The Blood Wars Trilogy Omnibus: Volumes 1 - 3

by T. A. Miles

  Ashwin proceeded gently. “There were two demons in Haddowyn at the time Mage-Adept Merran arrived. One, inhabiting the young boy Markam, was a rogue, chased unintentionally into a populated region. The victim was taken quickly, dominated easily for various reasons, though elements of the young man remained, as is often the case. Markam’s infatuation with you kept you safe, but also put you in great danger. While the demon would have wanted to preserve you, it would have done so by pinning you beneath its will. It was stopped in the attempt by Merran, who then worked a spell of Release to be sure there were no traces of the demon’s will oppressing your own. He was surprised, after learning of its presence, that the more powerful Vadryn hadn’t already destroyed the lesser demon until he saw through the intricate shields that particular demon had put up and realized the true scope of Haddowyn’s troubles … and yours, Korsten.

  “The evidence Merran discovered leads us to believe that Renmyr Camirey was a thief of magic, one who has found a means for tapping into powers not his own. It is unclear whether he summoned the Vadryn to him or if it appeared of its own volition, but it came to inhabit his brother Edmore. Renmyr, in all likeliness was keeping it there through use of binding spells. The Vadryn have been known, from time to time, to bond with humans rather than to simply take. A symbiotic relationship is formed whereupon the awareness and the will of the human remains while the demon inhabits his soul. Both are empowered. The Vadryn has acquired a willing, lasting vessel and the man has gained the strength and magic of the demon. These pairings create Masters, demon lords … beings capable of acquiring power over men and demons, and beasts alike, without having to destroy them in body or inhabit their souls. The vitality of a willing spirit is not drained, but shared.

  “Renmyr Camirey offered his soul to the Vadryn in exchange for its power. Whatever purpose he had in mind, whatever caused him to overlook the risk and the wrong of the deed, the arrival of a mage forced him to quicker action. Sensing that Merran would or had seen through his shields, he went to the demon stored in his sibling. He finalized their pact, took the Vadryn into himself, and likely found himself in a state too weak for confrontation with a Mage-Adept. He resolved that problem with the abundance of life surrounding him at the manor, his own family … every one of them drained.

  “Merran came upon a demon drunk off the life energy it had taken in, too powerful and too crazed to take down. It defeated him and bound him, and tortured him … until a familiar soul arrived and reminded the man of his purpose in joining with the demon. He would have taken you that night, Korsten … he meant to … and sealed the union you mutually shared at the heart by drinking your soul into him, leaving you enough to survive, but not to ever have a will of your own again. You would have become his, the demon’s … solely and irrevocably. The genuine love you knew would have become tainted, existing in the shadow of a forced bond. You would have become dependent upon him as an infant relies upon its mother, helpless without him, lost. You would not have wanted that, I don’t think, even for the sake of keeping your lover.”

  “Renmyr would not have wanted that,” Korsten forced himself to say, holding back the tears with a maximum effort. “He would not have wanted … any of that.”

  “Emergence saved you,” Ashwin said, not without sympathy. “Perhaps, one day, you will save him. And now, I’d like you to come with me. The deciphering of your talents is complete.”

  Korsten couldn’t help that he was inattentive during his audience with the Council of Superiors. He couldn’t stop thinking about Renmyr, about the possibility—the fact?—that he had joined with a demon. Why? Why would he give up his spirit, his humanity, anything, to a murdering beast? So that he could become one himself?

  Are you, Ren? Did you kill them … your own family? Gods, Ren, what power is worth that? And what did you plan to do with such power? None of this makes any sense to me, but I find myself caught up in it just the same, wishing it were a dream. But it isn’t. The dream was us, wasn’t it? You and I … dreamers lost in a world of pure fantasy, just as Merran said. And now I’ve been awakened and I find myself alone … just as I always have been.

  “Korsten,” someone said in a stern unfamiliar voice.

