Feidor’s Crest, and of Endmark.”

  “Yes.” Merran had risen to his feet. He walked across the modest space they shared, coming to the window and resting his forearm against its low frame. He scanned the view of the sloping city and the varying structures occupying its natural incline. “The crystals don’t seem as ominous as what we discovered in the northern reaches, or as precisely organized.”

  That fact did little to stay the recent memories of just how the Vadryn had made use of the magic-augmenting sites, each marked by a circle of stakes of unique design.

  Such thoughts inspired Korsten to reach for Merran’s hand. He folded his fingers loosely around his partner’s and shifted his focus to the sea once again. He turned his head and lowered it onto his arm as he folded it over his bent knees. The only response he received from Merran was a tightening of Merran’s hand over his own.

  Supper at Irslan’s was not to be a quiet affair. Vlas and Cayri had spent the day performing their own investigations and feeling out political connections with Irslan’s assistance. While Irslan held no actual station, he was a man who kept himself aware and who others felt inclined to keep aware, perhaps so as to know for themselves that he had truth in his hands rather than rebellious concoctions.

  As it turned out, Irslan’s father and uncle had both been men of action and of politics; his father formerly a soldier under the Cities Alliance—as it had come to be called especially on the coast—and his uncle not only a soldier for a time, but also a political agent encouraging an aggressive response to Morenne. It included not only keeping contact with priests and the Vassenleigh Order, but also measures such as exploration outside of Edrinor in search of potential allies.

  The sea to Edrinor’s east was quite an expanse and not well or frequently traveled beyond some few islands to which trade channels had been opened. To the south lay great mountains which very few had endeavored to venture into, let alone across. And, of course, to the north and west lay the ever-expanding lands of Morenne. Edrinor was effectively being pushed off of the map, nudged less than gently to the ends of the world they knew and perhaps soon into the sea.

  And what would that leave? A country ravaged and controlled by demons and their misguided allies. What plans did the Vadryn have afterward? Would they then launch themselves upon a world unsuspecting? That was one of the many deep fears Ashwin harbored. Korsten understood that now more certainly than he had before.

  Apparently Vlas did as well; he could scarcely keep himself seated as he diligently panicked over the state of affairs. “We are running out of positions from which to make a stand against Morenne.”

  “We may simply have to do so here,” Cayri said. Her gaze pinned locations on the map that lay unrolled across the table, moments before her fingers followed through. “The loss at Eastmark may have lost us Sarily as well. It’s reasonable to assume that the Morennish troops will make use of the coast, descending on Vynndoran from land as well as by sea.”

  “Yes,” Korsten agreed as he watched her slender hand move from places along a northern peninsula down toward the coastal city of Vynndoran. A deep red damselfly hovered in the wake of her movements, holding Korsten’s attention for a moment while he said, “Indhovan is next in line.”

  Cayri’s light eyes lifted from the map to meet Korsten’s gaze and she nodded while Vlas continued their dialogue.

  “Ceth and Ashwin obviously hold this city as a defensive key, which is why we’re here and not there.”

  Korsten could tell that the very young-looking blond would rather be ‘there’. Irresistibly, Korsten wondered how old Vlas actually was, or if it was helpless that his zeal would appear as perpetually youthful as his body.

  In regard to the matter at hand, Korsten said, “This city is vast, both in its spread and its population.”

  “That could go two ways,” Vlas replied. “Too many areas to defend with not enough militia among its population…or it could mean enough soldiers to organize into a reasonable defense at the critical locations.”
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  “If you’ve looked around you,” Merran finally put in, “you’ll have noticed that the people of Indhovan are builders. That may give us an edge.”

  Korsten and Cayri were both nodding, and while Vlas’ expression conceded the point, he would not be comforted.

  “With Vadryn working as deliberate agents within this city, Morenne already has a greater edge,” he said.

  “Korsten and I will resolve that,” Merran replied, his gaze resting on their colleague.

  Vlas looked back at him, not with defiance or indignation, but with contemplation behind his gaze as he clearly worked out all that needed to be done against all any of them had the ability to accomplish. Eventually, he nodded. “Cayri and I will continue navigating the city’s political channels. It seems as if there’s a solid foundation of activists here. That can only work in our favor.”

  Irslan had long been a solid contact along Edrinor’s once safe coast. He and his compatriots had, over the years, spun their own web of communication and intrigue throughout the intact cities. Putting it into those terms seemed more clandestine than was required, but at the same time these activists were not necessarily loyalists to the Old Kingdom. They had a vision of a unified and strong Edrinor and of an end to the war. Whether or not that future came with a proper successor of the Rottherlen family—or even with a king at all—was negotiable. Perhaps they intended to appoint a more ordered system of governors than what their country knew currently.

  Vlas was not overly concerned with that at the moment. Those were details to be sorted out when they could afford such luxuries as being concerned with proper government. Survival was paramount for now and he appreciated Irslan’s openness and invitation where the Vassenleigh Order and its priests were concerned.

  Vlas and Cayri had accompanied their host to a gathering that evening and stood in a study approximately two-thirds the size of Irslan’s library. It boasted two open floors tall enough to in actuality house three, which somehow only assisted in making it feel much narrower than it was. The windows were fewer as well, offering more of a sense of enclosure.