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

by T. A. Miles

  They’d spent the day in conferences with their elders, not wasting the opportunity afforded them by the Reach and providing Korsten ample time to prepare himself for another. Together, he and Cayri had given the Superiors all the information they’d collected during their time in the distant coastal city.

  Korsten even visited with Eisleth for a time to discuss the peculiar physical situation of the Vadryn. The patriarch requested information in exacting detail and Korsten felt tremendous relief in passing along such details to him. If anyone had a hope of understanding what new tactics the Vadryn may have devised, he believed very solidly that it was Merran’s life mentor. Thinking about his partner, Korsten hoped to be able to bring advice back to him. He had every confidence it would be properly applied.

  “I wonder sometimes how this will end,” Cayri said to him, her voice pulling him gently out of his thoughts.

  “You can only have been here a lifetime already,” Korsten decided easily. “You’re already scanning the horizon for a destination while I still seek to find my footing within moments that often feel directionless.”

  Cayri said nothing.

  Korsten looked at her, noting to himself the way her liquid green eyes caught flashes of gold from the waning sun. It reminded him that the gods had graced her with empathy and that all he was doing by slighting himself was harassing her, as she would undoubtedly detect where such sentiments were headed and where they were rooted. He felt for a moment that he should apologize, but instead he tried having a better outlook for both their sakes.

  “I’d rather not consider that there is an ending,” he said. “Whatever comes of this era will be a transition into the gods’ ultimate plan for all of us.”

  Cayri maintained her silence for a moment more, then smiled a little wryly. “I also still believe they’re with us. Though, sometimes, I wish that they would simply put us where they want us to be.”

  “They have, of course,” Korsten said to her, and it startled him somewhat that he said it so readily. Maybe it was having Ashwin as a life mentor which inspired those words, but he believed them. He might not have considered it quite so literally before leaving Haddowyn, but since then he knew that—whether cruel or generous—his path was decided and had meaning. Even if he struggled along it, he would find himself precisely where he was meant to be at every stop or crossing. If that wasn’t true, he’d have succeeded in taking his own life or returning to Renmyr...which he despised admitting would have been a similar circumstance to suicide.

  Cayri glanced at him and raised a hand to guide strands of her honey-colored hair away from her face. “I’ve been a priest for almost two hundred years. At times, I feel exhausted.”

  Korsten nodded because he understood. Even though he was still within the realm of a normal age, by the standards he used to know, life should have been slowing down for him. Sometimes he still considered his library at Haddowyn, and having aged within it, wealthy in the written word and impoverished where an understanding of the world they pertained to was concerned. He felt exhausted as well when he considered how long his path might actually be, but he would not go back to his prior state of ignorance now. He would not return himself to a box of despondency and blindness. However ornate Renmyr’s lies had made it, his life in Haddowyn had been a cage.

  “So, when we go back to Indhovan, we’ll go back to wherever Merran is?” Cayri asked, perhaps seeking a change in topic.

  “Yes,” Korsten answered, scanning the rooftops of Vassenleigh. He studied the streets far beneath them and the people, a population that existed in voluntary isolation...as much a myth to some as the priests they lived alongside of. Perpetuating that belief would not have been difficult. There were no longer any roads that led to Vassenleigh—none that ordinary people would recognize. They’d been given back to nature, whose obscuring hand had passed over them with immediacy that could only have been inspired by magic. The Council had agreed to carry out Ashwin’s plan all those years ago; the city of Vassenleigh and its inhabitants were hidden away and rendered a legend to the rest of the world.

  The Vadryn knew better. They knew that Ashwin and his peers would not have abandoned the survivors of that battle to the poison left behind by an army of demons. They pressed Morenne and the war onward and though Edrinor managed to renew its morale somewhat after the fall of its leading family, the enemy prodded the edges of realigned and newly fortified borders for soft places that would easily rot and allow them passage to Vassenleigh and the magic at its core...the Council of Superiors.

  Korsten fleetingly thought back on the moment the cruel ‘child’ who had been one of his captors after the attack on Lilende had inquired of Ashwin. It chilled him to recall the vehemence with which that monster of a boy demanded to know whether or not his mentor was still alive. The panic Korsten had felt in that strained moment had betrayed him and given Alsaide his answer. Where that information had gone and to what end, he could only speculate. And such speculations played particularly grim when he allowed them.

  “I wonder where Merran’s found himself,” Cayri said, bringing Korsten back to their conversation.

  He took the lure willingly. “We’ll soon find out,” he said.

  It was not long after that, when they were approached by Eisleth and Ceth. Korsten suspected their arrival was to send he and Cayri off again.

  “Learn what you can of the coven,” Ceth said to both of them. “Our initial investigations—before and after working with Vaelyx Treir—presented them harmless. Yes, they’d counseled or convinced our outside agent to abandon us and our interest, but we’d gleaned no information that would suggest that either he, or they, would be intent to work against us. We still have no evidence of that, however it’s important to understand better where they fit into Indhovan’s social and political structure. Especially now.” He looked to Cayri specifically. “You have a meeting with the local governor’s wife. Find out what you can from her, particularly whether or not the coven holds any sway over her husband. Discover whether or not they have an agenda in regard to that city and this war, and if so what it may be. Vlas can help you.”

