The Blood Wars Trilogy Omnibus: Volumes 1 - 3

by T. A. Miles

  “Do you see it?” Merran asked from below, slowing to a halt.

  Korsten started to shake his head, distracted by a sudden pang of malignant warmth—the sort he’d come to associate with the Vadryn—which drew his gaze across the narrow passage. The figure was there on the opposite side, climbing swiftly up the corner of the building and toward a railing opposite Korsten’s. There was no time for spell casting just yet and the proximity was too close for Blast. He would only succeed in hindering all bodies present were he to cast the spell now.

  Merran understood this as well and also forwent spell casting as he ran for the stairs on the opposite side. While the figure was grasping the upper railing and hurling itself onto the landing—performing both actions one after the other—Korsten stepped back from the low barrier in front of him and then ran forward, stepping up onto the railing and launching himself across the narrow gap. His feet found the opposite rail moments before Merran arrived at the landing. They both gave chase, following the figure—the demon, Korsten was certain—down a lengthy, slender passage of arched windows on either side.

  The figure was bolting now, disinterested in confrontation. As it moved through a patchwork of light and shadow, Korsten contemplated the oddness of its gait; not suffering or awkward, but merely peculiar. The legs seemed overlong and bent more like a dog’s legs, or a cat’s … yet it was the size of a man. The arms appeared normal, though strong. The hands perhaps were unnaturally large. It also didn’t appear to be fully clothed, if it was clothed at all. The form seemed only loosely a man’s body, but at the same time it wasn’t an animal’s. The Vadryn had been known to inhabit either or … but something in between….

  Korsten wasn’t able to extend his chain of contemplation any further. The Vadryn abandoned the corridor, leaping onto one of the arched ledges and toward the street with fiercely abrupt movements. Korsten felt particularly driven to the task at hand, as if the escaping figure were vital words on the edge of his lips, threatening to lose themselves forever. He veered toward the nearest window, his foot touching the ledge lightly as he vaulted into the air, heedless of the drop. Merran gave a brief verbal protest that Korsten didn’t fully hear while he concentrated on the hand gestures necessary to perform a Wind spell. This was a theory of his he’d been working on; that he could use the Wind spell to manipulate the air around him to be more than a single directional force … that he could provide enough current and movement of that current to essentially float. It had worked in practice on books and small articles of furniture. He felt a dismal rush of failure as he too quickly pursued the demon toward street level. The initial arrival of the spell may have even hastened the Vadryn’s descent. It wasn’t until he began to slow marginally and drift off a direct path to the ground that Korsten realized the spell might be working at least somewhat in his favor as well. Unfortunately, he helplessly envisioned himself hurled into the rushing canal rather than carried to the street.

  His body met with a loosely solid sensation not long before disaster. The intangible force buffeted him back toward the street and he felt it a few more times on the way downward, seeming to guide him, as if he were being passed from one hand to another toward the ground. That was not his own doing, he knew, and he would thank Merran for what he presumed to be hasty Barriers later.

  The Vadryn reached the street quicker and more directly, and perhaps with less sensation of bruising than Korsten, who made a gifts-granted graceful tumble onto the cobblestones not long after the demon hit squarely on all fours. In the moonlight Korsten could see more clearly now that their quarry was not a man, but decidedly only manlike. The face held sparse features and small, almost non-existent ears. The jaw was oddly strong, juxtaposed against the subtlety of the rest of its bald head. It looked like an unfinished sculpture. Its skin was even the color of clay blended with deeper red hues.

  Please, gods, don’t let them have begun to inhabit inanimate objects.

  The thought trailed Korsten’s movement as he pursued the once again running Vadryn. Presumably Merran was finding his own way to street level and one that was assuredly better thought out than Korsten’s had been.

