The Blood Wars Trilogy Omnibus: Volumes 1 - 3

by T. A. Miles

  “My name is Rahl,” the elder told them when he’d finished entering their names into his ledger and handed the book back to the guard that appeared to be waiting for it. As the man carried the item away, Rahl continued. “I’m the chief constable of Indhovan, as I’m sure you’ve come to grasp on your own. I have no intention of allowing either of you to see Vaelyx Treir.”

  “May I ask why not?” Korsten said and considered an argument that might alleviate any concerns Rahl had regarding mages potentially transporting a prisoner from his cell. Of course, it would be exceptionally easy, but that was not their intention. “We merely….”

  “Vaelyx Treir,” the elder interrupted, “has escaped this constabulary.”

  “Escaped?” Korsten echoed.

  To which Rahl nodded and said very plainly, “Yes. Escaped. Vanished from his cell without a trace as of last night. He is quite gone and the both of you may leave.”

  Another glance passed between Merran and Korsten before they rose from their seats, Korsten saying, “Have you any idea as to his whereabouts?”

  “An intelligent man in his position would have commandeered a boat and taken to sea.”

  “Do you think he has?”

  Rahl didn’t answer, electing only to fix his gaze to Korsten, not quite as if he suspected they had a hand in Treir’s escape.

  Korsten turned to leave, stopping long enough to ask, “Why did you take down our names if you knew we wouldn’t be visiting with anyone?”

  “On the chance that we might seek to call upon you.”

  “Regarding what? I’m certain you—”

  “Regarding whatever we suspect the two of you may be involved in or privy to.”

  Korsten continued with his own statement. “I’m certain you know that we’re already investigating the reason why you’ve advised Indhovan’s residents to refrain from going out after dark.”

  “We are,” Rahl confirmed and by way of his ensuing silence, refused to say anything more on the subject.

  Korsten and Merran opted not to press the man and respectfully took their leave, escorted by the guard who had brought them in. They said nothing to one another until they were back outside of the constabulary.

  “Vaelyx Treir would by now be some sixty years old,” Merran informed as they proceeded down the steep hill of stone steps that had brought them to the prison fortress.

  “Only slightly older than me,” Korsten observed.

  “And lacking the same resources to defy aging,” Merran pointed out.

  Korsten glanced over at him. “Are you pondering his ability to have escaped? What if he’s aged particularly well?”

  And Merran replied cryptically, “What if he has?”

  Approaching Deitir was tantamount to approaching a wild dog with a muzzle in hand, though with less biting involved or the threat of it. There was considerable bark and growl to the young man, however, as well as backing away and ultimately avoiding conversation. This only confirmed to Vlas that he was just the person he wanted to speak with. Now, how to go about it without offending beyond repair? That was the question of the evening.

  “Cayri,” Vlas began.

  Her eyes came to him easily and then went across the floor to the very person of interest. She was very keen to perception. Too keen sometimes. “No,” she said plainly. “I don’t think so.”

  “And why not?” Vlas asked with a helpless eye roll.

  “Because I don’t think it will help,” she explained drawing his gaze to her now. “You’ve already harassed the man enough for one evening. It appears evident that he doesn’t wish to speak with us.”

  “No, it seems evident that he doesn’t wish to speak with me.”

  “And I presume he associates the two of us.”

  “One of us must speak with him, else follow him.”

  Cayri drew in a breath and let it out. “You’re that certain he’s an agent of the governor?”

  “Absolutely,” Vlas answered.

  Again the drawing in and pushing out of a breath. “All right,” she conceded. “If this doesn’t yield anything we leave the poor man be. Understood?”

  “Absolutely,” Vlas said again, keeping his smile as tucked behind the word as he could.

  Whether or not she detected his expression, Cayri headed determinedly in Deitir’s direction. Vlas felt it safe to allow his smile, which gradually abandoned him while he watched his partner mage veer off course, away from Deitir and the small group he’d been conversing with and toward … the white-haired matron instead.

