by T. A. Miles
It was at that moment that Korsten recalled what Merran had said about the Vadryn, about what happened when the individual they possessed died first. “Hedren … get away from him,” Korsten said, withdrawing now himself.
The constable started to move, but not quickly enough for Korsten’s comfort. Markam’s jaw fell open further and more blood trickled onto the floor, followed by tendrils of vapor, as if the boy were still breathing and the room had gone very cold. The air did feel slightly chilled, but not freezing. In the next moments, the pool of blood and mist swelled, spreading across the floor like steam following spilled hot soup. Faster than Korsten or Hedren could react it gave itself form. Nothing substantial, just the smoky image of a gaunt, humanlike individual. Naked, hairless, sexless … and yet somehow it had identity, a presence unique to itself, like a nameless stranger … a ghost. This one had soulless eyes, overlong limbs, and a demonic grin.
Quicker than thought, it lunged for Hedren, embracing him in gray, fleshless arms. The constable had only time to make a single, incoherent sound before the Vadryn dug its long fingers into his back and ripped him open. Korsten witnessed a spray of color so vivid and so horrifying that he was certain his heart stopped in the very instant. All thought ceased, save whatever mental effort was required for him to stare in blank terror upon the image of a demon, bathed in blood, absorbing the life … the soul … into itself. For several moments it appeared ruddy, as if it possessed living flesh of its own, but no skin. Slowly it faded to gray once again, a mist that existed between worlds, hailing from the spiritual realm yet affecting the physical one.
The demon, crouched ecstatically over the crumpled remains of its kill, peered over its shoulder at the last living soul in the room. The beast’s grin returned and Korsten simply stared until he could no longer see.
“Why can’t I feel anything?” Korsten didn’t know who he was talking to at first, only that he sensed a presence, one that he believed would answer him.
“It will pass,” the man did in fact answer, and in a familiarly sober tone. He was nearby, but for some reason Korsten couldn’t see him. He couldn’t see anything but red. He recalled fear, a primal state of shock, like a deer in the moments before its slaying beneath the fang and claw of wolves.
“You’re under a spell of Release,” the individual with Korsten continued.
A pang of horror blossomed at the back of his mind, but didn’t fully register. He asked tonelessly, “It was inside of me?”
“No,” the other replied. “But it held you in its will, which can be a very powerful thing, even when enforced by one so weak.”
That was weak? Korsten saw red. Red in Markam’s pale skin as he kissed him. Red, coming from the boy’s mouth as he died. Red … so much red … as the Vadryn killed a man he’d known for eight years. Suddenly, Korsten knew who he was speaking to. He closed his eyes—or opened them?—and still saw red. “Where were you?”
“Bound in the Vadryn’s magic,” Merran answered. “They have spells of their own. I was able to channel most of it toward myself … it surely would have killed the constable. But I see my efforts were in vain. Had I let him die then, I could have recovered quicker, and you would not have had to see that.”
“He saved my life,” Korsten whispered, shedding tears that felt thick and warm, like blood.
“Rest,” Merran said quietly. “The beast I have been hunting is no more. Only one remains. I know where to find it.”
“Where? How? You said that … the signature was not clear before.”
“No, but what I can see without magic is evidence enough. Had I anticipated the presence of a second demon, I’d have realized sooner just what I was seeing and what needed to be done.”
The sudden urge to panic gripped Korsten inside; made him reach for the man, who turned out to be close enough to touch. Korsten’s hand closed on fabric. “What are you planning to do?”
Merran didn’t answer him. He gently pried Korsten’s fist away from his sleeve and left.
“Merran, wait!”
He didn’t. In the silence that followed the mage’s departure, Korsten was forcing himself up, finally realizing that he’d been lying down. Whatever Merran had learned or seen, whatever he believed needed to be done, why did Korsten get the feeling that a dire mistake was about to be made? Without conscious effort, everything suddenly became clear. Merran was going to the governor’s manor. He suspected Ithan. He meant to kill him … Renmyr’s father.
