The Blood Wars Trilogy Omnibus: Volumes 1 - 3

by T. A. Miles

  “… of blood….” he murmured again, his feet following the earth beneath them when it sloped upward unevenly. The demon had collected a well of it and through craft pioneered by humans, she was making vessels. They were for her own to inhabit. She was making physical soldiers of them and bypassing the difficulties of possessing a living person.

  Vaelyx was privy to the demon’s dreams, through his daughter, who was connected as surely as spell-touch to her mother. Though the body of the demon had been human once, the soul had been completely overtaken and corrupted, its presence had infused aspects of its soul with Dacia’s. Vaelyx was worried that he had hindered her development while in actuality she would have never been right. She could only be better or worse off, but never normal by anyone’s standards. Vlas could only wonder what possession and subsequent Release had actually done to her, if anything at all. She would have felt the process, he supposed, on both counts, but the after effects were beyond the guessing power of most of them. He imagined only the very oldest at the Seminary would have any real idea of such things. It was at a moment like this when Vlas sorely wished the Superiors weren’t quite so anchored to the Seminary, but they rarely left it for good reason, so it was never a true complaint. Outside of Vassenleigh, one of such ancient and honed Essence as any one of the Superiors would be such a beacon to their enemies—to the Vadryn. It would be obscene, even considering the soul-keepers. They hid most of what the demons hungered for incessantly, but not all of it.

  The Adepts were trained for precisely this; for being in the field and resolving matters as best they could. Ancients of the Vadryn were few and far between and so Vlas decided that his best would include all but direct confrontation with Serawe.

  He looked ahead, at Vaelyx. The man was shoving through the shadows cast by the veritable trench their route had become with unmistakable familiarity. Even if he’d only come this way once, he’d never forgotten it. Perhaps coming back to confront the demoness who’d seduced him—not directly, Vlas enforced for all of their sakes—was the man’s penance.

  Behind him Imris hiked easily along. He actually wasn’t sure when she’d gotten behind him, but at some point single file became all their path would allow for.

  The night was pressing further into early morning. The damp ocean air was beginning to soak into fabric and the rhythmic waves were growing louder and somewhat distorted in the acoustics of the passages. Vlas looked up at the open ceiling the natural corridors provided, then checked visually on both Vaelyx and Imris. The former was continuing on in his urgent personal rush and the latter followed diligently, and alertly. Whenever Vlas looked to see that she was still there, she made direct eye contact, assuring him that she was and would be.

  He let her know he appreciated that with returned focus. His gaze shifted ahead again and settled on Vaelyx. The man tossed a look over his shoulder, his expression flashing with distressed impatience that may have been implying they weren’t moving fast enough, but Vlas was on the verge of stopping them. He had a feeling they were getting very near to these caves and the last thing he would be doing was dropping blindly down into them.

  The way Zesyl fluttered her wings next to his ear seemed almost as if she were laughing at her bond-mate’s mild duress, but the sensation was fleeting. As the white mantis lit from his shoulder, taking flight toward Vaelyx, he knew something was wrong. A deafening banging of stone—as if a giant had snatched up two boulders and slapped them together—assailed his ears, causing him to halt and flinch instantly in the sheer impact of the sound. Imris covered the narrow space between them and took hold of his arm in the same instant, reacting similarly. They were turned toward each other when the ground gave way. They held awkwardly onto one another as they fell an indeterminable distance. It was over very quickly and Vlas wasn’t certain who had fallen on top of who when they struck a solid, though not particularly stable surface. Debris was still falling from the cave-in, Imris let him know by reaching up and pulling his head down into both arms. Simultaneously she turned her face into that same shelter. Beneath the rush of dirt and rocks, he heard her distinct, abbreviated breaths—his own breath was held while he tried to catch up with the moments literally rushing past. Gods knew where Vaelyx was.