  While she was nodding in agreement to the elder’s instruction and engaging in further conversation with him, Eisleth drew Korsten aside.

  “On the unusual appearance of the Vadryn,” the patriarch said, “I can advise you very little at this time. You may have to resort to destroying their vessels and contending with the demons in their natural state.”

  “Yes,” Korsten said, considering the instances he’d been faced with the demons immediately following departure from a vessel.

  Eisleth said, “Take care in your approach.”

  “We will,” Korsten promised.

  Eisleth’s gaze didn’t linger, and Korsten’s own eyes caught on the long-tailed scarlet butterfly which drifted gracefully about the elder’s shoulders. It didn’t hold onto any given perch for long, which reminded Korsten of his own Analee. Even now, he was aware of her crimson-cast wings in the corner of his vision as she loitered near his hair.

  His focus soon shifted away from both soulkeepers, toward Ceth and Cayri, as the elder of the pair was passing some small item into the younger priest’s hand. Korsten wasn’t able to descry the object’s precise shape, or even begin to guess as to its purpose. Though curious, he ultimately let the matter go. If and when it was essential for him to know, he would discover what it was about then.

  “As always,” Ceth said to both of them while he drew back from Cayri, “exercise good judgment and great caution. The hour grows increasingly dire. The borders are closing in and our last threshold is verging on discovered, as the northern coastal outposts fall. When that happens, we will have the Vadryn and Morennish soldiers on all sides, save the mountains to the south. They are a point of protection, but also a point of weakness, if it leaves us no escape.”

  Korsten and Cayri exchanged glances. The sev
erity of Ceth’s words were not lost on either of them.

  “It will become our final stand, if it comes to that,” the elder concluded. “It rests on our priests and agents away from Vassenleigh to see to it that it doesn’t come to that. We could not put forward this fight alone. What all of you learn and do in the field is invaluable. Never forget that.”

  Eisleth had nothing to add to Ceth’s words, and withdrew in the moments his colleague was completing their delivery.

  Korsten watched Ashwin’s twin return to the thick of the garden and head toward the greater interior of the Citadel.

  Cayri touched his arm, summoning his full attention. He cleared his thoughts, setting them easily on Merran. Consideration of his partner, led to a series of articulate hand gestures and the formation of a portal.

  It appeared as if a window opening, offering a view of a place outside of the Citadel. Brief in manifestation, it moved toward Korsten and Cayri while they stepped in its direction. Their destination was drawn around them, as if a curtain, closing out the place behind them in those same few moments. The day had been all but spent at Vassenleigh, so the city’s curfew was underway and its population tucked indoors, innocent of the seeming materialization of two priests.

  “There he is,” Cayri said, within moments following the transition from one place to the next.

  A few paces ahead of them, along one of Indhovan’s streets which paralleled the canal, Merran was already turning to look back at them.

  “Our Superiors are well informed,” Korsten announced to Merran as the distance was closed between them.

  “I trust we are as well,” Merran replied.

  “As well as we can be,” Korsten told him. “Ceth has asked Cayri and Vlas to investigate the coven.”

  “Where is Vlas?” Cayri asked on the heels of Korsten’s statement.

  “I’d started him looking for Vaelyx Treir,” Merran answered.

  Cayri nodded. “It’s just as well for now. I have a meeting with Lady Tahrsel.”

  “I’m sure he’ll catch up to you at Irslan’s before morning,” Korsten offered. He appreciated that they had a base from which to coordinate with one another in a city that might just as well have discouraged their presence, without the alliance of a man like Irslan.

  “Follow the canal east for a mile or so,” Merran said to Cayri, which inspired her to look over her shoulder. “Irslan’s house is four streets to the south, to give you back your bearings.”

  “Right,” she said. Looking back at her colleagues, she added, “I’ll be able to find my way. Good luck hunting.”

  Korsten observed Cayri leaving for a space, then said, “Eisleth suggested that we may have to destroy the Vadryn’s vessels and contend with the demons themselves afterward.”

  He received no response from Merran, and looked to find his partner not beside him. He had wandered back onto the path he and Cayri had interrupted moments earlier. With a glance toward the canal wall, Korsten moved along after him. He was certain before too many paces that he recognized the area. This was where they’d confronted the Vadryn, which meant...

  “I’ve surveyed the length of the canal from the natural wall, to the gates near the ocean,” Merran said, drawing to a halt and waiting for Korsten to join him. “There’s no other route or entry that I can find leading into any peculiar alcoves. But there is a small door at the end of the canal wall on this side.”

  “Adorned with a crystal?” Korsten guessed.

  Merran nodded. “I decided to wait for you—and for nightfall—before investigating it.”

  The moon was rising, casting the illusion of crystals across the surface of the water that coursed through Indhovan and illuminating the coven’s identifying markers.

