The Blood Wars Trilogy Omnibus: Volumes 1 - 3

by T. A. Miles

  Merran cast him a questioning glance as they moved toward the tight line of buildings, stories stacked atop one another.

  “Neither she nor her mother seem overly concerned with the state of affairs here,” Korsten reminded and their conversation regarding the two may have continued, but for the repeat of the clacking.

  They both drew still, studying the buildings. Korsten didn’t know whether it was he or Merran who first spied the sliver of an alleyway drawing a narrow line of night between the structures, but they headed for it at the same time.

  “There’s someone,” Korsten announced quietly as a form came into view atop a long flight of stairs that presumably connected the current street and the one above.

  “I see them,” Merran replied, eyes on the figure, following visually, though the both of them physically came to a halt within the shadow at the alley entrance. A few paces ahead a lantern hung from a bracket along the wall, casting a soft glow onto the lowest steps.

  “Do you suspect they’ve seen us?” Korsten asked.

  “My suspicion is that seeing us was their intention.”

  And now Korsten’s mind was on Vlas’ insistence that the Vadryn were acting as cognizant agents in Morenne’s strategy. If ever they were going to find out, now was perhaps as good a time as any.

  Irslan had long been a solid contact along Edrinor’s once safe coast. He and his compatriots had over the years spun their own web of communication and intrigue throughout the intact cities. Putting it into those terms seemed more clandestine than was required, but at the same time these activists were not necessarily loyalists to the Old Kingdom. They had a vision of a unified and strong Edrinor and of an end to the war. Whether or not that future came with a proper successor of the Rottherlen family—or even with a king at all—was negotiable. Perhaps they intended to appoint a more ordered system of governors than what their country knew currently. Vlas was not overly concerned with that at the moment. Those were details to be sorted out when they could afford such luxuries as being concerned with proper government. Survival was paramount for now and he appreciated Irslan’s openness and invitation where the Seminary and its mages were concerned.

  They had accompanied their host to a gathering that evening and stood in a study approximately two-thirds the size of Irslan’s great library. It boasted two open floors tall enough to in actuality house three, which somehow only assisted in making it feel much narrower than it was. The windows were fewer as well, offering more of a sense of enclosure. The house itself was quite similar to Irslan’s—a proud four stories with grand amounts of space except in the air between itself and the buildings to either side of it. Well-dressed men and some women entered through a tall, arching doorway of dark wooden panels, greeted by a man whose elbow Irslan had scarcely drifted from since their arrival. The man with skin a shade darker than what was common even for Edrinor’s south-eastern coast had been introduced as one Konlan Ossai. He stood a head taller than Irslan, perhaps taller than Merran or Korsten had either of them been present. The man’s posture was relaxed, but dignified, as was his expression, which also revealed traces of his years at the corners of his mixed dark eyes—a blend of brown, gray and green—and along the edges of his mouth. Black hair was cropped very short and being slowly invaded by flecks of silver here and there. Vlas watched him with interest he didn’t try to hide, but that was duly ignored by the current subject regardless. That was all fine and good, since Vlas was only assessing and had others to assess as well.

  The few ladies present were also of an older age, though not particularly, barring one white-haired matron wearing well-tailored black trousers, knee-tall green boots with golden embroidery around the cuffs and a matching jacket that closely fit her remarkably kept shape. The men appeared more varied in age, from Irslan and Konlan’s forties or fifties down to perhaps early twenties. There were no adolescents present and no true elders, again barring the white-haired woman.

  “Do you suppose the governor is among them?” Vlas asked Cayri, leaning slightly to put the words into her ear.

  “No,” was her ready reply.

  Vlas kept his eyes on the others in the room. “Do you suppose an agent of the governor is among them?”

  “I do.”

  He took that response and walked it around to the other side of Cayri, returning it with another question. “Do you suppose the governor might be among them disguised as one of his agents?”

