by T. A. Miles
“Where do these witches stand?” Cayri asked the elders. “My experience with rogue magic users has always been just that; rogue behavior.”
“And oftentimes that is the case,” Ceth replied to her. “In fact, many of the rogues any of us have encountered have been individuals once trained here, who have chosen to forge a new path for themselves…for one reason or another.”
Ceth continued. “Witches, however, tend to consider themselves children of nature exclusively and, like us, have their own system by which they appreciate and utilize magic.”
“Irslan referred to them as purists,” Korsten said.
Ceth nodded, raising a finger as if to tap the last word of his sentence, as if it had manifested physically and now hung in the air between them. “Yes, and they stand fundamentally opposed to the activists in Indhovan and, unfortunately, to priests as well.”
“Why is that?” Cayri wondered aloud, voicing Korsten’s own question in the process.
“We have a habit of disagreeing with each other,” Ashwin inserted. “It’s not often led to violence, but it has formed a considerable rift. A coven serves the gods in relation to nature. As the both of you know, the Vassenleigh Order serves mankind in relation to the gods.”
“While witches are not dangerous merely for their beliefs, there are some groups more aggressive than others,” Ceth said. “A very aggressive coven holds its members as servants of the Malakym first and foremost, and worships the Malakym as reckoning elements—as destroyers.
“They tend to believe their alignment not only sets them apart from the rest of humanity, but that it can render the rest of humanity an enemy as well. It is, in part, for that reason, that the members of such a group are considered heretics. Though they would claim to be in favor of balance, their beliefs that balance should be restored by destructive means, sets them against the original foundation provided to us by, not only the Malakym, but the Welkyn as well.”
“I see,” Cayri said thoughtfully, and Korsten reiterated her tone with a regardful nod.
“We do have one thing in common, however,” Ceth added. “Over the centuries we’ve both fallen into a silence as groups, largely retreating from the collective eye of the people. That this coven is so present in Indhovan could suggest that they are not a sect of heretics.”
“And what does this have to do with Vaelyx Treir?” Korsten asked, directing his question to Ceth, who seemed to have been the one last and most frequently in contact with their missing activist.
Ceth drew in a breath and looked across at Ashwin before delivering his answer to Korsten. “Vaelyx, as I’ve said, had performed some investigations for us. He’d mentioned the purists in more than one letter concerning the political state of his city. He became curious and I encouraged his curiosity. It was important to know the intricate layers of Indhovan’s growth as a city, as a political front, and as a projected military front. Unfortunately, it wasn’t long after his investigation began that he was arrested.”
“For being an activist,” Korsten said, telling it as Irslan had more or less said it and sensing with the elder’s pause and the way he angled his gaze at him that it was not quite accurate.
“Vaelyx Treir was arrested on obstruction and conspiracy charges, which of course can relate to his political alignment, but the position of activist is not something that’s considered unlawful as a standard in any city where their movement resides. My efforts to communicate with him through Constable Rahl were in Vaelyx’s defense—obviously, the man had been working as an operative for the Vassenleigh Order, which was another reason to clarify. It was supremely important that no one mistook us for an aggressive force against any currently standing political body within Edrinor.”
Korsten nodded, understanding all too well how easy it would be for any governor of any city to misinterpret the role and the actions of priests.
“As to Vaelyx,” Ceth continued. “Both he and his brother Dahn had always been supporters of the Old Kingdom before the Cities Alliance became more appealing. But even within the Cities Alliance, there are those who believe that method of unification will lead to a greater, better lasting unification in the return of the Rottherlen family, or at least a rule with similar policy and appeal. When his brother died, Vaelyx lost faith a little, but still held on...and then the arrest. Our last communication was of his renewed spirit, but not in our cause, or in that of the activists, or of the Cities Alliance. The purists had converted him to their own agenda, whatever that may be, and when I mentioned that the concept of witches was not surprising, it was owed to Vaelyx’s talk of these purists and of his sudden, adamant swing in their direction. He’d either been spellbound or he’d been awakened to a new faith.”
“Then that potentially solves our mystery,” Korsten muttered as it occurred to him.
“Which mystery?” Ceth asked, while the other two elders present gave their gazes to Korsten as well.
He said, “The mystery of how Vaelyx escaped Rahl’s facility.”
Eight
“So, you wish to help us. Is that it?”
The way Constable Rahl presented the question, Vlas wondered if the man wanted an apology over confirmation. The latter was provided instead. “Yes, I believe we can.”
Rahl said nothing, in the manner of an aged man who had long ago tired of confrontation and would prefer it if individuals of conflicting points of view, or little foreseeable use, would simply remove themselves from his presence.
“I believe it would benefit all of us to resolve the matter of Vaelyx Treir,” Vlas added. As Rahl continued to consider the book on the desk in front of him, Vlas leaned further into the man’s view from the chair that had been provided him when he arrived. “You and I are not on opposing sides, constable. You and I are both enforcers of order in this gods-cursed country.”