  Lost in his thoughts, Korsten was inclined to ignore the woman. A silent prompt from Ashwin, whose presence he could feel so long as their spell-touch lingered, enabled him to focus on the individual addressing him.

  The woman with a long raven braid and a slim, equally dark gown stood directly ahead of Korsten, her very pale, virtually colorless eyes, reminding him too suddenly of Renmyr’s silver gaze. His resolve melted beneath her unwavering stare and he had to look away, else break down in a pathetic heap upon the polished marble floor underfoot. As it was, moisture crowded insistently in his eyes.

  “You have touched the Spectrum at three intervals,” Mage-Superior Jeselle continued.

  Her eleven peers gathered in a full circle around the subject of interest currently on display at the center of their formation, which mimicked the shape of the room. It was a large chamber furnished only with six pillars, each bearing a different symbol from an archaic language Korsten had never encountered before witnessing the mark on Merran’s hand as he worked his healing spell in front of him for the first time. A jewel was centered above each peculiar character, one for each color of the magic spectrum. Three of them glowed at the moment, casting their light outward to the center of the room, where they intertwined with one another and shone down upon Korsten, somehow casting a series of circles around him, formed of the strange letters, glowing as they hadn’t when upon his skin. He recognized several of them, but couldn’t begin to guess at their meaning.

  “That is not uncommon,” the woman said. “However, it can make focus difficult if a medium color is not chosen. You must choose one source, Korsten, and allow the other two colors to feed that source.”

  “How do I choose?” Korsten asked, looking up once more. “How do I know which is best for me?”

  “It is not usual to select the color the gods have graced you with,” Ashwin explained gently and Korsten was glad to have a reason to look at him. The others all made him feel like a child who had recently been caught in some wrongdoing, needing to be reprimanded. “Most of us elect to focus on the area of the Spectrum we have chosen ourselves and to use that which our predecessor bestowed upon us as support. However, that is not always the case. Sometimes a particularly strong talent sways the decision.”

  “You have four Emergent talents,” another Mage-Superior said, a willowy man by the name Ceth, if Korsten recalled his introductions correctly. “And two dormant gifts. Six altogether, four of them linked directly with red, including the most likely candidate for Ambience.”

  “We believe,” Ashwin put in. “That you will attain full mage status quicker and be able to better master spells by focusing primarily on red.”

  “There are very few mages who do,” Korsten noted aloud, recalling what he’d witnessed in the passages of the Seminary. “So perhaps I may be of more benefit by traveling the less popular road. After reading about the nature of that particular area of the Spectrum, I think I understand why it is not the favored course.”

  “It has nothing to do with popularity and everything to do with difficulty,” Mage-Superior Jeselle told him severely. In some ways, she reminded him of Merran. “There is a great deal of responsibility that comes with the territory and three of the most difficult spells to master are rooted in that area of the Spectrum.”

  “What intrigues us,” Ashwin said. “And also inspires us, is that the particular pattern of your talents is not found commonly and when found it is most common to find it in women.”

  Unmanned again, Korsten thought caustically. First by my father and now by this panel of authority. Why should I be surprised? Perhaps I should have found a gown for this occasion as well.

  Ashwin smiled at him patiently, perhaps reading into t
he bitter sarcasm Korsten fed to him through their link. “We suspect it has to do with your predecessor, whose strongest talent was also Allurance. It ascended to an Ambient level at a rapid pace, enhancing her talent for Song and enabling her to fully master the Siren spell, one of the most difficult.”

  “You have the Song talent as well,” Ceth informed Korsten. “And that has never Emerged in a male subject, ever, in all the ages of magic, as far as we are aware.”

  “It has not Emerged yet in you,” a fourth Mage-Superior added. “It remains dormant, but the chances are alarmingly in favor of Emergence, if not Resonance.”

  “Song?” Korsten finally said, feeling an episode of skepticism coming on. “So then you do train bards here.”

  “You understand music,” Ashwin offered, as if he knew. “You understand the affect musical sound can have on sentient creatures.”