  “I….” Cayri turned her head to look at him now. Her light green eyes flashed with slight traces of exasperation that filtered into a look of consideration as they made their way back to the guests. “I honestly don’t have an answer to that.”

  Vlas didn’t either, but he would rule nothing out. The governor of a city like this would be interested not only in what its resident activists were doing, but in what mages—presuming he knew of their presence—were doing and how it might weigh in favor of or against the relative peace in his city. Relative in that there weren’t soldiers breaking across their defenses yet. Right now they had a subtler invasion to deal with, one that not everyone who’d been set this comfortably away from the worst of the battling wanted to acknowledge. In the last twenty-five years the Vadryn had been reintroduced into the diet of the average citizen of Edrinor, either perforce or through the more delicate ministrations of the mages and those who had never lost track of their beliefs in such things as demons.

  While pondering the matter, Vlas became aware of the white mantis tapping her grasping front legs on his shoulder, in plain sight and yet unobserved by the average individual. Zesyl was as eager to get on with things as her bond mate. Whether or not the insect agreed with that assessment, she made a path across Vlas’ shoulder and into his hair. Cayri’s Myrr had settled his spectacularly thin scarlet form along her greater lengths of darker blond. Her connection to red and green along the Spectrum made Cayri more attuned to people. Vlas understood that and he tried to concede to her instincts during diplomatic affairs, but he couldn’t help that there were times he wanted to simply do away with formalities altogether.

  “If everyone is comfortably arrived,” Konlan Ossai said, none too soon for Vlas’ patience.

  “I believe we are,” Irslan confirmed as both men ushered the guests toward an arrangement of chairs and small tables. A draped row of windows stood behind them and the wall adjacent to the deep blue fabric housed a tall stone hearth. The fire within provided a healthy glow, assisted by overhead lamps.

  Vlas went with Cayri over to the chairs and selected one beside her. He counted fourteen guests, leaving out only their host, Master Ossai. Of them, only three were women, excluding Cayri.

  “Everyone here represents what I prefer to consider Edrinor’s best interests,” Konlan said to all of them and received various gestures or sounds of agreement from several of the others. “Trade masters and merchants … scholars … politicians … and mages.”

  The man’s dark hand gestured in Vlas and Cayri’s direction with that last word, but Vlas’ eyes had immediately begun travelling across the faces of the others with the mention of politicians to see who responded. He discerned some recognition in the eyes and posture of both an older and a younger man before he took notice of the fact that all eyes had come to rest on the mages in their presence.

  Cayri took that for an opening. “We’ve come on behalf of Mage-Superior Ceth, who has long been in contact with Master Treir. Two others of the Seminary have also come … two hunters.”

  The mention of Merran and Korsten’s specialty inspired an exchange of curious and in some cases uncomfortable looks among the guests.

  “As we all know,” Konlan said, “a curfew has been in effect. Not a strict one, but something many of us have taken under serious advisement. We’re aware of the disappearances and the murders within the last months; seven murders, that we’re aware of and four disappearances. These are occurrences not to be incl
uded with what a city our size can expect in a year. While we don’t know whether the disappearances are related, they seem to share a common trait with the murders, which is illness. Three of the four missing individuals were said to have been ill before their disappearance and of the seven killed—all of their bodies emaciated and colorless—three were claimed to have been unwell while they were alive by their relatives, who also felt that a sickness had descended onto their houses.”

  While the man spoke Vlas detected a slight accent to his words, something not distinctly northern or southern.

  “We now know,” Konlan continued, making sure to meet each of their gazes, “that the killings are the work of the Vadryn. We cannot question it; the hunters tracked and dealt with one of them just last night. The victim was a young girl, who survived.”

  A general air of relief settled on the guests. Vlas didn’t allow it to settle too decidedly, however.

  “We believe there may be others of the Vadryn in the city,” he announced.