The elder snapped him a sharp look, but it affected Vlas little. He knew that, in terms of age, he was a good many years the other man’s senior. Appearances could only work against one so far. Vlas had determined long ago that looking like a mere boy to some and being regarded as one by that same lot was not going to carry. He had work to do and little patience for the incessant delays of the ordinary masses, who couldn’t be bothered to see past a face...who couldn’t be bothered to trust where trust was due...and who couldn’t be bothered to organize themselves and work with one another.
“It’s a wonder,” Vlas said while he had Rahl’s attention, “that the entirety of Edrinor hasn’t simply been swallowed by Morenne. I suppose the reason it hasn’t, lies with the fact that most of the western region has been exhausting itself, down to its oldest and youngest men, holding the enemy at bay. Meanwhile, a city of resources such as this folds in on itself, worrying over petty social conflict.”
“Priest Vlas,” Rahl started, in a tone that only incensed Vlas, now that he’d started.
He rose out of his seat. “Vaelyx Treir’s disappearance makes him a man of suspect intentions! His arrest already put his loyalties in question. Now, let’s find this man, before he does this city true damage, if he hasn’t already.”
“Priest Vlas,” Rahl said again, his voice deepening as he rose to match Vlas’ stance over the desk. “Let me inform you that I’ve done my bit as a soldier in this war! Fifteen years going from one battle to the next, one training ground to another—always working with other soldiers to improve our strength and our strategies. Stamina was not as passionately enforced as urgency, nor was it as readily restored. The fight frayed me to my innermost seams. I came here.”
“To wash your hands of it,” Vlas presumed—unsympathetically, he knew.
“To do exactly that,” Rahl answered, without compunction. “Not because I had no care for the war or the outcome, but because after fifteen years, if I waded through another bloody battlefield, I was going to lose my mind! You priests believe that, because you can endure indefinitely,
that everyone else can as well—well you’re wrong. Damn all of you self-righteous bastards!”
Vlas watched Rahl bellow in aggravation. He still had little sympathy—it was a flaw in himself, he knew—but he did understand the constable’s perspective better at least, with it so aptly spilled onto the desktop. Of course, it was all owed to pushing the man very quickly to his limits; Cayri would have been beside herself.
“Damn Morenne as well,” Rahl continued. “Damn whatever urges them onward in this ludicrous conquest!”
“It’s the Vadryn, Constable Rahl,” Vlas told him firmly. “Whether you like it or not, whether you want to believe it or not, this war is inspired by the desires of demons, empowering the ambitions of men. It is exhausting, I know. Living longer doesn’t make it any easier to endure. And don’t believe that we can’t lose faith as we watch men and women meant to be our fellows in this country, dying and retreating, falling from interest and belief...thinking that distance and ignorance will protect them or make the enemy vanish.
“Whether you’ve seen us working or not, whether or not you care to believe that any of us even exist or have a place in Edrinor anymore, know that we are working and we do have a place. We’re working tirelessly to protect you. I’m not asking you to return to the western line, constable, but I am asking you to help me locate a man who may be harboring dangerous secrets. The sooner you help me, the better, because I intend to deliver this same speech to your governor.”
Rahl was unimpressed. “And in that event, I shall be placing you under arrest on Governor Tahrsel’s orders and we’ll find ourselves dancing the same dance, Priest Vlas.”
“I shall look forward to it when the time comes, constable,” Vlas volleyed, and their gazes remained locked, each of them pressed by stubbornness that was many years accumulated within each of them. It was somewhere in their overlapped age and ancientness that they found a common ground, and mutually agreed to rest.
Vlas relaxed his stance, allowing them a space in which to breathe, before asking, “What are your men doing to recover Vaelyx Treir?”
Rahl held his position and kept his eyes on Vlas, but his tone and expression had both eased somewhat. “An active search is under way. We’re questioning all known associations.” The gray-haired man straightened from the desk now, folding his hands neatly behind his back. “And we’re checking all previously associated locations and establishments, including our resident rebels, on both sides.”
The activists and purists alike, Vlas assumed. However, if these purists were witches... “Constable Rahl, you do realize that if Vaelyx Treir was associated with a coven of witches—rogue magic users—that his escape would have been a simple task for a person of any notable skill.”
“You’re referring to spell casting, I presume,” Rahl said with a slight raising of his thick eyebrows, which furthered to sap some of the stone from his features. “Yes, we’ve considered it. With no evidence of conventional resources by which he could have escaped his cell, we presume it was by some sort of magic. Now, let me ask you: how far and how quickly might he have gone?”
“It depends on the individual who may have assisted him. If they were very proficient, then I imagine he could have gone as far as the next city. The Vassenleigh Order trains its priests to travel many miles at a time, but the spell can be taxing and difficult with companions in tow.” Vlas lifted his shoulders. “Someone more novice would be able to perform the spell. It isn’t the spell itself that strains, so much as the distance...so they would likely only have gotten him just out of the building, or not more than a few streets over. In fact, after going in to get the man, they would have likely required a brief rest in order to perform the spell again.
“Well, I say spell as if it’s as ordered as our system, though I know it’s not. Even so, performing a specific task with magic requires some form to it, else all one would be doing is expelling raw, shapeless energy. It must be channeled, shaped, focused...which is why it can take many years to master spells. And, of course, without proper discipline, accomplishing one’s full potential is very unlikely.”