  The Vadryn loped across cobblestones, darting in and out of shadow. It made small looks over its shoulder that had Korsten wondering if it wanted to be followed, or if it was overly concerned about the fact that it had engaged a pursuit. He decided to test its behavior, taking a moment when the demon was focused on its course to alter his own. He ran toward the wall that lined the canal. With a quick planting of his foot into one of the oval portals, he gave himself enough height to reach the top of the wall and quickly lofted himself up onto it. He held himself low on the wide rim, his legs tucked under him and his hands grasping the edges to either side. Water raced by to his right, ridges of white crashing over one another beneath moon and lamplight several feet below. He could feel the wetness of the water as its violent rush created a thick mist above it. He couldn’t recall a time when he’d been particularly nervous over heights or water, though there had been plenty accounts in the last thirty years when he’d panicked exquisitely over a demon. His deep fear of them was perhaps not quite so deep anymore, though he still felt a chill to watch this creature, which moved half draped in the shadow of the wall, still casting glances behind it. It was not stopping, so Korsten rose and moved quickly along the wall. He came to a sudden halt and crouched down once again when the Vadryn performed a hasty turn around. The reason why became apparent when a brilliant flash of light doused the street and wall like a sudden crash of water, rinsing back the shadows for a lingering few seconds during which Korsten averted his eyes enough to avoid being blinded. Blast, performed properly, was not as burdensome on the caster, which provided a small window in which to follow up with another spell or whatever further action was required. Merran must have Reached to a point that put himself in the demon’s path. As a result, the beast’s path was hastily altered.

  With ease, the oddly proportioned demon hurled itself onto the wall. It crouched at the top, matching a gargoyle’s stoicism for a fleeting instant before its gleaming eyes located Korsten. Apparently, the time for confrontation had come; the beast was coming across the wall at a pace that didn’t allow for fear of heights or water.

  Korsten rose and threw himself backward in one motion, flipping his body over. His hands met the wall briefly as he carted his legs above him and swiftly returned his feet to the top of the wall. He held his perch only briefly and repeated the backflip twice while the demon took heavy swings at him with its large hands open to grab or claw; Korsten couldn’t determine which while he concentrated on keeping himself out of reach.

  Merran cast a Bind spell from below, holding the demon in place, proving that the body was in fact a physical form and subject to physical influences. Korsten took the moment his friend provided them and planted his feet, carefully going through the motions required with his hands to perform a Release. The air rippled and surged between his hands and the held demon, which Merran unbound in that moment. The force of the spell knocked the body back. Korsten prepared himself for the emergence of the corrupted spirit within it, summoning the silver material embedded within his hand and forming a long, narrow blade with a simple grip. Below, Merran had drawn his own sword.

  The Vadryn’s vacated body tumbled awkwardly along the top of the wall several paces and began to slide off in the direction of the water. Korsten was less interested in where it should end up and searched the night air and the surface of the wall for the smoky traces of a disembodied demon. His eyes abandoned the search and went back to the demon’s vessel when it caught itself with a fierce grip on the edge of the wall and swung itself back up.

  Korsten opened his mouth to protest what he was seeing, but his breath wedged itself between the forming and the speaking of the words, losing them to the moment. The moment itself was lost when a force abruptly grabbed hold of Korsten at the shoulder and dragged him aggressively
toward the water. He quickly drew his blade back into his hand as he fell, catching a glimpse of a form identical to the Vadryn who had defied Release hoisting itself onto the wall with overlong arms. Korsten managed to grip one of the wall’s open carvings on his way down, the skin on the underside of his fingers objecting to the rough edging while his shoulder and elbow pulled in unison. He was unable to see Merran. However, the beasts didn’t seem interested in attacking either of them now. The second loped along the wall to join the first, Korsten’s gaze following until a hand set down on his own. He knew by touch that it was Merran’s and looked to see evidence of the other mage’s black coat through the wall’s open space above him.

  “Is there any way to climb up on that side?” Merran asked through the opening, arranging his grip around Korsten’s wrist.