  “I’m sure that many people do, men as well as women.”

  “You have the potential to understand it much deeper,” Ashwin said in a tone that precluded further argument. Korsten was surprised enough to hear such a tone from him that he clamped down on his response at once and said nothing more. The blond man added, “Perhaps one day you will be able to manipulate sound as you will learn to manipulate other stimuli to the senses.”

  “Your other gifts,” the mage called Ceth continued, as if cued to do so by Ashwin’s statement. “Include Balance, Quick, Reasoning, and Will. Though Will also remains dormant, the translation comes to grace, intuitiveness, fortitude, and understanding.”

  “That doesn’t sound at all like me,” Korsten said stubbornly. “I’m no wedge-footed clod, but I often have to be hit on the head before I see a thing coming. Fortitude? I’m not ashamed to admit that I’m not the most courageous man in Edrinor. Merran can vouch for that. And as for understanding. I can understand what I am taught; words in a book, actions demonstrated, but I have no grasp of people or even really of politics, in spite of the position I held at Haddowyn.”

  “Haddowyn is behind you,” someone said suddenly. A fifth Mage-Superior by the name Eisleth. If Ashwin had a twin, Korsten was convinced he was looking at him, at his mirror image if that mirror were in a place lacking light. They shared a similar build, even similar features such as the pleasing narrowness of the face and they matched height as well as overall fairness and a taste for lavish robes. However, unlike Ashwin’s white robes, Eisleth’s were black as pitch, as was his long, silky hair. His voice was deeper as well and in contrast to his colleague’s profoundly jade gaze, his eyes were an intensely dark shade of brown, almost black. Korsten noticed a red butterfly in his company and that it wasn’t anywhere near as vivid in color as Analee, though it did have a slightly larger wingspan that included black tails.

  “Haddowyn is a part of me,” Korsten argued, managing to be firm in spite of his urge to break into tears at being reminded of the life he’d so suddenly lost. “It will be … forever.”

  “I don’t think that I gained very many allies at that meeting,” Korsten said to no one in particular as he reentered the spacious room he’d been constantly awakening in since arriving at the Seminary. It was beginning to feel comfortable, familiar at any rate. But perhaps that had something to do with the fact that he’d already lived here for three months, even if only barely so. He’d adapted quickly to Haddowyn as well, even though unhappy. He was sure by now that there was no place in the world he could truly be happy. And, of course, that sent his thoughts reeling back to Renmyr.

  You would never hurt me, Ren. I refuse to believe that. But perhaps … something has come over you … or gotten into you. I thought you were dead. Knowing that you’re not gives me cause to live, to find you again and bring you out from under whatever darkness binds you now.

  Korsten wandered across the room, toward the wide bed and noticed a large stack of gray fabric heaped neatly upon the mattress. He sat down beside the clothing, thinking absently how bland all of it was, in spite of the careful cuts and stitching. There were shirts and breeches, silks and linens, a night robe, a short jacket of soft leather, hose, more durable boots than the ones he wore currently, and … damn them.

  He turned to better face the clothes, flinging several articles away, noticing after the fact that each piece became white and somehow more appealing as he touched it. That didn’t matter to him at the moment, however. Not while he was faced with someone’s very wrong idea of humor. Frowning, Korsten lifted the garment that had offended him for inspection, relaxing as he came to realize that it was not a gown. It was something in the way of a robe, slim with tiny braided knots instead of buttons running down the front, from the high neckline to a point just below the waist. A glance about allowed Korsten to locate a sash that seemed appropriate and a pants like article that would fit closer than regular breeches and that would be thicker than hose, preventing the wearer from embarrassing himself beyond the fact that he’d put the outfit on to begin with. Well, perhaps it wasn’t all that bad. Unconventional, yes, but … attractive somehow.