You’re wrong. Oh, gods … Merran, you’re wrong.
Once out of the bed he’d been occupying, Korsten started after the man. He missed a step or two as his head was slow to rise with the rest of him, but he managed to stay on his feet. “Merran! Merran, damn you, wait!” He caught up to the mage in the hallway and decided it was safe to lean against the wall for a moment while his head steadied and his vision cleared. “You said you didn’t intend to kill anyone.”
Merran looked at him gravely for a long time before finally saying, “I could have destroyed the weaker one without further harm to the host. It’d only been a few days. One that’s been established for a period of months or years, however … at that point it’s far more demon than human. To whatever remains of the individual, the end is a mercy. Believe me.”
“I don’t believe you!” Korsten shouted, tears burning his vision. “I don’t believe you’re going to murder someone like this! What if you’re wrong?”
Merran waited long enough for the severity in his blue eyes to settle fully on Korsten, then said, “I’m not wrong.”
“What if you are?” Korsten demanded. “Ithan may be acting strangely, but….” Sudden dread gripped him as he finally deciphered the true intent behind the mage’s unreasonable determination. “It’s not Ithan you’re thinking of … is it?”
Merran turned to leave and Korsten went for him, grabbing his arm. “Who? Tell me! You think that it’s Renmyr, don’t you?”
Merran’s silence told him everything and inspired fresh tears. They streaked his face now. “I won’t let you do this! You’re wrong! Please, don’t do this.” His tone changed from insistent to pleading in an instant as he looked again into the mage’s unnaturally blue eyes and saw the resignation there, the unwavering determination to do what had to be done. What didn’t have to be done, because he was wrong! Renmyr wasn’t possessed by anything, except his sense of duty and love for his family. He wouldn’t kill anyone who wasn’t trying to hurt them. He wasn’t a murderer!
Merran slid his hand—his healing hand—over Korsten’s and somehow the touch instantly calmed him. He stopped crying and was suddenly unable to do anything but listen to the mage’s tranquil voice. “You claim to be in love, and yet you emanate nothing but unhappiness. Your depression is evidence enough, regardless of all else. Why no physical harm has come to you, what the beast had in store for you, I cannot say, but I know that I am right. That does not banish the hurt. I know that also. And I sympathize.”
For some reason Korsten’s gaze dropped to the ghastly moth brooch worn by the black-clad mage and he stared at it, seeing it in all its intricate detail, from its segmented white body, to its pale dusty wings, and even the feathery antennae … which were moving. The wings were moving as well, sliding over one another just slightly, as if it were a living moth.
“Her name is Eolyn,” Merran said quietly. “We share the gift of Foresight, among other things. It helps us to recognize people sometimes. Not a person familiar to us, but one who will become familiar. I don’t have time to explain what I mean by that, Korsten. I must go. Trust that you are safe here, for now.”
Korsten awoke with a start. He sat up in his bed, wearing nothing but the bedding. How did I get here? When did I get here?
He was alone. Gray light filtered in through the drapes … all in place, none stained with blood. The light seemed to indicate that it was very early morning. He relaxed slowly,
lifting one hand to his face, pushing back the stubborn forelock of red curls that incessantly tried to hamper his vision. A careful scanning of the room showed everything in place.
It was a nightmare, then. Father of the gods, I’ve never been so grateful of anything in my life.
Korsten eventually climbed out of bed, prepared his own bath since it was too early for Donnel to think of doing it, and relaxed in hot, perfumed water for a long time. He tried not to think of anything much and paid attention to detail as he washed, dried, and dressed, decided that he would be going to see Renmyr as soon as possible. He was going to get him into an out of the way place and kiss him everywhere for hours. Afterward perhaps Merran and Hedren would have solved this unpleasant business with the Vadryn and everything would be back to normal. And then Edmore could recover so that Ithan could relax and Loel could resume his health as well so that Hedren could stop hating Renmyr.
