by T. A. Miles
At the door, Korsten looked toward Merran, who was looking back at him. Their gazes broke from one another as each went with a colleague to work separate of one another. While they often branched off to accomplish separate tasks within an assignment, returning to the Seminary felt further than Korsten could appreciate just now. He reminded himself that there had been many a time when Merran had departed alone from the Seminary before Korsten had arrived at Adept status. He reminded himself that he hadn’t appreciated those times either.
The six pillars of the Council Chamber stood like lonely trees; boles stripped of their limbs and left standing in a decimated wasteland. It was the image that Ashwin continued to envision, layering itself over the innermost sanctum of the Seminary as stubbornly as the Vadryn refused to be extinguished from the land they were ravaging. Reports from what contacts remained loyal to Vassenleigh grew increasingly more grim. Sarily was on the verge of lost, one more city of too many others.
“This year marks a century of war between Edrinor and Morenne.”
Ashwin felt the weight of Jeselle’s words. Those words could have been delivered by any one of the twelve superiors present and been as heavy. They all knew what Edrinor faced. It could almost be said that no one knew more intimately, but it was actually those outside of the Seminary, those who had already been conquered, who felt it deeper than any of them.
“We’ve let too many fall,” Ashwin said and though he said it quietly, his voice carried easily in the acoustics of the hall.
“More will fall before this ends,” came another quiet voice, one similar in register and quality to his own as it belonged to his twin.
Ashwin could feel Eisleth’s dark eyes on him in the corner of his vision and eventually turned his head to meet his brother’s gaze. By appearances they were as light and shadow—Eisleth black-haired and black-robed while Ashwin wore layers of white and had hair blond enough to nearly match the garments. There was color in Ashwin’s eyes, however; the green of Empathy, deep and perhaps taking in too much. Eisleth was more ascetic and critical, a trait aptly serving him as one who understood death as an element. Jeselle had chosen black as one of her colors and she and Ashwin shared white as well. It rendered her a valuable mediator between brothers in some matters. It helped that she shared in their ancientness. On the Council of Superiors, the three of them were the eldest, followed closely by two others. The remaining seven were comparatively very young still, but experienced enough to assist them in guiding the even younger mages under their collective charge.
“Lilende held out,” Ceth said, drawing Ashwin back to the conversation at hand. “And it did so with our assistance. South Meadows has been holding its own for the last several years, again with our assistance. Haddowyn fell. We were scarcely present. Sarily may fall and again, we’re barely there.”
Ashwin understood the other mage’s point before it was spoken. Mages needed a greater presence in all of Edrinor. Easier considered than executed. Ashwin knew that Ceth understood that and elected not to interrupt him.
“Our contacts in Vynndoran are virtually nonexistent,” the Mage-Superior wearing prominent shades of blue continued. “We’ve barely a toehold in Indhovan. We stand to lose the entire coast within a decade if not sooner. My fellow mages … what are we doing?”
“What are we not doing, you mean, Ceth,” Ashwin said, not impatiently. The other’s brown eyes met his gaze with patience returned. He was weary and understandably so. They all were. After so many centuries of life and of appointment as protectors of magic and the life it affected, they were all battle worn. The expansion of the Seminary’s reach and of its members was meant to alleviate some of the weight. The drastic turn their personal war with the Vadryn had taken a century ago had more than effectively dashed their efforts and obscured their vision of Edrinor’s future.
“The borders are occupying nearly all of our resources,” a woman in articulately cut robes of green said. Her light brown hair fell in a collection of braids and coils down to the floor. Her form seemed fragile, but her presence was strong and steady. She had come to the Council recently, selected and ascended in the absence of none other than Korsten’s predecessor. It was still a long while ago by his student’s standards, and why that should occur to him just at that moment was puzzling … or it was before a certain head of red hair appeared in the corner of his vision. He couldn’t help but to smile just a little at the much younger man’s timing. His colleagues offered mixed reactions to the sudden arrival of not one, but two Adepts. They were all aware of Korsten’s unusual skill at isolating individuals with the Reach spell. Perhaps they would have to work at incorporating his awareness of the individual with awareness of their location, and perhaps their company as well.
