by T. A. Miles
“I told Father this wouldn’t work, no matter how badly he or I wanted it to.”
Oh, not again.
Adaleigh frowned up at him. “You’re in love with someone else, aren’t you?”
Korsten decided to implement some tasteful caution now. “Well, I….”
“Admit it! I’m sick of this game! I can’t bear it any longer. You tell me who you’re planning to marry and you tell me at once, Korsten Brierly, so that I can tell my father and we can finally be done with this nonsense!”
“Adaleigh,” he said in his most soothing tone, which was probably not the best idea, as it had a tendency to make susceptible young woman feel faint. “I’m not planning to marry anyone. And, in spite of what you may have heard, I’m not operating a private brothel, either. I’m happy alone,” he lied. In the silence that followed he watched her delicate brow rise slowly and her frown disappear, then gave his attention back to the book he was still holding. “Now, where….”
The book suddenly leapt out of his hands, which were unoccupied for less than an instant as Adaleigh dashed into his helplessly open arms and started immediately kissing him. Her eagerness was distressing and overwhelming. His attempts to either push her back or slip away were countered by her effortless enthusiasm.
“Oh … Korsten,” she said between kisses that landed wherever they may. “You poor … wounded … darling!”
“Adaleigh, please!” Finally, he managed to get firm hold of her and push her back, though she fought with a smile and kept her hands clasped behind his neck. “I—”
“Forget that evil woman who’s hurt you, my love. Let me heal you.”
“I don’t need to be healed. I—”
Adaleigh remained merrily deaf to his protests and leaned into him again, managing somehow to occupy his mouth, even as he tried to speak. He didn’t want to hurt her, but he couldn’t allow this.
Voices in the corridor beyond the library stirred a brief rise of panic. Had Renmyr come back? He recognized his servant and when the other man raised his voice at Donnel, Korsten knew who it was with the elder and he relaxed, mentally as well as physically. He encircled his arms about Adaleigh’s narrow waist and caught her next kiss instead of trying to escape it. He transformed the caress from quick and desperate to slow and passionate and felt the girl melting into him.
The door burst open. “Don’t tell me the man’s busy, you old goat! This is ur….”
Hedren’s sentence broke off like an autumn twig underfoot. Korsten deliberately finished kissing the young lady in his arms, who was too spellbound to even notice they’d been intruded upon, and broke away gradually. Adaleigh, staring dazedly up at him, eventually realized that they had company and took a self-conscious step away from her instructor. She touched the back of her hand lightly to her lips while her cheeks reddened noticeably.
Looking at Hedren, Korsten said to Adaleigh, “I think that’s enough for today, Miss Vausen. Have Willen escort you directly home, please. It’s gotten late.”
Adaleigh promised to abide instructions that had likely already been given to the coachman waiting for her and politely said her good-byes, then escorted herself to the door, where she was ushered into the hall by Donnel.
Hedren briskly shut the door after them, then proceeded to glare at Korsten. At length, he said, “You, sir, are an indecent, immoral bastard, who makes me damned glad not to have any daughters!”
What about sons? He kept that question to himself.
Korsten chanced a smile, as if he’d rather enjoyed being discovered in the act of seducing one of his trusting young students. He didn’t quite know what to say, however, and so gave Hedren leave to berate and lecture him further.
It was nothing less than alarming when the constable sighed weightily and then chuckled. “By the gods, but you had me wondering for a moment there.”
“Did I?” Korsten asked, feigning innocence, filling with relief.
Hedren stepped further into the room. He glanced over his shoulder surreptitiously, then said, “I know you have to put up with that highhanded, witless clod for sake of your position under Lord Camirey, but the lengths you go to, Korsten! I can tell you I’d never … you just be careful how far you play this. Remember, confounded as the young brute may be, he’s about twice your size when it comes to brawn. Gods help you, if he catches on.”
Korsten was too shocked to think coherently. He said, not quite lamely, “Well, you know I like to … take risks.”