  Korsten looked along the smooth, wet wall and down toward the water, bracing one foot against the stone in the process. His view was primarily of water and the constructed barriers that kept it in place and channeling toward the sea. While he studied his inside perspective of the canal, he said to Merran, “There’s nothing to climb on.” He spoke loudly enough that his voice would be audible above the sound of the water, letting his voice drop in range somewhat while he considered aloud the possibility of a spell. “I could chance Wind again. Though … maybe I’d better not, considering the activity already in the air with thanks to the water and its confines.”

  Merran knew him well enough to distrust his muttering, or his silence, whichever it may have been to Merran with the wall between them and the water crashing over itself below. “Korsten,” he said firmly.

  “Maybe you ought to climb up and throw down your coat!” Korsten called to his friend, lifting his face to project his voice.

  Merran agreed by squeezing Korsten’s wrist and withdrawing his hand. Korsten maintained his braced position on the wall, reaffirming his grip on the stone. The spaces weren’t far from one another. Merran would be able to use one of them for a foothold, same as Korsten had and he was easily strong enough to pull himself on to the top of the wall. As long as the Vadryn didn’t return and shove Merran into the canal, their current predicament would shortly be behind them and they could concentrate on where the Vadryn may have gone. More importantly, Korsten wanted to know just how many of them were in the city. In all their experience combined—Merran’s adding considerably more years to the pool than Korsten’s—the Vadryn had remained true to their territorial nature, scarcely tolerating one another within a close proximity. Oftentimes the weaker of the demons would try evading the stronger one’s notice until the inevitable confrontation that would result in the weaker Vadryn’s banishment from the area or its destruction at the hands of one of its own. Korsten presumed that his and Merran’s intercession in this situation would instill some wariness in the remaining demon, but that it would ultimately try to get ahead of them in the chase and root itself within a victim, as the other had tried to do. The Vadryn’s greed and stubbornness would keep it within the city, perhaps not easily hunted but certainly better found than if it had taken to the wilderness. It was always easier to find them where there were people … souls to take and to affect with their very presence.

  What Korsten had not anticipated, in spite of Vlas’ warning that the Vadryn were becoming more deliberate agents to Morenne, was a third demon assisting the second rather than inciting a conflict. Their peculiar forms were unexpected as well.

  While he pondered the current state of affairs, Korsten let his gaze wander the canal once again, looking toward the waterfall. The cliff hovering over Indhovan disgorged the water from a wide point high along the face. The river flowing toward the sea from deeper inland was brought to submission by a dam that really was a feat of architecture in Edrinor. So was all of Indhovan, for that matter. Korsten visually followed the great sheaves of water plunging toward the massive canal, his eyes catching on a line of earth where the natural wall met the manmade one. There were several natural shelves there, and a….

  Korsten narrowed his eyes as he focused on the exposed space of the cliff, descrying what appeared to be an opening … a cave?

  A swath of black moved through the corner of his vision. He looked to see Merran’s coat slapping the wall just above him. The mage it belonged to was perched on top of the wall, one hand braced against the rim.

  “Grab hold of it,” Merran instructed needlessly—Korsten was already reaching for it with his free hand, even as his gaze stuck on the waterfall and the rock face behind it.

  Taking a fistful of the dark fabric, Korsten raised his other hand up to do the same, bringing his previously hanging foot up to occupy the opening in the wall as he pushed himself toward the top, assisted by Merran’s pulling. When Korsten was within reach, Merran helped guide him up the rest of the way and Korsten seated himself on the wall, one leg draping it while he folded the other in the space between himself and his friend, which was also occupied by Merran’s coat.

  The darker mage knelt free of his heaviest physical layer, a close-fitting black shirt and equally dark trousers providing a portrait of a more casual Merran, one rarely observed. While Korsten had seen his colleague even further dressed down, the rare appearance did still earn Merran a second glance and a brief moment stolen to admire his strong-boned features before the current situation summoned him back to it.