The redhead appeared only mildly sheepish about having interrupted a Council meeting, but as he had their attention, he proceeded. The urgency in his tone dispelled any humor the moment at first presented. “There’s more to Indhovan’s situation than we realized,” he said to all of them. Beside him, Cayri nodded. And then Korsten said, “I apologize for our interruption.”
“It’s no matter,” Ashwin told him. “In fact, you’ve come at an opportune moment. We were just discussing Edrinor’s current state.”
“We welcome your news,” Ceth inserted. Clearly, he was eager to be brought current on the matter of Indhovan. He had labored decades to establish what foothold they had along the coast, which seemed to be drifting further and further from their old systems and beliefs and into a future even more uncertain than the inland regions.
With a single nod, Korsten stepped forward, bringing Cayri with him. “Merran and I have confirmed that there are Vadryn present in the city. We spared a young girl from possession and eliminated the demon, but there are more.”
Korsten hesitated and Ashwin felt the transition in his expression from interest to concern. It was customary and often a wise tactic to travel conventionally, so they had been gone for many days and probably arrived at and settled within their city of assignment for only several hours. That they had located a demon and responded to it so immediately was no surprise, but that they had resolved one and discovered more in such a short time was troubling, alluding to a greater presence, either in number or behavior.
“They’re different,” Korsten said, confirming both concerns. Quickly afterward, he reiterated. “They’re behaving differently.”
“How do you mean differently?” Jeselle asked him.
Korsten looked at her. “Release failed.”
“Failed?”
Her incredulity was matched by every other elder in her presence with the exception of one, whose unsurprised silence was noted but not dwelled on. Very little regarding the Vadryn alarmed Eisleth. He’d come to expect what his peers spent much of their time hoping against.
“The vessel was peculiar,” Korsten explained. “Seeming neither man nor animal.”
Ashwin looked to Eisleth now, whose stoic features betrayed none of the interest Ashwin knew his brother was feeling. Eisleth had long warned them that the Vadryn would adapt. It was in their nature to survive. Ashwin never doubted him, but there always seemed to be a matter more pressing to be considered and dealt with.
“Also,” Korsten continued, drawing attention back to him. “There are rogue mages present. Witches. Merran and I have seen evidence of an organized coven and our host in Indhovan has confirmed their presence.”
Ashwin felt something inside of him sink and looked to the source of the dismay, making eye contact with Ceth. He understood. The ground beneath their feet had just become even more fragile. Their steps could not be too cautious, yet they could not stand idle. They had to act, and they had to act soon.
“This city is at a crossroads.” Konlan Ossai leaned against the windowsill in his study, hands braced on the varnished wooden ledge to either side of him. The window was deep enough for the shelf to hold a row of book
s, which were held up by a statuette of a woman with a fishtail. She was curled at the waist, her dainty hands pressed against the face of the end book, working along with the heavy base of the statue to hold the row upright. Vlas studied the curious piece incidentally while he listened to Ossai’s accented words. He still wasn’t able to place the articulation and he decided not to distract himself with it while the man expounded on his previous statement. “Advancement lays in one direction, archaism in the other. Off in the distance war rages like a faraway storm. We watch the lightning shooting down to the earth in menacing chains, but we barely hear the rumble of thunder and the wind is still a mere breeze … a whisper of threat not yet substantiated. Will it pass around us or will it fade before it reaches us? Will it hit us dead on? These are the questions that pass through our minds here.”
“In the meantime you do nothing,” Merran said bluntly.
Konlan didn’t seem to take the words for accusation or offense and answered as if it were, in fact, friendly criticism. “Not nothing, my friend. We’re doing something.” The man casually wagged a finger at Merran while he spoke. Then he gestured with that same hand to the window behind him, at the city. “We’re moving forward. By the time war reaches us it will be as pups nipping at our heels.”
