by T. A. Miles
“According to Lord Ceth, Vaelyx had lost faith in both sides. Do you think it possible his agenda shifted?”
“No, I don’t,” Irslan answered easily. “And I’ll tell you why.”
Korsten invited him to please do so with his silence.
Irslan smiled at him while he sat down in the nearest chair, not condescendingly, but there was something almost cunning about the look. “My uncle’s essential goal was quite simply to end the war.”
The caustic side of Korsten wanted to ask ‘In whose favor?’, but he withheld the remark, his eyes staying with Irslan, though performing a visual search for Merran also crossed his mind in that moment. “Master Treir,” he did eventually manage to say. “When was the last time you’d spoken with your uncle?”
As Irslan was settling back his reply delayed itself. “I was barely in my twenties when he was charged with conspiracy. My father had been missing to war since I was a mere lad.”
“He became as a father to you,” Korsten deduced, memories of his own uncle passing across his memory. He was not ignorant to the bond that could form in the absence of one’s father.
Irslan nodded, drinking from his glass and then setting it aside on the stand between their chairs. An intake of air and a pause preceded his next words. “I haven’t spoken with Vaelyx for several months at least and I’m sorry to say that I don’t know where he is.”
Korsten watched the man speaking. More than that, he felt the steadiness of the man’s heart, that he was speaking truth. Better than the steadiness to indicate such things was the shift from the imbibing warmth of drinking into a brief chill of uncertainty. He feared for his uncle. Whether it was fear over his disappearance or fear of some guilt hanging over Vaelyx, it was clear in the sensations that Korsten received that Irslan maintained no sense of guilt for himself nor did he emanate an air of guile.
“Merran and I are going to find your uncle,” Korsten said to him.
Irslan showed his appreciation and more of his uncertainty in a taut smile. “You were looking for him at the constabulary tonight,” he said, by way of Korsten’s incidental invitation. “May I ask why?”
And that was when Merran showed himself, and that he was not far from the chairs or from giving their conversation his full attention in spite of his wandering. He tossed Vaelyx’s ledger onto the table, managing to miss Irslan’s glass. Korsten was grateful that he was still holding onto his own, regardless of the unconscious spells set onto their clothing that prevented them from easily soiling.
“This was found on a small desk on the second floor of this library,” Merran announced. “There’d been no attempt to conceal it, though its placement suggested that it may have been lately read. I believe you know what’s within it. Perhaps you’ve forgotten.”
Irslan reached for the narrow book while Merran was speaking in the less charitable fashion he sometimes did when working. Their host gave his own statement as he glanced over the non-descript cover. “My uncle kept a number of small journals. For some reason he preferred to store his thoughts and observations in lighter portions. He also did not catalogue them, but shelved them wheresoever his hand felt the itch to do so. He was a tad eccentric, I suppose you could say. Cataloging the contents of this room has been a project of mine. An ongoing one.”
Korsten considered the lack of organization currently surrounding him and felt an internal shudder, half of it owed to dismay, the rest excitement over the possibility of discovery. The library at Vassenleigh was impeccably ordered—once one understood its system—else he might have felt compelled to surrender himself and who could say how many of his extended years to cataloging himself.
“I actually haven’t viewed this one yet….” Irslan murmured. “Not as far as I recall.”
Korsten and Merran looked at one another in the same moment Irslan lifted his gaze to them.
“The first I’d heard of potentially demonic slayings were when I contacted Lord Ceth.”
While Irslan spoke, Merran was speaking volumes to Korsten in his silence. His friend was already gone in spirit, back to the streets of Indhovan in search of demons and now a man as well.
Before Merran could take his leave physically as well, Korsten returned his attention to Irslan. Setting down the glass in his hand, which Irslan took some unexpected interest in—the man almost appeared disappointed—he asked, “What do you know of crystals?”
Irslan seemed a bit taken aback. His gaze abandoned Korsten’s full glass and a curious expression stacked gradually upon his features. “Crystals?”
Never one for subtlety, Merran said, “Yes. Of the kind that hang above entryways throughout this city.”
Korsten was about to describe them further when their host took in a draw of air and said, “Ah … those crystals.” A new smile formed. “Indhovan is home to activists and purists.”
“Purists?”
While Korsten openly inquired, Merran waited with a frown of interest for Irslan to continue.
“There are those in Edrinor who believe that progress is a worse bane upon Edrinor than Morenne and the Vadryn combined,” Irslan explained. “They objected to the manmade waterways. They objected to the city’s expansion over the years. They object to the gathering of forward-thinking minds we have here—men and women collecting ideas on how to improve the city and our lifestyle within it. They object quite a lot.”
While Korsten and Merran exchanged a glance Irslan sighed, taking up his glass again.
“They’re not an overly aggressive lot, but they convene regularly,” Irslan added. “They’re quite devoted to the gods and I imagine they spend a good share of their gatherings praying for the future of Edrinor and perhaps that the thinkers in this city might pay them the service of expiring. It’s their religion which has them hang the crystals, identifying themselves to one another. The gods, of course, are icons of nature and only the worst blasphemer is arrogant enough to presume to control what is the realm and responsibility of gods.”