  Vlas watched, stuck between perturbed and curious while Cayri lightly touched the arm of the elder, which summarily opened up a space for her in the circle of individuals the woman had been speaking with. Introductions and pleasantries ensued.

  “What in the gods’ names is she doing?” Vlas murmured to Zesyl, unconsciously bringing the glass he’d forgotten he had in hand up to his lips. He stopped himself short and looked at the dark liquid, contemplating whether or not to carry through with the motions of drinking. The debate took place at the back of his mind while he observed his colleague and flew from him altogether when a hand came down onto his shoulder.

  Looking to Irslan, assuming the man had offered some pleasantry or another, Vlas nodded. He extended the gesture toward Konlan Ossai with a glance as the man took up a casual stance on the other side of Irslan.

  “Not a terrible show of heads, if anyone’s counting,” Irslan commented, which garnered a nod of agreement from Konlan and which inspired Vlas to look the gathering over again. He supposed it could have been worse.

  Irslan was a very casual fellow. Undoubtedly, it made him easier to get along with, but Vlas hadn’t decided yet if he found it frustrating as well. Cayri would inform him that he was taking it all too seriously if she were aware of such thoughts. And he was always tempted to argue that it wasn’t possible, in this day, at this dire hour to take anything too seriously, let alone everything. Thinking on it, he was surrounded by casual individuals. Perhaps Korsten would agree to trade him Merran for the remainder of their stay in Indhovan. Though, as the thought jokingly crossed his mind, he believed that neither of the two would have it.

  “We’re very grateful that your people have come,” Konlan was saying.

  People?

  “Yes, we appreciate it very much,” Master Ossai continued. There was an air of contemplation to the way he spoke the words.

  “How much does Lord Tahrsel appreciate it?” Vlas wondered aloud.

  “Not a lot,” Konlan answered immediately, and with a marked lack of concern. “But that’s a matter for later.”

  Vlas looked at him.

  Konlan’s expression and tone both sharpened when the look was returned. “War is soon to be upon us. If we leave it in the hands of Governor Tahrsel, Indhovan will be overtaken. I have no intention of allowing it.”

  “It’s difficult to act within a city without proper consent,” Vlas reminded.

  Konlan agreed. “Difficult, but not impossible. Irslan and I are at your disposal.”

  And on that note, he clapped Master Treir on the arm and set off to rejoin others in conversation.

  “He said nothing more.”

  “I’m not certain he needed to.”

  Korsten looked from Vlas to Merran in turn. The former paced a small length of carpet in one of the guest bedrooms Irslan had provided them. The latter was sat on the arm of a deep chair beside the hearth. Korsten was seated within that same chair, legs tucked into the plush compartment with his back against the arm opposite Merran’s perch. The fire was warm at his back, giving him to thoughts of slumber that he would have to stave off at least a little while longer while he and the others shared what information they had collected.

  “What do you mean by that?” Vlas said to Merran.

  Cayri issued a quiet sigh fr
om the foot of the room’s large bed. She blended very neatly with the brown and gold color scheme in the blankets.

  “It seems clear to me,” Merran began, and almost as if he had no intention of expounding, which inspired Korsten to nudge the small of his friend’s back with the toe of his boot. Whether that prompted him or went unnoticed, Merran continued. “Masters Ossai and Treir are distrusting of the current powers in this city to respond to the impending threat effectively. They’ve enlisted us with no small amount of faith.”

  “Have they?” Vlas returned with evident skepticism. “Something feels amiss. I can’t say what exactly.”

  “I agree,” Merran replied simply.

  “Which puts us precisely where we’ve been since arriving,” Vlas said. “None the wiser.”

  Again, Cayri sighed. This time the sound drew Vlas, as she may have intended it to the first time.

  “You haven’t had much to say since leaving Irslan’s gathering,” her partner remarked. “And now you’re going to sigh yourself out of breath before you share whatever it was you learned from that gaggle of women.”