  “I suppose there’s no further cause for delay, then,” Korsten said.

  Merran’s response was to continue toward the cliff and the water draping from its steep edges.

  Nine

  After hours spent searching the interior of the constable hall and the neighborhoods immediately around it for evidence of further escape—be it means or route—Vlas and Imris had come back to the prison itself and stood directly below the section of the hall where Vaelyx Treir had been kept.

  At first, Vlas had hoped to find some other design like the one on the blanket…like the other side of a door—he really couldn’t say precisely how the witches’ system of magic operated without more study. By now, he’d likened it more to leaping out a window…a more direct through and out. So, leaping haphazardly out of a window, more or less, he would have come to ground level in the general vicinity of where Vlas and the constable currently stood. Would he have been disoriented? Would he have required rest? Why would no one have seen him, of all the guards present?

  Vlas repeatedly traced the distance visually from the cell windows to the ground and over the immediate street area. One direction would have brought Vaelyx further into the city’s center. The other would have taken him toward the ocean. Looking at the imposing structure of the building itself, Vlas asked, “Where’s the nearest watch post?”

  Constable Imris pointed at two locations. “There,” she said in her rich, accented voice. “And there.”

  Vlas followed her direction to each place. One post was atop the outermost wall, and it was several seconds before a guardsman came into view, his shadow pushing out as he passed beneath a lamp mounted on an iron pole. The other location was a more literal post, a buttressed circular section that jutted out past the outer wall and over the street. It was two stories with narrow windows at each level, providing a reasonable radius for viewing, however...

  Vlas walked toward the watch post and stepped into its shadow, then looked toward the guard wall, the visible length of which was now greatly decreased. The fact that a man was there at all was obscured by the ramparts and in such a way that the obscuration was plainly mutual for the observer as well as the observed. “There’s a blind spot here,” he said to Imris.

  She walked over to see for herself and her ensuing frown stated that she agreed with the evidence at hand.

  Vlas continued. “A Reach from any one of those cells directly down here would be simple, even for the most basic of amateurs. Presuming, of course, that the spell-casting was similar to a Reach.”

  Imris nodded, again agreeing and again disliking the facts as they appeared to be. “Where would he have gone?” she wondered aloud.

  “And perhaps with whom…” Vlas considered the type of person who might be in league with a professed rebel. A rebel against progress, who had previously been an activist in favor of it. What had changed his mind...or his perspective?

  Vlas knew they were dealing with a member or members of the resident coven, whether they had helped Vaelyx or he was simply going back to them. But who precisely? Who would have been convincing to Vaelyx and why did they seek to convince him? Vlas would have been lying to say that he wasn’t greatly intrigued by the mystery, but his impatience tended to override intrigue before it could carry him too far. The situation was too important and none of them had time for elaborate social and political puzzles, or games.

  Merran believed that the coven knew something in relation to the Vadryn’s presence, Vlas suspected. It almost wouldn’t make sense for Merran to have displayed any interest at all otherwise. The man had been hunting his entire career as a priest. It was his calling and his priority. Vlas’ priority was devising a strategy as well as circumstances allowed for, and the Vadryn attributed largely to the circumstances more often than not. The Vadryn were always a common factor among priests, so learning what Vaelyx knew and what the coven knew were as key as convincing the local powers to open their eyes and begin actively working toward the only favorable end. They’d worked a long time rallying a key part of the political population to the cause. Vaelyx had been a significant player, up until the last twenty years. His abandonment was bo
th curious and potentially critical.

  Knowing that, would the man have left Indhovan? Did he simply want out of it altogether?

  Vlas didn’t think so, and he believed strongly that Vaelyx was still within the city.

  “What exactly did Treir do that got him arrested?” Vlas asked his current partner.

  “The incident happened before my time,” Imris let him know, which he accepted with a nod. “What I’ve heard of it seems ignorable.”

  “Which it obviously isn’t, else there wouldn’t be all of this fuss over it.”

  The woman nodded as if she agreed and again, her expression was particularly severe and dissatisfied.

  Vlas found her features rather interesting. “What did you hear?” he asked her.

  “That he was drunk when he interrupted a public address by the governor, flinging accusations.”

  “What sort of accusations?” Vlas looked over the impressive fortification that was the constable hall once more.

  Imris’ next words drew his gaze back to her immediately. “That Governor Tahrsel was in league with Morenne.”

  Vlas thought the answer curious. “Betrayal of one’s own country and people is ignorable?”

  Imris’ expression said very plainly that it wasn’t. That stated, “Governor Tahrsel is known for his belief in isolation and neutrality. Abandonment and betrayal are not the same thing.”

  “No, they’re not,” Vlas acknowledged.

  He considered what he knew, which now seemed to include the possibility that the governor and Indhovan’s activists weren’t far off from one another in their perspectives. The activists were only less stubborn in acknowledging that complete ignorance on the topic of war greatly threatened their future. The future was their goal. The purists embraced the distant past. Maybe the Vassenleigh Order was representative of transition, then...a link between both. He believed he was beginning to better understand the situation. Still...