  The sleeves, from shoulder to cuffed wrist were thin and sheer, similar to the material used for the bed curtains and the drapes. It was white now, completely, but somehow there seemed to be variations in the white, places that might have hinted at silver or ivory over plain white. Actually, the more Korsten looked at the garment, the more he yearned to try it on. He’d always appreciated fine clothes, but he sometimes envied the lack of variation in the wardrobe his station in society as well as his sex had called for. He didn’t really want to parade around in women’s gowns, but perhaps his boredom had been why it’d been so easy to play that prank on his father all those years ago.

  And if it had not been for that, perhaps he never would have been approached by Firard Mortannis, and never been discovered for what he was … and never met Renmyr.

  Ren … I can’t stand to be apart from you like this. It all seems so unreal … and so unfair. But that’s my naïve thinking again. As if fairness has ever…. A knock at the door disrupted his thoughts. He glared at the closed portal. “Now what? Leave me alone, can’t you?”

  The knock didn’t come again. Though surprised it had been so easy, Korsten assumed that his curtness had deterred the visitor. Shooing away the red butterfly that had at some point come to be on the clothing in his hands, he decided that he would try on the peculiar outfit. What else was there to do anyway? The meeting with the Council of Superiors had gone on into evening and since he wasn’t hungry—it occurred to him now that he might have scared away the individual charged with bringing him his meal—it was either cry himself to sleep thinking about Renmyr or find something to distract him at least a little.

  He was changed within minutes, admiring his rather striking image in the room’s mirror and then despising it as he recalled that the person in that image was to blame for everything that had lately gone wrong in his life. Foolish, cowardly, vain, selfish … there weren’t enough words to satisfy the truth of just how despicable he happened to be.

  Korsten thought about crying, yet again, when something crashed upon the balcony outside his room. He thought briefly of Ashwin’s tale of demons invading the city. And then he heard the devil on his balcony curse … with a woman’s voice.

  Korsten looked over his shoulder first, then followed through with his body. He proceeded to the balcony, prepared to reprimand the intruder. He found himself only able to stare in amaze at the figure caught up in a tangle of vines and pale blue satin. Fine golden hair gathered in folds, like an unfurled bolt of silk, beneath the struggling form. Pale legs kicked and slim hands clawed at the trap the girl had made for herself.

  “Hell’s depths!” she spat, flailing helplessly as her situation only worsened the more she struggled. “Hessath! You little winged bastard, help me or get your pointy, segmented a—”

  “I think I’ve heard about enough,” Korsten decided, walking to the foul-mouthed young woman and crouchi
ng down in order to be of assistance … to himself. The very last thing he wanted was the extended company of this deranged girl.

  Within a few trying moments of untangling and dodging flung limbs, Korsten revealed something that resembled a lady. She was not all that far from pretty with a delicate form, albeit a bit girlish yet where her bust was concerned, and a round, almost innocent face. She appeared sixteen or seventeen. The eyes were what confused Korsten. Their shape was too mature—if that were possible—for her face and they were silver. He’d expected to look upon big blue or maybe even brown eyes, a doe’s eyes perhaps … and instead he saw Renmyr. The gods were merciless.

  “You’re crying,” the girl noticed when she finally looked at him. “What’s the matter?”

  Korsten stood, and walked away from her. He thought he was angry a moment ago, but now he was just depressed and wanting nothing to do with the girl or the fact that she’d dropped unannounced onto the balcony of a room that was miles away from home. He wiped at his eyes when he arrived at the bed, then dropped himself unceremoniously onto the mattress cluttered with his new wardrobe and determined never to move again.

  And then he was moving in spite of himself, bouncing with the mattress as a total stranger all but leaped into his bed and positioned herself to be lying beside him, on her stomach, within an arm’s reach. Gods, not here as well. I can’t take it … I won’t take it. I’ll succeed in killing myself, I swear it.

  The strange girl propped her face on her folded arms while Korsten just lay with his cheek on the mattress, and the two simply stared at each other for several moments. Protesting would require too much energy, too much concern and right now Korsten didn’t care about anything. She wasn’t attacking him anyway and it didn’t seem likely that she was going to.