  This drew everyone’s attention to him, including Cayri’s. Vlas ignored the look of reproach in her eyes.

  “We also believe that they are harbingers of the war that’s been overtaking our northern and western borders, bringing that conflict here now, finally.”

  “What do you mean by that?” a man with dark brown hair and eyes asked. He looked to have lately escaped his twenties if he wasn’t still lingering in the latter half of his second decade.

  Cayri answered. “We’ve been observing the behavior of the Vadryn in relation to the advancing Morennish armies for many decades now. Mage-Superiors Ceth and Ashwin both believe that there is an alliance between them. Not one of happenstance or convenience, but a firm one. The Vadryn are alert to strategy and assignment and willing to perform.”

  “But I thought they were nothing more than beasts,” another man said—this one a gray-haired elder—looking around at the others for confirmation and receiving looks and nods that had Vlas helplessly rolling his eyes.

  “Some of them, yes,” Vlas said. “There are also Masters, demons as ancient as our Mage-Superiors, some of whom have found willing hosts in power-mad men and women who are already in league with Morenne. These ancients are not stupid and far from simple instinct-driven creatures. They’re capable of devising strategy as cunning and clever as any experienced general. They’ve done it; we’ve seen evidence of it.”

  While some of the guests held genuine looks of interest, others were yet to be convinced.

  “At the battle of Eastmark,” Cayri said, “a Vadryn Master was present, leading a regiment of men onto the field with a cruel blood thirst beyond what even the most savage mortal killer demonstrates. One of our own mages heard confirmation of this Master’s existence while imprisoned in an enemy stronghold after the battle at Lilende.”

  “Eastmark has long since fallen,” Vlas continued. “Sarily will follow. As we speak, the city is being invaded. We’ve not enough troops, nor enough mages present to turn the enemy back. Once the city has been taken, Morenne will have access to the sea and two points from which to strike at Vynndoran.”

  “Indhovan will be next.”

  While Vlas meant to say it, the words actually came from Irslan. Vlas issued him a nod to acknowledge the statement.

  “We’re all wondering what we can do, I’m sure,” Konlan said next, having settled back into his deep chair, arms folded across his chest. “The Seminary has assured us that they will maintain the presence of their mages as long as the danger remains. That means we must not hinder them, and we should aid them if we can.”

  “How?” asked the brown-haired younger man who’d spoken earlier.

  “Governor Tahrsel must be made aware of the threat the city faces,” Konlan replied, which drew a look of impatience from the brown-haired man and now Vlas had his agent of the governor marked, he was certain. A name followed as Konlan continued. “Deitir, we cannot sit idle while our country is overtaken by demons and madmen.”

  The younger man stiffened in his chair.

  “Deitir,” the woman beside him said—the white-haired matron in green. She placed a hand upon the younger man’s arm, which seemed a gentle reproach, one which quieted the argument that may have been rising within him.

  “We know that Vassenleigh survived the siege that threatened to strike it from the face of this world a century ago,” Irslan said, directing his words to all of them. “This gentleman and lady are evidence enough of that. For those who still are not convinced, the two hunters and the young victim they spared a miserable living death are further proof. My uncle’s letters … and now my letters to Lord Ashwin and to Lord Ceth at the Seminary are also proof. The mages are yet with us, my friends … and we cannot deny that the demons they’ve long opposed are as well.”

  Looks of agreement and resignation were passed about. Vlas watched everyone murmuring among themselves and knew that some steps forward had been made, and that Master Deitir was going to help carry those steps even further, whether he knew it presently or not.

  The top of the stairs brought Korsten and Merran to the street above, as Korsten anticipated it would. They stood at the highest step, scanning the next shadowed route between buildings. Korsten was helplessly recalling the previous night’s chase through such corridors as these. Though they’d been searching for the demon, it was the girl they’d been chasing at first, aware that her terrified flight was well more than fear of the night and being out alone in it. It wasn’t long after that when the source of Dacia’s panic showed itself. A quick Blast spell diverted the demon briefly, giving Korsten the opportunity to head the girl off while Merran dealt with the Vadryn. The dealing was brief, as the beast was determined and quickly abandoned confrontation with a mage in hopes of yet claiming its intended prize. Its claim was to be short-lived.

