The Blood Wars Trilogy Omnibus: Volumes 1 - 3

by T. A. Miles

  This was on the verge of getting too personal, and they had yet a long journey to make together. Best to spend that journey on friendly, speaking terms, Korsten thought, and promptly changed the subject. “I haven’t traveled over distances for quite some time. Should I be expecting the possibility of unpleasant occurrences between here and the outpost?”

  “There is always the possibility,” Merran answered. “So you should always expect it.”

  Korsten nudged Onyx a little, bringing his smaller steed closer to Erschal. “You remember the first time I encountered one of the Vadryn?”

  “I’m sure I’ll never forget it.”

  “Yes, well expect a similar reaction if I meet another one between here and Lilende.”

  “And when we get to Lilende?”

  Korsten’s lips curled vaguely upward. “People will be watching then. Appearances, you know.”

  Finally, Merran relinquished something of a smile. However, it faded quickly. “Korsten, you’ve been at the Seminary for near thirty years. You should know that the society you left beyond its walls remains.”

  “You mean a lover of men would still not be particularly welcome.”

  “Nor are mages,” Merran continued. “Not in the city itself. Among the soldiers at the outpost, however, we will find allies.”

  “Allies to mages,” Korsten clarified, for his own benefit.

  Merran glanced at him, allowing the shadows to briefly alter their pattern across his features, that were not anywhere near as delicate as Korsten’s were … as they had been from the start, let alone since he’d arrived at the Seminary. Merran probably didn’t have to say what he said next, but undoubtedly he wanted to give fair warning. “All men who ally to the same cause are not necessarily men of honor or men with tolerance. Be on your guard, Korsten. And there may be little point in saying this, but try not to attract too much attention to yourself.”

  A few hours before dawn, Korsten and Merran stopped for actual sleep. Their beds were simple pallets unrolled over the grass. There was not a living soul—or a dead one, Korsten hoped—for miles, enabling them to risk sleeping simultaneously after Merran cast an invisible field around their modest camp that would become bright very suddenly if it were breached, presumably waking those asleep within it as well as startling any intruders.

  “Is that a universal spell?” Korsten asked as he lay himself down several paces away from Merran, in spite of the various aches he would like to have gotten healed. “It seems like it should be.”

  “It is,” Merran answered.

  “And why has it not come up during my studies?”

  “There are many spells you have not been exposed to yet. Ashwin was careful not to overwhelm you. He taught you only what he felt you could master in the time he felt the Council would permit him before requesting that you be made an operative. He knew that you would not be sent on an assignment by yourself and that it wouldn’t be necessary for you to be able to perform a Barrier spell.”

  Korsten accepted the explanation that was given. “Is it a difficult spell to master?”

  “More so than others.”

  “Is it—”

  “Korsten, didn’t we stop to sleep?”

  Taking the hint, Korsten positioned himself as comfortably as he could upon his rough blanket beneath a vastly open sky, and closed his eyes. Before he attempted sleep, he thought to mention one last thing. “Do you realize, I’ve never slept out of doors in my entire life?”

  Merran elected not to answer him, or if he did, Korsten fell asleep before he could hear the words.

  Korsten dreamt of a smallish demon prodding him just at the base of his back with a short dagger, and stirred suddenly awake to stop it. His hand slapped harmlessly against Merran’s ankle as the other mage stood over him, prodding him lightly with the toe of his boot. His very blue eyes were everywhere but on the body he was virtually stepping on, and Korsten decided to let him know that. “There are perhaps better ways of—”

  “Quiet,” Merran instructed, keeping his voice low enough to make Korsten instantly nervous. “Listen.”

  Korsten did as he was told, though he wished he knew what he was supposed to be listening for. He didn’t hear a blessed thing.

  “Do you hear that?” Merran asked in a moment.

  “Hear what? Silence?”

