by T. A. Miles
He’d cast the Reach thinking of the first place that leaped to mind … the pier, where he and Imris placed their trust in Vaelyx. Vlas hadn’t realized then that the man had wanted someone to help him reconcile his past. Had he known, he may not have gone along and, smart enough to realize that, Vaelyx had kept the entirety of his motivation to himself.
Imris stirred within his arms and he relaxed his hold to let her move away. She didn’t, except to turn her head toward the island that a heavy morning mist shrouded from their view. He let her stay in his shelter for the moment and eventually allowed himself to consider that he may have been lingering in her shelter as well.
The sounds of activity around them carried them out of the moment. They parted gradually and looked down the length of the docks. There were men in numbered, uniformed groups moving with purpose amid the ships. Vlas and Imris looked to one another, a puzzled expression preceded his taking another step back from her and tagging her arm lightly as he turned to venture into the crowd. Imris followed at his elbow for the most part, though there were instances that the number of bodies in motion caused them to separate for a space.
“Any idea what may be going on?” Vlas asked her at one point.
Imris frowned. “No. We’ll find out.”
Vlas accepted that, noticing in the rising sunlight that the constable had dust and drying blood in places on her clothes. She looked as if she’d been in a fight and the first person they came to whom she appeared to recognize noticed that immediately.
“What’s happened to you?” The man asked, casting a cursory glance at Vlas in the process of assessing any damage that may have come to his colleague.
“We were ambushed,” she began to explain and that seemed to set a few of the men in earshot off. They exchanged looks with one another, along with a few words and were gone.
Imris looked at Vlas, then looked at him again when she seemed to finally notice that his clothing hadn’t fared as poorly as hers, thanks to magic that wasn’t necessary to explain at the moment.
“What’s going on?” Vlas asked Imris’ colleague.
“We’re readying the city’s defenses,” he answered without delay. To Imris, he said, “You’d better check in with Rahl.”
Imris nodded and assured that she would.
Vlas found himself happily surprised by the man’s answer, though it was quickly tempered by the seriousness of the situation. If Indhovan was preparing the city’s defenses, then an attack was pending. How far off? From which direction? How many forces?
Where was Cayri?
“I have to return to Irslan’s,” Vlas said while they moved away from the docks.
“I have to learn my station for the defense,” Imris answered.
Those two statements held for several steps. And then it came time for their paths to separate. Imris reached her hand out to him without looking at him as she veered in her direction and in response Vlas did the same. Their hands connected wordlessly and without interrupting their steps, and separated as unceremoniously. Vlas didn’t know what the gesture meant for either of them in the moment and he didn’t analyze. They each had duties to fulfill.
The last person Irslan would have expected to find at his doorstep, collapsed from exhaustion and injury, was a mage. It was sobering to see that they damaged, he supposed. Sobering, not disappointing nor in any way satisfying. They were people also and while he’d carried forward a child’s inclination to make them heroes above human in some ways he couldn’t say that even in his most downtrodden state over the war that he had ever had the urge to prove them anything less.
With Dacia’s help, he’d managed to get Merran situated on a divan in the parlor. It was near the window, but not directly beneath it, so he should have the benefits of some sunlight, but not turn a sweat over its warmth. Irslan couldn’t say the same for himself; the mage was not a small man and much heavier than one might have expected to look at him, concealed in that coat of his. Irslan had removed the garment with some effort and had considered undressing the wrapping around his hand as well—it appeared a rude attempt in its simplicity, but Dacia had impressed upon him that it should stay. Her purist mother had set a casting of some sort on it and Irslan was not in a state to argue too strongly, since he knew very little of either magic or healing beyond a basic understanding.
Acerbically, he considered that Konlan might have been able to address the matter with some skill. There was a bitterness in his mouth over that thought, whether it was spoken or not. He felt deeply betrayed and more than a little helpless. He had no idea where Konlan had gone or why. Perhaps Konlan felt that his scheme was coming unraveled.
Irslan had spent the remaining hours of darkness reading until his eyes ached and he eventually collapsed onto an open book. Doubtless, he would have to go over much of it again with a better, more wakeful focus, but what he had uncovered in his uncle’s works spoke of dangers he never realized existed. Men and women serving a demon … sacrificing people to it, in order to create a literal reserve of foul energy for it, and for another enemy as well. That was what his uncle had uncovered—in the midst of intense obsession over what he was uncovering, but the level of his interest did not alter his discoveries. He had drawn images. He had drawn diagrams used in rituals and spells by the cultists, some of which too strongly resembled what he had found in Konlan’s study. To make it worse, the coven in their own city was up to something. Irslan hadn’t connected or uncovered everything himself yet. Truthfully, he didn’t know if he would be able to make sense of it, any more than his uncle had. But he knew who would.
Thinking about all that he had managed to uncover and retain, he could only shake his head. He continued to come back to the same detail. Another coven on the Islands … hosting demons. And he still did not know everything the mages had discovered here in the city. Enough to have spent at least one of them and hopefully not killed the others.