  Within several moments, the rain of debris tapered to enough of a halt that Vlas felt it safe to rise and apparently he had Imris’ permission. Not that he didn’t appreciate her protection, but….

  But nothing, he admitted and told himself mentally to shut up. He had a revelation in that instant; that there was nothing quite so absurd as a prideful old man. Imris was already standing on her own, but he reached a hand out to steady her anyway, simultaneously looking at the space they’d fallen into. Beneath their feet was a wooden walkway mounted on scaffolding. The walls to either side of them were rock and the space below was veiled in shadow. What little they could see was illuminated by moonlight. Looking up, the ceiling—previously the ground—was separated in a ragged hole several feet overhead.

  The walkway shifted somewhat and Vlas turned enough to see behind him, where Vaelyx was pushing himself to his feet.

  “Are you all right?” Vlas asked him.

  Using the narrow railing for support, Vaelyx shot a glance over his shoulder and nodded. In this moment he appeared aged and weary, beleaguered emotionally and taxed physically—the latter no doubt especially owed to several years imprisoned.

  “Where are we in relation to where we were meant to be?” Vlas asked next.

  Vaelyx started to look around, not that he would have been able to see much of anything, but Vlas allowed him a space to orientate himself. It was in those moments that the glow of fire danced in the corner of his vision. Imris had already seen and she tensed beside him while the smallish flames made a path toward them, coming from a level lower than the walkway they currently stood on.

  The torch bearers weren’t far away; they were near enough that the various vocalizations they made and their footsteps could be heard.

  “We should run,” Vaelyx said, which inspired Vlas to glare over his shoulder at him. The man didn’t look panicked, but he didn’t appear comfortable either. He must have known what was coming at them—or who—and damn him for not sharing the information. Vlas damned himself for not insisting that he share more, but what would he have done? Neither of them had an army at their disposal. He doubted Rahl would have sent more than Imris and felt it a safer wager that he’d have recalled Imris and insisted on Vaelyx’s arrest, had he known about any of this.

  “Who are they?” Vlas demanded. He looked to the ascending group—possibly ten to twenty figures—and as Imris took a step back, he drew her back another one. Her posture was poised, either to fight or run, Vlas was uncertain.

  “They’re the servants of Serawe,” Vaelyx said and in a tone that might have been taken for polite suggestion under any other circumstance, repeated, “We should run.”

  “Father of the gods,” Vlas cursed, guiding Imris to one side of him. “Stand back, constable,” he said to her. To both his companions, he advised, “Avert your eyes.”

  With a glance over his shoulder to see that they’d both complied, he gestured the Blast spell. The first thing it did was wash the walls white and give a glimpse of the many tenuously stacked bridges, ladders, and ramps between them and the cave floor several levels below. The second benefit was halting their hosts while they turned away from the burst of white light that threw itself in their direction. The third and primary function of this casting was to reveal that there were men coming at them—men who looked strangely ashen and donning clothing that hung in tatters from their emaciated and at times awkwardly bent bodies. Vlas counted around one dozen. He realized as the afterglow of Blast dissipated and the men began to recover that they had actually only been men at one time.

  “Ghouls,” he said aloud for the benefit of his companions, though neither of them seemed to require it. “And yes,
we should run.”

  “What do the crystals do?” Korsten asked Ersana.

  “Inanimate vessels,” the woman replied. “They contain and project energy.”

  “So they’re not markers.”

  “We leave them out in the open. By day and night they are charged by the sun and the moon, even the wind. We cast a spell on the crystal, which will then emit from the crystal, pulsing like a heartbeat until it’s without energy. Until it’s without life.”