Whatever had happened between him and the constable’s son, it couldn’t have been all that bad. Korsten couldn’t envision Renmyr forcing himself on anyone and if he’d acted a little too eager, it could only have been attributed to youth. After all, it must have happened before he and Korsten had become lovers, in which case Renmyr would have been only fifteen or sixteen and nowhere near as experienced as he happened to be now. And, after all, Loel was an attractive young man and not exactly one to chase after the ladies. He must have simply given Renmyr the wrong signals. Or maybe Loel had been interested and Hedren couldn’t accept it. Whatever the case, it was over now. Hedren didn’t have to like it, but he didn’t have to dwell on it. Korsten just might suggest that to him once the demons were taken care of and Loel began to feel well again.
Too bad I hadn’t dreamt all of that as well, Korsten thought to himself, heading downstairs when he finally considered himself presentable. Two days ago I considered the Vadryn a demented fireside tale. And now I’m praying a mage will exterminate them quickly so that life in Haddowyn can be livable again. Gods, I hope I don’t have any lessons scheduled for today. I don’t think I could withstand another attack, of any kind.
Korsten was headed for his library initially, but he veered toward the kitchen when he noticed a distinct lack of aroma in the passages. Penna should have been up by now, baking breads or something, like she always was. He wouldn’t begrudge her some extra sleep, but it wasn’t like her.
“Penna?” Korsten called as he pushed the kitchen door open just enough to see that there was no one at the oven. He gave himself a wider view and still didn’t find his cook. Deciding he wasn’t hungry anyway, Korsten retreated for the library. After a few hours of reading, he would make a rare unannounced visit to the Camirey home. Ithan might bluster at him a bit for being so thoughtless and improper, but he would say that Renmyr was expecting him for an early morning ride and Renmyr wouldn’t deny it. They would have some much-needed time alone together and then perhaps he would accept Lady Camirey’s automatic invitation to dinner and find a way to insert their current mage trouble into the conversation.
With his day planned, Korsten entered his sanctuary wearing a smile. He went to the windows first, pulling aside the drapes to let what light there was inside. The street his house faced was quiet, abandoned at this hour. It wouldn’t be long before feet, hooves, cart and coach tread upon the cobbled stone. The street peddlers were always first, barring a patrolling constable.
When satisfied with the lighting, Korsten went to a shelf and pulled down a book of poetry. He wasn’t in the mood for actual study, just something to pass the time while he waited to see Renmyr. Finally, someone else would be getting attacked.
Korsten smiled to himself, then noticed something flutter to the floor from the shelf he’d gotten his book from. Still smiling, he crouched to pick it up. He glanced at the words neatly scrawled upon the folded sheet, then stared at them in horror. His smile was instantly gone. He read and reread the letter, unable to believe what was in his hand. He uttered fragments of it aloud. “ … ‘my sons are both doing well’ … ‘as you were evidently the victim of that … charlatan’s’ … no, no, no … this can’t be. Gods, this isn’t happening. Donnel!”
Korsten stood, dropping both the letter and the book of poetry. He dashed from the library, making his way swiftly across the house and eventually back upstairs, this time on the servants’ side. “Donnel!” He rushed through the unfamiliar corridors and found the door he believed was for the aging servant’s bedroom and started pounding on the door with his fist. “Donnel, wake up! Please, I—”
The next door over came open. Korsten was in too great a state of urgency to be startled. He simply moved to the proper doorway and latched onto the elder with both hands. “Donnel, please tell me you know what in Hell is happening.”
The old man appeared roundly confused. Eventually he formed something of a condescending smile and said, “You’re awake, sir. I’m glad. I’ll draw you a bath at once.”
“I’ve already had a bath,” Korsten informed him somewhat irritably. Realizing he must have seemed a little crazed, he withdrew his hands from the man’s arms and forced his next words to come out more calmly. “I … dreamt last night that Constable Hedren arrived in the company of Master Merran, after I received a letter from Lord Camirey. We conversed in the library.” He studied Donnel’s features carefully, looking for recognition above concern … concern that the master of the house had lost his senses. He continued with a rising lump of tears in his throat, seeing that the man did indeed recall the circumstances that were being mentioned. “Markam-didn’t return home … and that wasn’t a dream, was it?”