“Two mothers died,” Dacia said suddenly from the chair she’d settled herself in.
“I’m sorry?” Irslan queried, drawing himself slowly to focus on her. His head was beginning to ache from a lack of proper rest, and from stress.
Dacia took her gaze from Merran and looked at Irslan. “They were as sisters. They’d grown to despise each other. It was their undoing. Ours, too.”
Irslan didn’t know if he should be more startled by her words, or the glib manner in which she divulged this information … or story. Some of it eerily aligned with passages he’d read the night before … penned by his uncle’s hand.
“What do you mean?” he asked the girl, and tried to maintain an air of conversation.
“Mother chides me for talking about my dreams,” she went on. “Especially with others, but I had such a strange one this time. It was of two sisters, who were also mothers of many. One of them was the Ancient Mother, the matriarch of our coven. The other had her own coven. They were supposed to join, but there was betrayal. I felt so angry over it, as if I’d had some part in all of it myself.”
“Really….” Irslan said, observing the girl with a little more scrutiny. He was considering the fact that a demon had at least once tried to claim her when she continued.
“Of course, I hadn’t, but it was very real in feeling. When I awoke, I was with my mother and Master Merran. The Ancient Mother had become a fantastic tree and she was bent on drowning all of us.”
Irslan allowed a space of silence, unsure what to make of her story, except to ask, “Are you sure that you had awakened for that last part?” Perhaps he wasn’t fully awake yet himself.
“Yes,” she said very plainly. “Master Merran can tell you.”
“I’ll be certain to ask him,” Irslan answered. He glanced to the dark mage by the window—still appearing asleep—then drew in a breath and said, “But … let me ask you, Dacia. Do you recall having seen Mage Korsten during all of this? The dream … and after
you were awake?”
Dacia tipped her head to the side and studied the floor momentarily before looking at him again. “He went with the other mother.”
The girl’s gaze moved past Irslan a mere moment before someone else said, “He went with Serawe.” Looking over his shoulder, Irslan made eye contact with Mage Vlas, who stood wearily in the doorway, adding for clarification, “A demon.”
Irslan had needed clarifying, so he appreciated that. He believed he also needed a drink as well, but he refrained from getting one for the moment.
“Where is Cayri?” Vlas asked, but before an answer could be given, he looked to the divan and said, “I see you’ve found Merran.”
“He came here, actually,” Irslan said. “Exhaustion overcame him when he arrived. Lady Cayri has gone to a meeting with the governor’s wife and not returned yet.”
Vlas nodded. Irritably, he said, “Vaelyx….” And then he stopped himself.
The pause made it very clear what he’d meant to blurt out. Irslan didn’t know what to say. He’d just spent more time with his uncle, reading through his writings, than he had in twenty years. It had rekindled a sense of reunion that he had hoped to fully realize. Now he wouldn’t.
“I’m sorry,” Vlas offered.
Irslan acknowledged him with a nod, then raised his hand to wave any further condolences or concerns away. This was not the time and even if it had been, he was not willing to go any deeper into the matter just yet.
The mage’s gaze moved to Dacia and sat there for an extended moment that Irslan could not translate. He didn’t bother trying when Merran stirred.
Vlas went immediately to the divan. “Thank the gods,” he said, followed by, “How do you feel?” It was then that Vlas seemed to notice the other mage’s hand and there was a look of graveness in his features in that instant.
Merran didn’t answer his question. “There’s a wave coming,” he said.
Vlas took a moment to pry his concern from Merran’s hand. “A wave? What do you mean?”
“A wave is coming from the sea,” Merran answered, his blue eyes taking in the room, perhaps assessing his location and who all was present. “It was a summoning, by a witch occupying the caves set into the cliff.”
Vlas looked like he was going to interrupt over disbelief, but he didn’t and Merran continued.
“She’d been there for years, at least. She’s gone, but the summoning was already finished.”
Vlas stared, as if he had run out of room to digest all that had happened and continued to happen. “What can we do?” He asked and seemed to be searching his fellow for the answer. Apparently, it was there to be found. He said, “We have to stop it. But there are only three of us.”
The steady frown Merran set upon Vlas had him recounting.
“Possibly two,” the blond said and confirmation of what Merran hadn’t said himself seemed to stir fresh upset in the darker mage. Irslan couldn’t help that he felt pity for him in that moment.
It was worse when Merran asked, “No sign of Korsten, then?”
Irslan was shaking his head for his part as host to them all.
Vlas hesitated to give his response. “I don’t … know where he’s gone, Merran. I’m sorry.”
Merran lowered his head slowly, then lifted it again to make it look as if he’d nodded. The tension in his jaw was visible across the room, as was the wetness in his eyes.
Vlas hovered by his colleague’s side for a moment, looking as though he wished he had more to say. And then he stood, his gaze passing over Dacia on its way to Irslan. It was, however, only to Irslan that he said, “Take me to the governor.”