  Similar to the weapons crafted by Ceth and his students, Korsten thought to himself. Similar to the material within my hand, charged constantly by my own blood. Similar to us, he realized. They, as mages of Vassenleigh’s system were in effect charging themselves with the energy gathered in the blood lilies. It was essentially the same system, only the witches chose to work through inanimate objects rather than to keep the magic at such high levels within their own bodies. They were perhaps wiser in that, understanding the risk of irradiating oneself with the Essence so constantly and completely. To these witches, Korsten and his peers were perhaps more like the Vadryn, taking magic directly into their bodies, letting it affect them physically and emotionally. But unlike the Vadryn. the Seminary and its mages had scruples and the sense to not abuse what they collected. Murder or unwilling draining of victims was never a method. Still, he understood the position of the magic users in Indhovan better now.

  While Korsten considered that and the crystal in Ersana’s hand, the woman continued. “This one has a warding spell on it, to keep the demonic instinct, and Dacia’s true mother at bay. There are similarly cast crystals about my home, but this one releases a heavier pulse and one which radiates over her specifically, but only when she wears it.”

  “She loses it often,” Korsten guessed. His words went unacknowledged and he moved on to a more important topic. “How are we going to get her to wear that again?”

  “I typically return it to her when she’s in a subdued mood.”

  “Which she clearly isn’t interested in now.”

  “What if she were asleep?” Merran suggested.

  “She’s not likely to be in such a state,” Ersana said, in a tone that suggested she knew what Merran was thinking and she was not open to it.

  “A Sleep spell would not harm her,” Korsten assured. “No sooner than the Mother’s defenses, or her own mother’s encroaching presence. I believe you came here because you want us to help her and you cannot. Not on your own, otherwise you’d have gone directly to her.”

  Ersana could uphold her stoic expression as long as she liked. Korsten knew he was right, even without feeling the cold fear pulsing through her veins, he understood that above everything and maybe in spite of herself and her coven’s agenda, she was a mother above all else. Dacia was her child and she would defy the crone—as she had defied the demon that had given birth to Dacia—in order to protect her. It required no special talent to understand that.

  “If one of the demons’ vessels is destroyed, the Vadryn will surely take Dacia,” Korsten told her. “One of them already tried.”

  Ersana drew herself up in an attempt to appear even more dignified and resolute in the face of what may have felt like criticism or citation for failure, but her eyes betrayed her now. This extended outside of her coven and her devotion to it. Korsten hoped to the gods that he was reading her accurately.

  “You’ve protected her this long, Ersana. Don’t abandon her now … don’t leave it in the gods’ hands when you’re own are capable and while others are willing to lend theirs as well. She’s your daughter. She needs her mother … not the one that would possess her, or even the Ancient Mother, who would do her harm to protect her own cause.”

  He might have gone too far and feared that he had when Ersana became suddenly more alert and defiant. “The Mother protects us.”

  “What’s coming may well kill all of you,” Korsten answered quickly. “She conspired with demons, risked all of you to help them attain bodies and now she’ll risk all of you again in her mad plan to eliminate them. These are not the actions of a mother and this is not how this war will be won, or should be fought.”

  “The war is yours,” Ersana tried to accuse, but Korsten wouldn’t allow it.

  “This war is everyone’s,” he told her. “The killing, the dying, the ruin laid to homes and souls belongs to all of us. We can all work together to push Morenne back to its own borders, or we can scheme privately and against one another in the process. This,” he said, gesturing to the scene behind him. “Is not helping.”

  Ersana looked beyond Korsten. Shadows of the erratic and violent movement outside of their temporary shelter passed across her face. Eventually, her gaze returned to Korsten and she said, “They will never tire. Their vessels are constructed of blood and earth. They are fortified and they are fed.”

  Merran looked at Korsten in such a way that the gesture almost carried physical presence. Korsten carefully took his eyes from Ersana and acknowledged his friend’s interest and concern.

  “Your spells will not evict them from those bodies. The sea will rectify them.”

  “And all of us,” Korsten reminded, growing irritated with this situation. “If Dacia and the demons reach the Mother will her summoning be stopped?”

  He felt as if he knew the answer and perhaps Ersana was decided that he did, but he wanted it confirmed. They had to know precisely where they stood.