Hedren laughed and jabbed him with his elbow. “With the young ladies, that’s understandable. I’m not so sure it’s a bright idea to tease His Lordship, though. I can see him getting ideas about a man like you, but to see you leading him on like you were this morning, playing helpless….” His voice tapered into amused laughter while Korsten wanted to cry. Was that what it looked like? He had half a mind to tell the constable just how he felt and how he wasn’t ‘playing helpless’ that morning, but he decided it best not to cast aside an ally, however unnerving and offensive they’d suddenly come to be.
“Well, I wouldn’t say that I was … leading him on,” Korsten replied while calmly organizing the arrangement of books, parchment, and candles atop the library table. “To be honest, I wasn’t even sure….”
“He is,” Hedren assured stooping to collect the book Adaleigh had tossed onto the floor in her crazed advance. He stood and handed the item to Korsten. They each held it for a moment while the constable finished his statement. “I’ve known about his … illness for years, but it’s not my place to say anything so long as I still want a place in the governor’s ranks.”
“What makes you so positive?” Korsten had to ask, beginning to feel ill himself.
A foreign animosity came to the older man’s features, an expression and a genuine feeling that was quite unexpected. “I wouldn’t trust this to many, but I’ll tell you, Kor. Ithan’s soon-to-be heir-apparent was set on my eldest boy a few years back. I’d rather not give the details of just how I learned of it. I know Loel’s not the most strapping lad in Haddowyn. More a slim, studious fellow, like yourself, but that doesn’t mean….”
“Yes, I’ve met him,” Korsten replied, slowly overcoming his shock. He finished taking the book from Hedren and turned to deposit it with others on the table. As the thought came to him, he added, “Not more than a few times, though. I didn’t want to impose, so I haven’t asked it before, but is he ill?”
“Aye. Same condition as Edmore, I think. Weak, listless. There were day’s I couldn’t drag him out of his bed. After having a physician look him over and declare him officially unwell I stopped trying.”
Korsten looked back at him, concerned. “Hedren, you never said anything about this.”
The constable found a better focus in the book Korsten had just placed on the table. He offered a slight shake of his head, then said, “He has his strong days yet. He’s not as bad off as Edmore.”
Korsten recalled the manner in which Hedren referred to Renmyr and asked, “It’s gotten worse?”
Hedren met his gaze again and nodded. “I’ve never seen Ithan so miserable. Can’t blame him. Losing a fine son … stuck with….”
Korsten decided not to let the man finish that statement. “What became of that odd fellow insistent on troubling Lord Camirey, who also saved my life this morning? Did he get his audience?”
“He got it all right,” Hedren answered. “And got an order to leave the city, lest he get jailed or hung. It didn’t matter that Renmyr and I had seen old Areld sit up out of death’s lie and begin clawing at you ourselves. Ithan was furious—the gods know why—and determined not to hear a word of it. He scolded Renmyr for being gullible to petty magician’s trickery right in front of us, then told me if I can’t get the murders solved, he’d find someone else who could. Wise decision you made not to join us, Kor.”
“What did Renmyr do?” Korste
n asked, careful not to sound overly concerned. “After Ithan flew off his head?” Hedren shrugged as if it were a matter of little significance. “Gave his father a nasty glare and stormed off. Just what you’d expect of him.”
Korsten decided he was going to have to find an excuse to visit the manor soon—tomorrow at the latest—to be certain Renmyr wasn’t too upset by all of this. Had he been there, Korsten might have been able to reason with Ithan. At least he would have been able to draw the governor’s acid comments away from Renmyr, who was probably brooding someplace at this very moment. Korsten felt to blame. He should have gone. And he shouldn’t have panicked as he did that morning. I must seem the most pathetic creature in Edrinor, even in Ren’s eyes. But it isn’t as if a man gets attacked by a dead person every day. One who’s been torn open, who couldn’t possibly have survived what had been done to him. Gods, Areld really was dead … he had to be. And yet he … Father of Heaven, I’m making myself sick thinking about it. I’ve gone all day ignoring the incident, finding other things to be worried about and now it finally strikes me that Merran is right. There are still demons left in this world. And one of them is here, in Haddowyn.