  Even as the event replayed and Korsten reminded himself of the inarguably favorable outcome, he still felt unsettled with it. It was mainly Dacia’s reaction after the fact that scratched at the back of his mind. Ersana’s attitude made that scratching more insistent, but for now it would remain an itch he could neither reach nor satisfy. At the moment, they had something else to contend with, but what exactly? It felt different than the typical stalking game with one of the Vadryn. Precisely how was something Korsten also couldn’t describe. His communicating faculties seemed to be failing—even in relation to himself—or perhaps this entire situation was simply that much different.

  “This way,” Merran said, and Korsten went along without question. Merran had been hunting the Vadryn since well before Korsten’s grandfather was born, or his great grandfather for that matter. Provided Merran’s instincts weren’t suffering the way Korsten’s ability to explain how Indhovan and its current affairs made him feel, then he believed they were headed in the right direction.

  The buildings loomed overhead, eyes seeming to peer over the roofs at them in the form of many lanterns—light seemed something Indhovan was fond of, in spite of the fact that more light seemed to only cast more shadow. The sea air felt heavy, full of presence. There was a current beneath it … an energy. Korsten wanted to ask Merran if he felt it, but the chase was upon them, announced only by Merran’s sudden falling into quicker motion. Looking in the direction his colleague was headed, Korsten saw what he needed to; a figure slightly bent in shape, but no slower for it, charging along the edge of the shadows.

  A brief panic flared within Korsten as he reminded himself that a swiftly moving Vadryn in physical form was one with full control over that form. He prepared himself mentally and spiritually for a performance of Release and knew that Merran was doing the same. This would be twice in as many nights, but this ousting would be more delicate than the first. If the demon and the person had mingled too long in the same body, separation would be more difficult. The demon would have a firmer hold and be less inclined to relinquish its source for vitality. If they weren’t
cautious and quick about it, the Vadryn would potentially elect to sacrifice its host in order to briefly gorge itself on the victim’s blood and the strength it offered.

  The figure dove into a passage between buildings. A brief pause and a glance exchanged between them was all the communication required for Korsten and Merran to announce that they were taking separate paths. Merran stayed on the direct route, following the figure, and Korsten took one of the alleyways with the hope of heading off their quarry. The passage was particularly narrow and not an opportune choice, Korsten soon realized. It brought him abruptly to a brief stair and a wall firmly marking the landing as the route split in two directions; another stair to his left and a windowed passage to his right. While the windows were open archways that may have looked out on the street below, it was not the direction he wanted to go in. Not yet.

  Korsten took the stairs, bounding up them, past the occasional doorway marked by lantern and eventually onto an open area which housed more doorways facing one another along a wide course to the opposite side of the space. Small stoops and potted plants nestled in front of the doors suggested residential and Korsten was fleetingly grateful that the majority of the city’s population had chosen to remain indoors lately.

  Looking over the low wall that lined the upper level, Korsten searched the street several stories below for any signs of Merran or the figure. He continued moving forward as he did so, toward another stairway directly across from the one he’d come up. The stillness of the streets made the water rushing through them that much more apparent, a presence all its own and one that drew Korsten’s eye to it more than once. He was forced to leave his fascination with it behind as he descended the stairs. In the corner of his vision, hanging crystals beckoned for his attention, but he resisted the urge to stop and study. He hurried down to a landing which overlooked a separate corridor. Leaning over the railing, he looked in both directions, spotting Merran first as their paths verged on intersecting. Looking again toward the water, he searched more deliberately for the figure. Shadows lay on top of shadows, making it difficult to discern much of anything.