Rahl let him ponder aloud, waiting until Vlas had paused to consider in silence before speaking. “So, you believe, then, that the magic user was of mediocre or novice skill?”
“I do,” Vlas said with confidence.
“And if it was Vaelyx himself?”
Vlas was taken somewhat aback by that proposal. He hadn’t really considered it. It didn’t seem as if the man would have had enough time between soldiering, activism, and arrest to have learned—well, to have learned anything at all, if he even had any sort of instinct regarding magic. “Are you suggesting that it may have been Vaelyx?”
“With no evidence of conventional resources, were my earlier words,” Rahl reminded. He lifted his gaze toward the ceiling and the floors above, where the cells themselves may have been. “We did find…peculiar markings, you could call them. He appeared to have drawn them with blood—his own, I presume.”
Vlas’ expression must have appeared more disturbed or surprised than he felt it was; Rahl quickly raised one hand to ward off whatever he thought Vlas might say to that.
“There wasn’t a lot of it, just enough to make the markings.” Rahl lifted both shoulders. “He probably accomplished it over the years by inflicting small wounds on his fingers—with his teeth for example—and contributing the details little by little. He’s fortunate that he didn’t expire of an infection.”
“That is fortunate,” Vlas replied, unable to help the sardonic undercurrent his tone carried. This would have been very valuable information to share with Korsten and Merran when they’d been present the night before.
“Well,” Rahl said, as if alert to the unspoken thought. He glanced briefly down at his desk. “We found the markings this morning, folded within the cell’s pallet.”
Maybe, Vlas allowed, electing not to openly contradict the man.
Rahl reached out his hand and someone nearby brought forward a folded blanket. The chief constable took it, pulling back the first layer to reveal dark stains soaked into the surface of the coarse fabric. They were characters of some sort…nothing immediately recognizable.
Vlas reached for the blanket and Rahl surrendered it, allowing Vlas to unfurl more of it. Though crude, the intricacy of the diagram that unfolded was impressive. If not for the morbid circumstances, some may have viewed it as some form of art. And it could have well taken more than a year to work out, especially considering the possible method.
“I suppose the question that remains is where he may have transported himself to,” Vlas eventually said, surrendering himself to the idea that this pedestrian display in front of him was in fact, witchcraft.
Rahl watched him briefly, then looked toward a neighboring table. “Constable Imris will accompany you, Priest Vlas. Should you find Vaelyx Treir, he’s to be placed under arrest by my agent and brought directly back here, whereupon questioning will take place. Do we have an understanding?”
Vlas agreed with a considered and not unappreciative nod. After sufficient study, he handed back the blanket and his attention was directed by Rahl’s intentional gaze over his shoulder, to the man who would assist him.
Upon turning around, Vlas corrected himself. Constable Imris was a woman. Of course, that shouldn’t faze him—and it didn’t beyond a moment to wonder when the world outside the Vassenleigh Order had conceded to the capabilities of women beyond a household, a business, or the odd political role by inheritance.
“Constable Imris,” Vlas greeted.
She inclined her head, looking at him with gray-green eyes embedded within a skin tone that immediately reminded him of Konlan Ossai. She may have even been slightly darker in complexion. Her black hair was arranged tidily at the back of her head, making it all the more apparent that her facial structure was unique...unique to Vlas at any rate, born and raised as he was—and hav
ing spent a good portion of his long life—in the central and northern regions of Edrinor.
Before Vlas could begin to examine her as directly as he had Konlan at the activists’ meeting, the woman constable said, “Should we be off, then?”
“Yes,” Vlas said, and gestured for his new associate to lead the way out of Rahl’s office.
Through the labyrinth of stone archways and lily beds, one of the edges of the Citadel lay along a wall; a part of the cliffs the city of Vassenleigh had been built up against and which the Citadel itself was built from. The ancient priests had put a facade onto a natural network of stone passages and caves, some of which were carved and fitted over the centuries into ornate hallways and chambers. The lily garden, in part, occupied an outcropping that overlooked the city and which the sun looked upon generously, though as it arced into evening, it pulled long shadows across the city, like gentle hands laying a blanket over a body. A sleeping body, Korsten knew, but one many still believed dead.
Beside Korsten stood Cayri, looking with him over the rooftops directly below, which spanned toward a wall that joined the natural rock formation around the city, successfully enclosing it. Beyond the lower manmade wall lay an expanse of plains hemmed in on all sides by forest and low hills. Korsten reached into his imagination to paint an image of battle out in those fields of grass and some few crops as well. He wondered as he was layering the image with men and horses, if he should have included demons. But the Vadryn didn’t walk in their natural form—which was more spirit—they inhabited the bodies of men. They didn’t tend to anyway. What he’d seen lately—in the northern reaches and now Indhovan—seemed to contradict that in some way that he couldn’t quite comprehend on his own. He felt it wise to have returned when they did. To carry on without counsel would be to stumble ahead in the dark when the cost of illumination was only a little time and energy.