Finally Korsten sighed, recalling why the constable had barged into his library to begin with. “You said there was an urgent matter, if I heard correctly.”
Hedren nodded. “It’s Merran. The man refuses to leave until he’s destroyed this demon he insists we’ve got plaguing us.”
Korsten frowned. “Where is he now?”
“I’ve got him in the constabulary.”
“He went willingly?”
“Yes. And I’m not so sure he belongs there. I came here hoping you’d have some idea as to what should be done.”
Korsten sighed wearily and started for the library door. “I have no ideas presently, but perhaps our stubborn visitor does. He’s right, you know. I didn’t want to believe it at first, but….”
“Right,” Hedren said, following him into the hallway. “Don’t worry, Kor. Whatever you decide, I’m behind you. You’ve got Fand’s sense in you. You’ll make the sound choice, I have no doubt.”
“Why, thank you, Constable. I think that’s the most generous thing you’ve said all day.”
Korsten didn’t like to go anywhere near the cells at the constabulary if he didn’t absolutely have to. In his two years of service, no situation had proven to be so great an emergency as to require his presence in the narrow, unclean-feeling passages beyond the front offices. Now was no different. Since Merran had yet to prove himself dangerous to innocents, Korsten requested that he be brought to Hedren’s private office. The moment the man arrived, appearing as calm and non-menacing as ever, Korsten ordered the guard who had escorted him from his cell to unbind his wrists. When Hedren didn’t argue, his underling didn’t dare and the shackles came off. The young guard left and the three men remaining stared at one another in uncertain silence.
When it became clear that everyone was waiting for Korsten to speak, he said to Merran, “I’d like to thank you, and apologize for my prior behavior. You were right. I wasn’t hearing the truth you were speaking, because I didn’t want to. And now I’ve experienced that truth in such a way as to never forget it for as long as I live. And regardless of whatever Lord Camirey may have promised you, there will be no cell or gallows for you so long as I am handling immediate affairs in this city. Having said that, I feel inclined to warn you that that may not be for long, should my defiance in this matter be discovered.”
Silence resumed. Merran’s indecently azure eyes went from Korsten to Hedren and then to the weapons lying upon the constable’s desktop. Korsten looked at the confiscated items as well, a long sleek sword and a short dagger with a thin, double-edged blade. They were well taken care of, but they didn’t look magical, something again Korsten wouldn’t have been inclined to believe existed before that morning.
Finally, he asked, “Is it typical, I wonder, for a single swipe with a weapon that light to cleanly sever a man’s head from his body?”
“I’ve seen executions in other cities where the executioner’s had trouble with a heavy ax,” Hedren said, drawing a mildly alarmed and wholly disgusted look from Korsten. He didn’t need to hear that, or the details that followed. “Three and four strikes sometimes. The victim screaming the whole while, until….”
“Hedren,” Korsten interrupted with an upheld hand, as if he could physically keep the images the man invoked away from him. “That’s more than enough, thank you.”
The constable fell quiet with a shrug. Korsten leaned further back into his seat on the visitor’s side of the constable’s desk—he didn’t particularly enjoy making displays of overriding another man’s authority—hearing the old wood creak in the resumed silence. Hedren was standing between his own chair and his desk while Merran was seated beside Korsten, in the only other available seat in the small room. An oil lamp burned in a sconce beside the door and a single candle atop the desk provided a soft orange glow. The glass window behind Hedren was not draped, providing a view of reflections from within the office upon blackness. The space seemed close, confined. Korsten could only imagine what it felt like in one of the cells.
“The blades are endowed,” Merran finally said, still looking at the items. “Iron by itself is not adequate when the opponent is neither human nor animal. Iron, in fact, is not particularly useful to me at all. Silver conducts energies rather well, I’ve found.”