“But the war is already here,” Vlas reminded. “In the form of the Vadryn.”
“Storm crows,” Konlan dismissed with a wave of his hand. “You and your colleagues shoot them from the sky with your magic as your arrows….”
“It’s not as simple as that,” Merran inserted.
Konlan’s mouth tightened and he folded both arms across his chest, nodding in the way of someone who really just wanted to be agreed with, but knew that such accommodation was unlikely. “It was our hope that it would be as simple as that. We don’t discount the severity of the presence of murderous demons and we don’t disbelieve in their existence, any more than we disbelieve in you mages. That may seem a contradiction; that we’re so interested in advancement and yet we’re still willing to harbor archaic beliefs, but we understand that the world is a system and that the past carries forward with people … and with civilization. The Seminary is an advocate for civilization, we believe. Our resident coven of purist witches would have us standing idle in the past, mired down in stagnation.”
“Two extremes at war with each other,” Vlas summarized blandly, feeling particularly disinterested in Indhovan’s civil disputes. “And where does the governor stand?”
“The governor would wash his hands of all of this if he could. He would address the Morennish army as men only, disclaim the possibility of demons still in this world, and if he could have it his way he would fortify this city against attack; put a wall between Indhovan and the west, and look to the sea.”
“Morenne would tear such a wall down,” Vlas assured the man. “They’re driven with a madness that can only be inspired by demons. It’s inspired conquest in them and they won’t be satisfied until they’ve accomplished it, absolutely.”
“Oh, I don’t doubt that, Mage Vlas,” Konlan said with a glint of emphasis in his eyes. “I don’t doubt that at all. It’s why we’re willing to work with you against Tahrsel’s wishes and without his knowledge.”
“We would prefer it if he knew,” Merran said and Vlas nodded in support of the statement.
Konlan frowned, shaking his head. “His knowledge may lead to arrests and banishment from the city. It would do you no good.”
“It does Edrinor no good for its people to be operating against one another,” Vlas told the man. “Separated by secrets, conspiracies, stubbornness, and paranoia.”
The words drew Konlan’s mottled gaze to him again. Now he just looked like someone who plainly wanted to be agreed with or left alone and he would prefer it if Vlas particularly did the leaving. Vlas could see the sentiment lurking behind his affable half-smile. He refused to believe that he was honestly that antagonistic. He was direct. And people seemed to have grown overly sensitive in recent years.
“Does Governor Tahrsel know of the coven?” Merran asked.
“I don’t see how he couldn’t,” Konlan replied, separating his gaze from Vlas’ irritated glare. “They’re far too vocal to ignore.”
“Does he understand what they are beyond stubborn?” Vlas reiterated on behalf of his colleague.
“Does he understand that they’re practitioners of magic?” Konlan translated for his own benefit. He began shaking his head before the words had fully formed. “I cannot say. He may know and be unwilling to acknowledge. He rarely speaks of any of it and when the topic does arise, he becomes irritable.”
“Master Ossai,” Vlas began with a weary sigh. “You and your own assembly of veritable rebels are willing to work with us, you say. If Morennish soldiers should arrive under siege conditions, what aid would you be able to provide other than to alert the governor to the impending disaster, a disaster spawned of his refusal to open his eyes?”
“We’ve provided you with information,” Konlan reminded. “We’re willing to house you and cloak your movements within this city, so that you may locate the demons and eliminate them. We will gladly take your advice regarding the encroaching storm … until Tahrsel is ready to hear it, that is. I’m sorry to tell you that it won’t be today.”
“Today may be the only day he and any of us have to act,” Vlas pressed. He took a step closer to Konlan and looked him directly in the eyes, because he couldn’t help but to feel that this man was half ignoring them. He also couldn’t help but to notice that Konlan matched his stare after a moment’s hesitation. A seed of distrust planted itself in that moment. “You should look to the sea, all of you. The enemy will come from there as well.”