“I’m sorry, milord,” Donnel finally said, looking suddenly older and filled with a remorse that only hurt Korsten worse. “Master Merran said you might not feel yourself after you regained consciousness. He said it’d be best to carry on as usual for now.”
He did, did he? Damn him.
“You fainted, sir,” Donnel continued, drawing Korsten’s attention back to the matter at hand. “Gave Penna and me a terrible fright. We assumed it had something to do with Markam’s death … we both know how fond you were of the lad. Well, Master Merran said you’d be all right and, after seeing how he mended your leg the other day….”
“How long was I asleep?” Korsten interrupted, lifting the heel of one hand to his forehead as an ache began to bloom behind his skull.
“Just the day, milord. Not more than that, I swear. And again, you have my apologies. I—”
Korsten held up his other hand to silence him. “No, it’s all right,” he lied, then turned away from the elder, starting slowly back the way he’d come. “I just … too much sleep gives me an awful migraine, Donnel. I think I’ll take Teah out for a ride to clear my head.”
“Are you sure you’re all right, sir?”
He nodded while swallowing tears, then said with a deceptively clear voice, “Yes. Thank you. Tell Penna I’m sorry to have scared her like that. It’s just … you’re right … about Markam.”
“Can I get you anything?” Donnel continued.
Korsten turned back to him at the end of the passage. “You know I don’t deserve you, Donnel. You’ve always been too good to me, even before my uncle passed away.”
The aging servant nodded modestly. “Thank you, milord.”
“Please, go back to sleep,” Korsten said. “I’m sorry to have disturbed you.”
He started walking again and when he heard the bedroom door close, he took up a quicker pace, leaping down multiple steps at a time, and practically sprinting through the kitchen, out the back door, and into the stable. The stable hands were still asleep in their loft quarters just above. Korsten didn’t bother summoning them, readying Teah himself. Fortunately, he wasn’t as pampered as a child as his cousins liked to accuse and had had to learn to do such things on his own, else not be permitted to ride with his sisters, all three of whom were better riders and handlers than him. For t
hat reason he was glad to have come across a calm, reliable mare like Teah. Throughout Korsten’s childhood Sethaniel had always purchased loathsome brutes for him, believing from the start that he had been cheated out of a son with his fourth child and given another daughter instead. His determination to raise a ‘man’ was unreasonable and actually a rather frightening ordeal for Korsten to think back on. Perhaps Sethaniel’s stubbornness was partly to blame for his failure. Perhaps if he hadn’t given Korsten quite so many reasons to cry, he wouldn’t have been crying quite so often.
He was crying now. Large heavy tears rolled down his cheeks as he saddled Teah. An entire day lost? If he’d been asleep for more than a few hours, it was too late. Renmyr was either hurt or dead and so was Merran. Right now he didn’t give horse shit about Merran, but the bastard might have caught Renmyr unaware. Renmyr wasn’t defenseless, but he wouldn’t be expecting a fanatic to arrive at his doorstep with his execution in mind. If he failed … Please, dear gods, let Merran have failed. If that were the case, then the mage would have been executed by now himself, or he was at least imprisoned, awaiting execution. And Korsten didn’t care anything about demons or any mage spells linking them to the Camirey family or to Renmyr himself. Renmyr hadn’t hurt anyone. He wouldn’t.
Finally the task of readying Teah was finished. Korsten hastened her out of her stall and into the small yard, where he wasted no time mounting and setting off for the northern woods. He took the main road out of town and into the forest, running Teah almost the entire way. They were both soaked with perspiration when he finally decided to slow down. He realized then that it wasn’t only sweat that coated Teah’s black pelt and seeped through his clothing. It was still early and a morning mist yet clung to the earth, embracing the trees all around him.