Korsten was sure he meant magical energies, but decided not to press it. Demons and the Seminary of Magecraft were two entirely different matters. Korsten had to deal with the demons at present, but he could and would leave the business of mages well enough alone, except to admit that Merran was one. The precise nature of his capabilities, where he had come from, and just who had sent him were unimportant.
“Well,” Korsten sighed. “If we’re all in agreement that something has to be done and that Merran, for his knowledge, skill, and ‘endowed’ weapons, has to be the one to do it, I think we should determine just how it’s going to be done.” He looked at Merran directly. “Clearly, you can’t expect me to let you stalk the streets with the intent to strike down a man on suspicion of demonic control. I can’t very well let you barge into anyone’s home with the same intention, either. To be honest, Merran, it disturbs me to think of anyone in Haddowyn being possessed by some beast of legends and needing to be decapitated by someone whom my superior believes to be nothing more than a hoaxing magician.”
Merran let him finish, regarding him calmly the whole time. And then he said, “It is not my ambition to kill whomever the Vadryn has possessed. It is early enough yet into the possession that the individual can be saved. I was surprised to find that it had killed so quickly after its first victim. A weaker demon, as this one evidently is, requires a fair amount of rest to establish itself in the host. It would be particularly interested in discretion if it suspected it was being hunted, which I believe this one does.”
“So, what do you propose?” Korsten asked. “How can you even tell if a body’s been overtaken by one of the Vadryn?”
“It is not an easy thing,” Merran admitted. “Even for one who has been trained to detect them. That’s why we seek aid from local authorities wherever we can. In fact, we will often request permission to proceed with a hunt if we suspect the demon is hiding in a populated area. It is a tradition, from the time when Edrinor was a nation under the leadership of a king, rather than the patchwork of land and cities held by isolated lords with isolated concerns that it has become. In the past and even now, though it may seem moot, the Seminary has not, and does not wish to present itself as an overbearing or threatening entity. The Vadryn are the threat. At one time magic seemed the solution, but now it seems little more than a tool, constructing a dam to keep the worst of the flow at bay.”
Korsten watched him speaking. He suddenly had questions to ask him, too many to be presented h
ere and now, all revolving around the why of his peculiar career. What did he have to gain in this? He certainly didn’t look happy. He didn’t even look satisfied, as one who devoted his life to smiting dark forces might have been. In fact, this man looked very lonely and unfulfilled.
“The Vadryn,” Merran continued, innocent of Korsten’s thoughts. “Have a habit of fouling the very air around them. Where one resides or lingers you can be assured of witnessing illness, lethargy, and depression. Oftentimes the demon will select a hospital or a household where a member is already ill in order to better conceal its presence. The changes in the health of those who are already unwell are not dramatic, but the individuals often cease to show any progress toward recovery at all. Since the Vadryn and thereby the bodies they inhabit are not susceptible to disease as humans understand it, these sickly individuals are often who they choose to dominate. To feed off of in small, non-lethal amounts. The victim is slowly sapped of his vitality and becomes highly susceptible to the will of the demon, useful in more ways than simply providing sustenance.”
Korsten and Hedren looked at each other, their thoughts in sync. It was Hedren who spoke, since Korsten found himself momentarily unable to do so.
“There’s been a peculiar illness in Haddowyn, not affecting too many, not killing anyone, at least it hasn’t yet. But it’s been around for years.”
Merran lifted his gaze to meet the constable’s. “What are the symptoms?”
“Listlessness,” Korsten answered, finding his voice again. “Depression. It’s had a firm grip on Lord Camirey’s eldest for two years now. Physicians can’t say positively what’s wrong with him.”
“My own son suffers similarly,” Hedren put in. “It’s been not quite two years since I noticed the changes in him.”
Merran took a moment to think. Eventually, he raked a hand through his dark hair and then said, “Gentlemen, this may be worse than I believed.”