  Korsten nodded toward the waterfall. “There’s a cave.” While Merran looked for it, Korsten added, “It’s situated low, adjacent to the wall on this side of the canal.”

  “I see it,” Merran said. “And something more.”

  “Such as what?” Korsten asked, collecting his slightly damp hair and tying it up in a knot at the back of his head.

  “Crystals.”

  The word brought Korsten’s gaze back to the cave opening. There was a glistening around it, but he hadn’t given it any notice, presuming it was the light reflecting on the water from the moon or Indhovan’s lanterns, or both. But Merran was right. There was a familiar pattern to be discerned amid the glow.

  “What do they mean?” Korsten wondered aloud.

  He and Merran looked at each other. Their silence was an agreement that they were going to find out.

  The decision was made to return to Irslan’s home before investigating the cave. The night had barely been spent by their standards. Apparently that sentiment was shared by their host, who was reported by his porter to be out when Korsten and Merran arrived. Wariness of the Vadryn may have kept Irslan from returning until morning under normal circumstances, however he had been accompanied by two mages, so it seemed unlikely that he would fail to return home before dawn. That considered, Korsten doubted that the man or his escorts anticipated the number of demons about … not even Vlas. Korsten found himself wondering if it were possible that more were lurking within the city.

  That thought and Merran accompanied him to Irslan’s library. The porter, Stacen, was good enough to escort them. The slim man with delicate precision to his every movement lingered in the doorway afterward.

  “Is there anything I can get for either of you?” he asked.

  Korsten took his eyes from the man when he realized he’d been studying him, setting his gaze on the shelves surrounding them instead. “No, thank you.”

  Merran seemed to have a destination in mind and had already gone to one of the staircases. In the corner of Korsten’s view, Stacen was visibly observing Merran’s ascent. A careful nod and a gentle pulling closed of the door eventually answered Korsten’s verbal reply. While the behavior wasn’t horrendously odd, it was distinct enough for Korsten to mark it in his mind. On the chance that recent events were lending him to paranoia, he would better consider Stacen later. In the meantime, there was research to be done and a library for Korsten to orient himself with.

  Merran was on the second level, browsing shelves as he walked. Korsten went to the table, where books presumably of recent int
erest were stacked. Slipping a limp curl behind his ear, he lifted the cover of the top book, eyeing its table of contents. It quickly became evident by the section titles that the book regarded the war, their century long feud with their nearest neighbors to the north. Korsten had been born into it. When a child, he’d scarcely been aware of it. But Cenily was even further southeast than Indhovan, too distant from the borders for the subject to invade his young perspective. A more personal war would arise for Korsten first, one which had landed him north, directly on the border where tension was higher than he’d ever realized. For some reason, though Haddowyn had then lain directly on the verge of annexation by the enemy, Korsten failed to feel threatened in his life there. He had failed to sense the fear others of Edrinor felt regularly; that Edrinor would lose the war and be overtaken by Morenne. They feared death and subjugation. They feared razing and destruction … and they feared their souls being harvested under the drowning shadow of a dark alliance. That fear was one that some may not have been able to comprehend or label, but it was there. Whether an individual believed in the Vadryn or not, they could sense their presence. Sadly it was a sensation often only noticed on reflection. Korsten would never have realized on his own just how deep a rot he’d been sinking into. The arms that ushered him down were deceptive, though; a sweet enough toxin to have him reject the hand that would pull him forth from ruin. Renmyr had never hidden his cruelty, but had a deft way at charming with it. He had administered such an effective poison with his lies that Korsten still, to this very day and hour, could find himself struggling to believe how events had transpired in Haddowyn. There were still passages within his mind that would lead him physically back to Renmyr if he allowed himself. It made him feel ashamed, for he certainly knew far better now than he did then … of the war, of Morenne, of the Vadryn … and of Renmyr.