Korsten was a bit caught up in and confused by the very thick layer of sarcasm their host used and had to have his attention pried from both it and its bearer. He was in the process of doing so when Merran assisted with a single word.
“Witches.”
Korsten’s gaze went from Irslan to Merran, and back again as their host raised his glass to Merran’s statement. The smile on his lips was particularly dry.
“Why were we never informed of their presence before?” Merran asked.
Irslan shrugged. “They’re a harmless lot, even if opinionated.”
Merran’s expression argued that they should have been told, regardless, but he didn’t press it verbally.
“Thank you, Irslan, for sharing what you know with us,” Korsten said as he rose to his feet. “In words both spoken and written.”
As the library was referenced a look of pride came to Irslan’s face. “I say again, both myself and my library are at your disposal.”
Korsten thanked him once more and walked with Merran to the door.
“Do you think that he’s hiding anything?” The question came along the ascent from Irslan’s library to the guest rooms. When Korsten asked it, Merran returned a question of his own.
“Did he feel as if he was hiding anything?”
“No,” Korsten was able to answer with certainty. “No, he didn’t.”
Merran accepted that in silence. At the base of the steps to the third floor and their distant room, he said, “I’d like to talk to Ceth about what we’ve learned.”
“About the presence of witches,” Korsten clarified for his own benefit.
“Yes.”
“And that would require a Reach. A rather long one.” Korsten followed his friend up the stairs, his pace lagging deliberately. “Don’t you think we ought to rest first?”
“You’re not eager to discuss the situation wit
h Ashwin?”
“Well, I am, yes, but it’s a bit of an extended Reach and I determined to reserve that for urgent circumstances, which this is not.”
Merran stopped at the landing and looked back at him.
Korsten drew himself to a halt on the step below his colleague. “It’s not, is it?”
The question seemed to prompt Merran to contemplate the situation further. Korsten watched him do so, considering the mentioning of Ashwin after the fact because now that there was a silence between them, he thought he detected what Merran had spoken without words. Silently, he continued to say things Korsten had interrupted months ago by now. He’d intentionally let himself stop considering the days and the hours, time spending itself without laying a single tax upon him. Or was it taxing both of them? Though they seemed to have all of time to sort life through, did they really? Was a sliver of the many years spent since Haddowyn too much time to take to put his relationships into perspective? Was he excusing himself, avoiding making choices because he didn’t want to? He didn’t want to reject Ashwin or Merran, and worst of all he didn’t want to abandon Renmyr. He had no hope of returning to what they knew in Haddowyn—he understood that by now—but he couldn’t simply leave Renmyr to this demon and to whatever fate it had planned for him when it had fulfilled its agenda. He had promised to free Renmyr and he fully intended to, gods allowing. At times he felt as if he would pursue that task even if the gods forbade it. And until then … until he’d closed that chapter of his life, he couldn’t commit himself fully to another.
He didn’t feel that he was asking Merran to wait, but of course he was. Of course, Merran would wait without asking, so perhaps the responsible thing to do would be to release him. They never spoke openly of these things, however, and there was the possibility that he was reading too deeply into their situation now. Perhaps Merran was better adjusted to their very informal arrangement than Korsten gave him credit for being. That would make Korsten the paranoid one and that was as typical as the sunrise was inexorable.
“You’re right,” Merran finally said.
Of course, Korsten was well aware how right he was in regards to his own emotional instability and of course, that wasn’t what his friend was referring to. “We’re resting, then?”
Merran nodded with resignation borrowed from his personal reserve; if there was a spell of wakefulness he would no doubt cast it on himself as part of his daily regimen. “We’ll return to the Seminary come morning. I want to seek counsel regarding these witches, and Vaelyx Treir.”
“All right,” Korsten agreed and readied himself emotionally for what the morrow would bring. It had been months since he’d seen Ashwin last—in any extended capacity anyway. He would be deceiving himself to think that he didn’t miss him.
They spent the night in separate beds, Korsten dreaming about things that went unremembered come dawn. The dream he’d had the previous morning, however, remained fresh in his mind. He lay awake wondering about the presence he’d felt in his subconscious then for the better part of an hour before he heard Merran begin to wake. The sun was barely risen and their low-ceilinged room sat tucked in shadows that glowed like embers along the edges as sunlight worked through the gaps between the drapes. Korsten gave Merran a few moments to dress himself before rising to do the same in silence. Simple layers of white found their place again over pale skin. His memory briefly glimpsed the markings that had covered every inch of that skin upon Emergence. Like a hound alerted to a familiar scent, his mind began tracking the events that had led to that moment, one of the single most unusual and frightening moments of his life. That moment had been a doorway, thrust open unexpectedly and violently. He’d passed through, guided primarily by Merran.
Korsten’s gaze traveled toward his friend and colleague while his feet made a path to the window. He bent over and pushed open the drapes, looking out at the streets of Indhovan. He didn’t feel as if they should be leaving it, even for a moment. Performing a Reach as distant as Vassenleigh would require a good deal of effort, though for some reason Korsten found it less taxing to target individuals rather than locations. He could bring them to Ashwin easily enough, but there was no one with whom he felt a strong enough connection to in Indhovan to bring them as easily back. Not unless….