  Korsten’s brow lifted at the words.

  Cayri was unaffected, though there was a certain air of satisfaction and defiance in her tone when she said, “What, you mean Lady Tahrsel?”

  This stopped Vlas in his tracks. “Lady….”

  Cayri gave him a space in which to say more, but Vlas had been struck speechless, at least long enough for Cayri to complete his thoughts for him in the moment. “She’s Governor Tahrsel’s wife, yes.”

  Vlas’ features scrunched up. “What in Hell’s depths was she doing there?”

  Cayri cast her gaze to the ceiling. When she lowered it again, she looked toward the door, speaking her words in a low and careful tone. “She was in attendance with her son.”

  Again Vlas was rendered without words.

  “Her son?” Merran inquired with a frown of interest.

  Cayri returned her attention to them fully, nodding once. “There was a young man present by the name Deitir. He’s her son, though I don’t believe he’s the governor’s natural child.”

  “Scandal is the last thing we’re interested in,” Vlas murmured, resuming his pacing.

  Cayri carried on in spite of his lack of enthusiasm for the information. “Lady Tahrsel didn’t speak of it with any shame or worry. Her greatest concern appeared to be that her husband might learn of her and her son’s whereabouts this evening—more specifically whose company they were in—and order the four of us from the city.”

  “He doesn’t care for us, I’ve been gathering,” Vlas inserted.

  “He doesn’t,” Cayri confirmed. “Deitir is torn between the views of both parents. According to his mother, there have been incidents of an odd nature well before the most recent incidents.”

  Korsten was nodding as she spoke. “Yes, Merran and I found evidence of it in Irslan’s library earlier.”

  “Murders of a more grisly nature,” Merran said. “More in tune with what we’ve come to expect from the Vadryn. The recent incidents are too….”

  “Docile,” Korsten finished, returning Merran’s gaze as his friend looked over his shoulder at him. “Maybe the better word is restrained. It will be many more decades before Haddowyn vacates my mind. What the Vadryn did to their victims was brutal and horrific. I understand that they can be more subtle while trying to blend in and that they can drain their victims slowly—as was happening at Lilende—but there’s something not right about the way they seem to be going about it here. And what Merran and I experienced tonight….”

  Korsten allowed the words to taper. He’d half expected Merran to contradict him at some point, but Merran’s silence and his steady gaze suggested agreement; this entire situation was indeed unusual, even for the Vadryn.

  “What did you experience?” Vlas wanted to know.

  Merran transferred his focus to their colleague. “We encountered two of the Vadryn, embodied.”

  “And?” Vlas pressed with a mildly exasperated look on his young features.

  “The bodies were odd.”

  “The bodies were odd,” Vlas repeated. “What do you mean odd?”

  “They had strange figures, somewhat animal in nature,” Merran continued. “Performing a Release didn’t work.”

  “Didn’t work? How is it that a Release doesn’t work?”

  “Vlas,” Cayri chided. “You’re not helping.”

  “I don’t think there’s any help for it at this point,” Korsten offered. “I still haven’t sorted it out in my mind. I know that I performed the spell accurately. The initial response was precisely as it always is, but then….”

  While Korsten’s memory was replaying the event of the creature rolling within its vessel as the spell was cast, Merran continued where his words had left off. “Then the Vadryn returned to its feet. Another arrived to assist it, its form identical to the first.”

  Korsten would have thought that Vlas would be triumphantly directing them to the fact that he’d warned them as much, but instead their colleague appeared legitimately disturbed by this information.

  “Are they deforming the vessels, I wonder?” Vlas mused aloud. “Their very presence is poison after all.”

  “Yes,” Korsten said, “But we’ve all seen individuals who have willingly given themselves to the Vadryn and not been corrupted physically … not like what Merran and I saw tonight. Bodies afflicted by physical attack become ghouls.”

  “And those aren’t situations of possession, but of poison.”