  Looking sharply at her, he demanded an answer. “Will it?”

  Ersana tried to hold his gaze and her silence, but soon shook her head and said gravely, “No.”

  A wave of terror broke over Korsten at the thought of what they actually faced. He referred the sensation to Merran, as if he might somehow be able to deflect it and it was in that silent imploring his friend for an answer that he realized what they had to do.

  Merran seemed to know as well and was shaking his head in aggravation. He glared at the battle outside of their shelter.

  “Is it possible?” He asked openly, his mind quickly organizing a scenario; four mages casting Barrier at the water’s edge … maybe diverting or diminishing the force of the wave enough for the citizens of Indhovan to escape to higher ground.

  Whether or not Merran was considering the same scenario, he shook his head slowly and said, “I don’t know if anything we can do will be enough.”

  “But we have to try,” Korsten concluded, turning back to Ersana. “How long before it arrives?”

  “I do not know,” Ersana said and there was nothing in that response that felt like a lie. “The summoning has been years generating. We have been without the Mother’s direct guidance for a long time now.”

  “It should have been easier for you to break your faith, then,” Merran inserted and seemed both irritated and disgusted. “You’ve allowed her to desecrate your pacifist tradition through a childish trust. She is not a conduit to the gods … each of us has that power on our own. Each of us is joined with nature—we’re a part of it. Your coven worships Nature as if it’s only the gods. You should be cherishing every aspect of nature, including the people who live beside you. Destroying them or allowing them to be destroyed—whether or not they’re member to your coven—is a disrespect to and in defiance of the gods … just as the Vadryn are. You regard us as their enablers when it’s you who are their bedfellows.”

  Merran was right in that. Whether or not Ersana would see it was set aside by the sudden, high pitched shriek that tore through the air. A low chuckle followed, rising steadily in cadence and volume. Ersana rushed down to where Korsten and Merran stood, clearly to see whether or not the scream and ensuing laughter meant the end of her daughter.

  Korsten turned fully to the Barrier between them and the fighting, and looked with dread and awe upon the figure of the crone rising, the thrashing wooden limbs joining her. They hovered around her ancient form and seemed to pull her into it. She was
expanding in mass, growing taller and broader, gaining arms that continued to whip across the open space. Her body was becoming the trunk of a new being, her face spreading and nearly disappearing into its scaly bark.

  “My … gods….” Korsten barely breathed, but what they were seeing of the Ancient wasn’t the worst of it.

  Beneath the crone, who continued swatting back Vadryn as if they were flies, Dacia stood. One arm was encased in a ruddy shell … a gauntlet that appeared in actuality to be an arm from one of the demons. Korsten remembered the limb that had been separated from one of the beasts by the Reach in the same moment the one-armed demon threw itself down onto the floor behind Dacia. A sharp sensation of panic that she would be eviscerated where she stood struck Korsten and Ersana both. Ersana physically responded, as if she could rush through Merran’s Barrier, but both Korsten and Merran reached out to stop her.

  “Dacia!” Ersana cried out, and the first true expression Korsten had witnessed from her manifested in a horrified gaping at her daughter while the one-armed demon stepped forward and Dacia wheeled on it. With unseen speed and an intangible force, she cracked the vessel down the middle. With a mad smile she whirled back around and took the broken body on, as if shrugging on a cloak. It conformed to the shape, rejoining with its once severed arm and forming crude armor around the girl.

  Dacia shrieked again. Witnessing it, it seemed a primal cry of aggravation and challenge. Was it Dacia, Korsten could only wonder, or was the girl channeling the demoness whose stolen body spawned her?

  “The roots responded to Fire,” Merran reminded, answering to the moment and by doing so, bringing Korsten alert as well.

  He nodded. “The demons responded to me. They’re in such a driven state, I don’t know how readily they’ll do so now, but if I can somehow contain them again….”