  The other mage crouched down and Korsten finally lifted himself to an upright position. “Yes, silence,” Merran said. “Not a bird, not a lingering cricket, not so much as the stirring of a breeze through the grass. I noticed it last night as well, but overlooked it during our conversation. This stillness is not natural.”

  Korsten suddenly felt cold. He thought of the stillness that had fallen over the Camirey manor that morning when … Gods, I’m not ready for this. I’m not ready to face demons again.

  “It’s a rogue,” Merran continued to whisper. “I don’t believe it’s following us, but for it to have wandered this far out into the wilderness, it must have recently taken its host, else been warded off by one stronger than it. It’ll be starving more than likely, and it won’t be long before it happens upon us.”

  “Where would it have come from?”

  “An isolated farmstead perhaps.” Merran’s gaze darted in one direction, and then the next, lingering just long enough either way to quickly scan the horizon.

  “Why wouldn’t it have stayed there?” Korsten caught himself making a reach for Merran’s arm and drew his hand back without distracting the other man’s attention.

  “As I said, it may have been warded off.” Merran stood again. “It may also be that it’s killed everyone there and has wandered in search of more nourishment. Whatever lurks nearby may not even be the original demon, but merely a byproduct of its contagion.”

  “I don’t see anything,” Korsten whispered, looking about himself.

  “But you hear nothing,” Merran reminded. “And the horses are beginning to get nervous.”

  Korsten rose slowly to his feet, clutching his jacket closer to his body, feeling a terrible chill as memories played back on him. Areld … Hedren … Markam … Ren…. A dull pain came to life at the base of his neck, where the carved seal and Renmyr’s kiss remained. Even thirty years later, it had not healed. It even bled a bit sometimes, and the seal would smolder and sting as it evidently fought back the darkness that was trying ceaselessly to break through it. If it bled now there would be no stain upon Korsten’s collar to show it.

  “There’s no time for tracking it, but I suspect it will find us sooner or later, as we are the only living things foolish enough to linger.”

  “This land is very open. We should be able to see it when it arrives.”

  “It will wait until darkness falls again,” Merran informed. “Be alert.”

  Korsten nodded in response to Merran as much as to assert to himself that he could do this. He didn’t have to panic. He’d faced demons before, and survived each encounter, however frightening or painful it was.

  The day passed without event, as Merran and Korsten both suspected it would. When night fell, Merran remained as grim and alert as ever, and Korsten began to feel ill at ease. He didn’t like the idea that a starved beast was stalking them. He didn’t like knowing that it would strike, that it was only a matter of time. Oh yes, he missed the Seminary a great deal by now. He missed the solitude, the library, the lessons with Ashwin … well, perhaps not the physical lessons. Certainly not the brutal foil sessions, but maybe learning about his mentor’s true feelings wasn’t all that bad, nowhere near as disastrous as it could have been … and pleasant, certainly, to be touched like that by someone who cared as much as the Mage-Superior did. I won’t ever let that happen again, Ashwin, and I’m sure you won’t either, but I don’t regret what I learned that night. I am in love with Renmyr and always will be. He is my heart’s dearest. That can’t change, but knowi
ng that I have a place in your heart helps me to manage the fact that what’s happened between myself and Renmyr also can’t be changed. He’s given himself to darkness and when I save him, I don’t know that he’ll recover. I don’t know that I’ll recover, but whatever is to happen, it starts with banishing the evil inside of him. I thank you, Ashwin, for supporting me in this.

  Korsten lingered in such thoughts long enough to lose track of time and to forget about the attack he and Merran were expecting until it was upon them. The beast dashed through the grass, with the speed and deftness of a creature swimming through the shadowed depths.

  “Korsten!” Merran called out, just as Onyx reared back.