Dropping the curtains back in place, Korsten looked over at Merran, who was sat upon the end of his bed. He may have been sat there to put his boots on, but he appeared to be brooding now. Or maybe he wasn’t. Either way, Korsten would have his attention with his next words.
“It may be easier if you stay,” he said to Merran, and watched the other mage frown. Before debate could begin, Korsten added, “It may save us considerable time as well.”
Without looking up at him, Merran asked, “How do you mean?”
“There’s no reason for both of us to speak to Ceth and Ashwin. I could easily Reach to Ashwin directly and in the time I’m there, you could be continuing on with the investigation here.”
“I wanted to know how we should regard the witches before we came across them more directly,” Merran said in valid argument.
“Yes, but the Vadryn still have to be found, regardless,” Korsten reminded, which drew a nod of agreement from Merran as it was also valid. As it occurred to him, he said, “Perhaps I should return with Vlas or Cayri. Whatever information or instruction we receive will be relevant to them and their work as well.”
“That’s true,” Merran agreed. Finally, he gave his blue gaze to Korsten. “It’s important that you mention the earlier incidents Vaelyx documented. Ashwin should know that the circumstances here are not as new as we originally believed, nor as confined to Morenne’s current strategy as Vlas would like it.”
“As he would like it?” Korsten waited for Merran to stand and followed him to the door. “I’m beginning to believe that he likes very little and has hope for even less.”
“I believe that he enjoys being a pessimist.”
“Odd thing to enjoy,” Korsten murmured.
The subject ended at that and silence carried them to the floor below their virtual attic space. They greeted Stacen in the hall and Korsten found himself once again observing the man for an extended moment. There was something about him that eluded Korsten. It seemed similar to his inability to describe Ersana Cambir, but at the same time it was different. Maybe it was that he was nothing at all like any of the servants Korsten or his family had ever had. The man was polite and kept to himself, yes, but he seemed a misfit somehow. He didn’t seem old enough or young enough to be assigned to a house as he was. Of course, that seemed absurd once Korsten thought about it. There were plenty of men in service to households who were neither very young nor very old. Many of them had made a career of it from a young age, growing from one set of tasks to another until, like Donnel, they supervised a staff. Stacen didn’t seem to have a staff beneath him, however. From what Korsten could tell he tended to everything that went on within the house itself. Granted, Irslan was only one person, but so had Korsten been and Irslan’s house was comparable in size to the one Korsten had inherited in Haddowyn, if not larger. It was larger, Korsten decided, considering the library and the width of the hall he and Merran currently traversed. And now he was very curious about a staff of one man.
“What do you make of Stacen?” Korsten decided to ask, which inspired Merran to look over his shoulder, then further down the passage, as if to locate the man in question, though he had already passed from view.
“I’ve yet to form an opinion,” Merran said, and Korsten was glad that he wasn’t the only one of them considering Irslan’s servant. Granted, Merran was quick to assess the people he came into contact with. He was observant as Korsten felt he would never be himself. Merran said next, “I’ve wondered if it would be prying to ask Irslan of him.”
“Yes, it would, but when has that inspired you to hesitate?”
Merran gave him the merest smil
e for the jab. Korsten smiled back at him, or more at the back of him as they arrived at one of the other guest bedrooms. Merran announced their arrival with a knock that was promptly answered by Vlas.
The blond looked at each of them, then just past them, undoubtedly for Cayri. After sparse greeting, their colleague said, “We’ve had word sent to the governor’s wife to arrange a meeting with Cayri, whom she seems to have taken reasonably well to. As Cayri’s of the opinion that I inspire open hostility, I’ll be off to Master Ossai’s in the meantime. What have the two of you planned?”
“To join you,” Merran said, managing to catch Vlas off guard, judging by his expression. “Korsten intends to return to the Seminary.”
Their fellow frowned. “ Long Reaches are better saved.”
“Korsten finds it a less demanding task than most of us,” Merran replied, which earned a questioning if not dubious glance from Vlas.
“It’s resolved dilemma in the past,” Korsten offered.
And Merran mumbled, “It’s also caused some.”
Electing to ignore the remark, Korsten continued to explain their intentions to Vlas. “We considered that one of you might like to join me, but as both of you have meetings planned, it seems I’ll be returning alone. I’ll be as quick as possible. Is there anything you and Cayri would like me to share with Ceth or Ashwin?”
“Beyond what information was shared last night, no.” Vlas shook his head, looking past Korsten and Merran once again as Cayri arrived in the hall behind them. “Any word in return?”
“Lady Tahrsel agreed to meet with me this evening,” Cayri announced.
“Ah, well then you have time to accompany Korsten,” Vlas said.
“Where to?” she asked, looking from one of them to the other.
“To a meeting with our mentors,” Korsten replied and held his hand out to Cayri, who took it willingly.
“We’ll see you soon,” Vlas said to both of them.
“This way.” Cayri directed Korsten toward the neighboring room.