In the corner of his vision, he noticed Merran stand. Vlas stepped back and turned to join him on a path to the door. As they arrived at it and Merran pulled it open, a young man rose across the entry hall and went to open the main door for them.
“Mages,” Konlan said before they’d fully exited the room. As they turned to look at their morning host, the man said, “I will see what I can do to gain you an audience.”
Vlas nodded in appreciation and acknowledgement, in spite of what concerns their exchange had aroused in him, and then he went with Merran into the foyer and across to the awaiting exit. They walked out onto a wide stair and the city ebbing upon its threshold. It seemed as if the city would like to outgrow Edrinor and perhaps become a new and separate entity altogether, but leaving Edrinor behind would be leaving itself alone against Morenne with Vassenleigh a distant and unreachable sentinel on its own island. The two cities would watch each other perish and Edrinor would be no more. It seemed difficult to believe that the division Morenne had inspired so many decades ago would only have grown more pronounced.
“What now?” Vlas inquired of his colleague as they returned to public ground.
Merran stood in the street, scrutinizing every inch of it. During the course of his silent analysis, he said, “I’m presuming you’ll continue to work with our allies. I have demons to hunt.”
Allies. Only in the loosest sense, he was beginning to think. “Before Korsten returns?”
“He’ll find me,” Merran assured. “Regarding our allies, there’s something you could investigate in all of our interests.”
Vlas inquired with a silent frown.
“Vaelyx Treir,” Merran said in reminder.
Vlas refreshed his own memory. “Imprisoned on rebel charges.”
Merran confirmed the information with a nod.
Vlas followed Merran’s gaze as it traveled to the northwest of their current location—which was very near the water—where he easily spotted the sturdy towers of an elaborate constabulary. “I see,” he said, returning his gaze to the other mage when he began to speak again.
“He escaped the night Korsten and I rescued Dacia Cambir from possession.”
&nb
sp; He did remember that detail. He wondered sometimes if people assumed that he only paid attention to the details he liked. Looking to the fortification Vaelyx Treir had freed himself from, he could only wonder, “How?”
“We don’t know,” Merran answered. “Neither do the officers at the constabulary, though with the prospect of a coven in the city and his disenchantment with certain parties, he may have made new allies.”
Vlas nodded, understanding what was being asked of him. “I’ll see what I can learn.”
Merran issued a final nod of his own and headed off.
Vlas let him, looking again to the constabulary towers. Well, at least he wouldn’t spend the evening sitting at Irslan’s, making idle conversation while he waited for news from Cayri or for better word from the stubborn Master Konlan Ossai. If there was one thing he despised with an absolute passion, it was idle talk.
The lily garden remained as tranquil as it ever had been. Korsten didn’t know why he should imagine it would be otherwise. Ashwin’s presence only enhanced the atmosphere. Though the news Korsten offered was dire, the Mage-Superior accepted it with calmness and grace Korsten could only attribute to his many years … his many hundreds of years. As he sat upon a bench framed by blood lilies, he appeared untouchable. Layers of white gold—from hair, to skin, to robes—deep green eyes, shining with intellect and emotion, and a face that at times defied description with its ethereal qualities. His beauty was truly to be marveled at. Just to think of it had Korsten’s blood flowing a little warmer and he knew he ought not to be thinking of it. Deliberately, he gave his attention fully to Ceth, whose every feature was thin … finely carved, like scrolled wood. The man had a treelike aspect and, like the deep forests of the north, an ancient appeal. Korsten felt surrounded by Ceth’s experience and the wisdom that had grown from it. Perhaps this was what drew Merran to this particular Superior.
“News of witches is not entirely surprising,” Ceth was saying. He tapped his lip thoughtfully, stood against the arched break in the wall across from Ashwin’s bench. Korsten occupied one side of the ledge beneath the arch, through which he had a view of more beds of red, red lilies. Cayri shared the bench with Ashwin, her hair an obvious golden-brown beside Ashwin’s lighter tone.