  Korsten held on and when his mount overcame the shock, stomping back down to the ground and struggling to turn about, he commanded the creature still with a firm hand and soothing voice. He could hear the demon in the grass and knew well enough that Onyx could smell it. The horse could sense its foulness and Korsten wasn’t so sure that he couldn’t also. He remembered in that instant what Merran had said a while back about his gift enabling him to feel blood, how it ran in others. If blood was indeed running through this creature’s veins, then it had veins and a heart pumping the blood along their course, and it wasn’t a true demon. It was a poisoned soul or an inhabited one, something that would have to be burned or freed. Its movement suggested animal. Korsten was certain no human body could move so quickly on all fours and the grass was not tall enough to hide a person. Perhaps a child, but still Korsten doubted it and he had to wonder if the Vadryn actually possessed animals, or if the thing in the grass was simply infected, having been fed upon out of desperation on the demon’s part.

  “Do you see it?” Merran asked.

  While searching, Korsten hollered back, “No!”

  “Dismount and send the horses ahead!”

  “Are you mad? We’ll be up to our waist in worse darkness!”

  “Do it!” Merran barked, sliding out of Erschal’s saddle, smacking the beast on the rump almost before he hit the ground. “The horses have no protection. They can be poisoned as well!”

  Korsten did as he was told, driven more by Merran’s urgency than by any sense he was able to make out of the instructions. Once Korsten was on the ground, Onyx was prompted physically to leave and obeyed eagerly. The two mages stood in a sea of soft, shadowed blades, waiting in a sudden stillness. Merran’s sword was out so Korsten decided to summon forth his own and was surprised at the level of his concentration in a moment such as this.

  “Where is it?” Korsten wondered aloud. “Did it follow the horses?”

  He received his answer when the grass rustled to his right and the darkness shifted too suddenly. His reaction was automatic, panic perhaps or reflex ingrained after years of foil play, both at and prior to the Seminary. He raised his sword to deflect the oncoming attack, to drive it back. The blade was sharp and connected with flesh rather than steel. It sliced through. A solid, fleshy mass crumpled into the grass.

  Korsten hastily worked a Lantern spell and peered through the overlong growth toward the earth. The beast had four legs, a thin tail, barrel chest, and a long snout. Its narrow head was crowned with two pointed ears and a tongue lolled out of its open maw. The teeth appeared slightly longer than they should have been, particularly the fangs. Its breathing was labored and it whined a bit, like a wounded dog. It was a dog, one poisoned by the Vadryn. A part of Korsten pitied it, especially as Merran set it afire and also set it howling in agony.

  The black-clad mage looked at Korsten and said simply, “Better it than you.”

  Korsten couldn’t help his reply, weak as it came out. “Would you be referring to the screaming?”

  Merran elected not to answer. They let the fire burn nothing but the body the spell had targeted, then called the horses back and moved on. It was several hours into morning before either of them spoke.

  “Why can’t we protect the horses?” Korsten asked.

  Merran answered with a question. “Why can’t we protect ourselves?”

  “Except with action?” Korsten added. Then, “I see. The horses can’t very well work spells or wield weapons.”

  “The Vadryn aren’t usually attracted to animals,” the other mage explained. “It is usually not a concern, however this beast was starving. We still have a long way to go. I’d rather not make the distance on foot.”

  “And we can’t Reach without risk of alerting the demon we’re actually after,” Korsten presumed, correctly by the nod Merran issued in reply. “How much farther to Lilende?”

  “Four days’ travel,” Merran answered. “By this evening we’ll be in Bersiene.”

  At midday they came upon a road, and followed it into the sunset and into a small conglomeration of thatch and stone buildings. The villagers were filing indoors in a quiet, unhurried fashion as darkness settled. There was no look of torment upon them, not as a group or as individuals. It appeared that somehow the Vadryn had overlooked these people, and Korsten had to wonder if the presence of mages would endanger them, considering the Vadryn’s natural attraction to magic. Merran did not appear concerned, but then he rarely did, even if a situation was deserving of concern.

  At some point they came to be walking Onyx and Erschal through the minor town and arrived at a three story structure resting peacefully at the edge of it. The sign hung above the door labeled it the Hart and Lion Inn. Even without words carved upon the wooden shield, the painting of a green hart and a white lion spoke clearly enough.