  “So it has to be a possibility,” Vlas argued. “If they can poison with tooth or claw, then surely they can do far worse injury with their entire form.”

  “Maybe poison isn’t the term for what happens to a body merely scratched or bitten,” Korsten said. “Think of it more as infection … a wound left to fester without attendance, be it a Healing spell or a Seal, or the Vadryn’s will. The body decays because the demon isn’t present to preserve it, or doesn’t care to, depending on the circumstances.”

  Vlas nodded as Korsten spoke, because he knew as well as they all did, but he was grasping. He was perhaps grasping to better understand circumstances he was not regularly a witness to. “What other explanation can there be? Unless the bodies were some form of animal.”

  “None that I’ve ever encountered,” Merran said.

  “None that you’ve ever encountered,” Vlas repeated him again, in a tone that disliked more than doubted.

  And Merran confirmed with a simple, “No.” He tended to get indignant in his own way when overly questioned. Korsten wondered if it was odd that he’d come to find it endearing.

  “There’s something more,” he announced by way of leaving the previous topic, gaining the attention of all three of his fellow mages. “Crystals.”

  Before Vlas or Cayri could openly question what he was referring to, Merran expounded. “Above a moderate number of doorways in the city, including the home of our young victim, Miss Cambir.”

  “And we don’t know what that means yet,” Vlas presumed.

  “Korsten and I had plans to speak with Irslan about it, or his uncle as it turned out.”

  “Unfortunately, Irslan’s uncle was not to be met with,” Korsten said.

  “Why not?” Cayri asked.

  “He’s escaped his imprisonment,” Korsten answered. “The very night Dacia was attacked. That alone is worthy of interest.”

  Vlas stepped toward the bed and leaned against one of its posts, folding his arms across his chest. “All right, so we have a ruling family divided, a host of exceptionally eager activists, more victims than we realized, peculiar Vadryn, unexplained crystals, and a missing rebel.”

  “A lot to negotiate,” Cayri sighed.

  Korsten agreed with a nod, his attention drawn to Merran as his friend rose from the ar
m of their shared chair. “Are we leaving?”

  His partner didn’t answer, but simply went to the door. With his hand on the latch and Korsten gathering himself up to leave, Merran said to their colleagues, “Morenne is coming to this city. The Vadryn are already here. Ensure the governor is ready for it.”

  While Vlas and Cayri exchanged knowing glances, Merran opened the bedroom door and held it while Korsten stepped out into the hall.

  “I’m grateful we’re not the only mages present,” Korsten said.

  “We may be asking Ceth and Ashwin to send more of us before this is finished,” Merran replied, sufficiently adding a doomed note to the evening.

  “You say you went to Constable Rahl?”

  “Well, not to Rahl specifically,” Korsten said, watching Irslan pour himself a late evening glass of wine. “As a matter of course, we wound up in audience with him.”

  Irslan was nodding. “I see.” And then, “Right … right … well, then, it’s no matter.”

  “No?” Korsten had seated himself in one of the library chairs. Merran was loitering somewhere about the room, either returning the ledger he’d borrowed earlier or browsing in search of further informative works.

  “Not at all,” Irslan said, plucking up his glass and one beside it, which he’d also filled. “My uncle was done an injustice by serving any time at all—well, maybe any time beyond a year just to mollify offended parties. Still, that he took his leave of that place … not to sound too rebellious myself, but it’s about damned time. I only thought that Rahl or maybe the governor himself would have come around by now.”

  “Why would you think that?” Korsten inquired, accepting the glass Irslan proffered him when the man came over to join him at the chairs. There were four arranged near to one another, a window behind them. The great length of it was draped, shutting out all but a narrow sliver of night. “That it was an injustice to him, I mean.”

  In response to Korsten’s inquiry, Irslan said, “Why not? My uncle hadn’t harmed anyone. He certainly wasn’t a danger to this city. Rather, he was precisely the opposite.”