  Merran announced that they would spend the night and Korsten didn’t argue. It seemed quiet enough. They placed the horses in the care of stable hands and proceeded indoors, where quiet took on new meaning. Activity ceased when the mages entered the building. Faces looked up from drinks and meals, conversations drew to sudden pauses, serving maids halted in the midst of hauling trays of food and ale to its designated tables, and all eyes were fixed with curiosity and a little suspicion on the two men standing at the entrance. Both were striking in their way; Merran with his dark clothes and exceptionally blue eyes, and Korsten with his contrasting white attire and unearthly red hair. It was understandable that the villagers would stare. The pair of them must have made quite a spectacle.

  “We seek boarding for the night,” Merran announced, aiming his words at a staunch fellow behind a long counter across the common room. “Will you tell us if there is room here?”

  “There’s room enough,” someone said.

  And someone else added, “But no welcome for your like!”

  “Best go back to the road!” came a third voice, followed by a mild uproar of encouragement.

  The stable hands didn’t seem to have a problem, Korsten recalled. But perhaps the fading light outside enabled them to overlook our appearance. Oh well, I’m not all that tired or hungry anyway.

  Korsten would have left without umbrage, but Merran failed to initiate their departure, and the man he was still making eye contact with suddenly called for silence from his patrons. They complied with little delay, and the innkeeper said to Merran, “We don’t need trouble here, sir. The last folk who came through here dressed as strange as you two brought the night hunters with ‘em. Cost us some lives … children some of them. We don’t want that again. I’ll ask you to move on.”

  “Night hunters?” Korsten asked out of the side of his mouth, scarcely raising his voice above a breath. “The Vadryn?” A glance at Merran’s grave expression gave Korsten his answer and the way he didn’t move suggested that he was not only set on a night of rest, but that he didn’t want to confirm that they were mages before these people, who evidently distrusted them. It made sense. Distrust often equated into dislike and an unpleasant encounter down the road with a pack of townsmen seeking revenge for past wrongs was nothing Korsten looked forward to.

  A necessary lack of serious contemplation preceded Korsten’s stepping forward an
d addressing the room’s worth of concerned villagers. He put excess grace into his movement, presenting himself as at least three times the spectacle he already was. “I’m not certain what you take us for, good people of Bersiene, but I cannot help but to believe that this confusion might have been avoided were it not for my companion’s lack of introduction.” With plenty of space at the inn’s entrance, Korsten carted himself gently forward, standing briefly on his hands before dropping back onto his feet and into a courtly bow. “We are merely performers, strayed from our troupe after a careless night’s indulgence. We hoped to find our companions here, but as they are not, we will be moving on.” Straightening, Korsten summoned the silver sphere from his palm without giving it further shape and began to play with it, rolling it over his fingers, tossing it into the air behind him and kicking it back with his heel. He could see that he had the attention of everyone in the room and so kept up his performance as he spoke. “We can depart now, if you wish it, but surely one evening’s entertainment for you and hospitality for us wouldn’t cause too much of a disruption.” Catching the sphere a last time, he closed it in his right fist, then opened the hand again to display its emptiness. He gave a nearby barmaid one of his best smiles, adding, “Or perhaps it would.”

  The young woman colored spectacularly at the suggestions his voice and expression seemed to make. Smiling embarrassedly, she decided to hand out the ales on her tray, which prompted the people receiving them to drink. Gradually, activity spread from one table to the next and a state of normalcy returned to the room.

  Merran came up beside him, speaking discreetly as attention yet lingered on them. “I’m not sure what you meant by entertainment, but I hope you’re prepared for a solo act.”

  Just as quietly, still smiling at his earned audience, Korsten said, “Bastard.”

  The night consisted of contortionist feats, acrobatic displays, theatrically toying with the silver sphere, and abundant flirting. Korsten was thoroughly exhausted and quite overheated when it came time—whether his audience wished it or not—for a break.