A map of the city’s barracks and towers was laid before the assembly, added to the informative pieces already there. Deitir studied it, not as one who had never seen it before, but as one who had not fully considered having to make decisions based on what it detailed. Cayri looked it over herself, knowing that Vlas would have liked to been doing the same. Honestly, she was beginning to worry that he hadn’t stormed here himself yet. She wondered if he’d found Vaelyx, or if he’d had word with Irslan and it set him onto something else. Likewise, she worried about Merran and Korsten, perhaps still exploring the secret places of the coven. What had they learned about the witches? She had to forcibly push these concerns from her mind, so that she could continue to be attentive to the situation surrounding her.
“The able ships are preparing to leave port,” Fersmyn announced as he returned to the room.
Deitir nodded, concentrating on the map.
Ilayna seemed to have lost a little color from her face, but she remained collected and said, “A scouting ship left here last night.”
Deitir looked at her, his expression making it clear that the information was news to him.
“One of ours?” Fersmyn asked, seeming slightly incredulous over the notion that anyone under the governor would have taken such bold initiative.
Ilayna looked across the table at him. “Not actually.”
Fersmyn frowned. “What do you mean ‘not actually’?”
Deitir seemed to groan internally while his attention returned to the map. “Activists,” he explained for his lieutenant’s benefit.
“And Kingdom soldiers,” Ilayna said firmly. “The entire country won’t sit idle while this city sorts itself out.”
“We know, Mother,” Deitir said, not angrily, though firmly. He was equally settled when he added, “Their fate is out of our hands for the moment. May the gods protect them.”
“And us,” one of the other officials at the table muttered, a larger man with thinning white hair.
Deitir lifted his gaze across the table to him. “We’re going to find a way to protect ourselves, Alledar.”
Whether or not the man was comforted or agreed, he issued a nod.
“There’s a wall along the northern edge of the city,” Deitir said to everyone, whether the information was known or unknown. “It’s a measure against the seasonal rise of water through this inlet.”
Cayri watched him trace the area on the map, as did the others.
Deitir continued. “I want the people who live here evacuated. Bring them nearer to the city and let’s man the wall heavily with archers and arbalests. Morenne will be met on land and at sea.”
“That may drive them further inland,” Fersmyn pointed out. “If they occupy the cliffs, they’ll have the advantage of higher ground.”
Deitir nodded to acknowledge the scenario, as one who hadn’t fully considered it yet, but was getting there. He looked to Cayri, maybe to see if she had a suggestion or perhaps simply for support. The latter was provided in her returned gaze. The former….
A commotion outside the room drew everyone’s attention to the doors.
“Masters Treir,” the doorman was saying in extreme frustration. “..and Mage. You cannot—”
“I’m afraid that we are.” The familiar voice of Vlas brought a smile to Cayri’s face, one that she tried to temper when he added, “I’m not too tired to cast another Megrim on the lot of you.”
The doors opened to admit Irslan and Vlas. The doorman, red-faced and holding his head—which may have been spinning if Vlas had truly used a Megrim against them—saw them in and roughly drew the doors shut again. The man forgot to apologize to their acting governor in his outrage.
Irslan recalled. “Forgive us barging in.”
“Or don’t,” Vlas said with absolutely no compunction. “Either way, you’ve got far worse to reckon with than Morenne.”
“What do you mean?” Deitir asked verbally while Cayri’s expression questioned her partner.
Irslan hovered back to let Vlas do as Vlas was inclined. The blond walked directly to the table, leaning in between two officials who gave him room. With his hands braced on the map and his eyes showing that he was quite tired, he said, “This c
ity is about to be dealt a blow by Nature itself.”
“How is he?” Cayri asked of Merran, after she and Vlas had separated themselves from the others. Deitir had called for a brief recess while they took in the drastic news Vlas had carried to them.
Vlas shook his head slightly, looking to the sea and back at her before replying. “Exhausted … frustrated.”
He was pacing and appearing as on edge as he felt. Cayri considered reaching out to him and calming him perforce, but he kept himself out of her reach, maybe intentionally.
“Cayri, his hand is broken … at least. It could be worse and there’s not a strong enough healer present to set it right, if it can be set right.” He began shaking his head again. “I can’t even imagine the sensation of helplessness. And what if it can’t be fixed? What’s to become of him then in regards to the Seminary?”
Cayri waited. He drifted closer and she put a hand on Vlas’ arm to quiet him. “He will be taken care of. Whatever needs to happen with his hand … Eisleth will find a way to set it right.”
“And his morale?” Vlas said. Before Cayri could respond, either with word or spell to relax him, he added, “Korsten hasn’t returned yet from wherever he’s gone. It’s worrying me and I can tell to look at him that it’s helping to shut Merran down. I mean … he’s doing what he can, same as all of us. He’s going to see if he can’t reason with the coven, but….”
“You said Korsten Reached from that cave … with Serawe?”
“Yes,” Vlas said with a nod. He moved away from her again, frustration heavy in his voice. “Yes, with Serawe. What if she’s overpowered him? She was monstrous, one hundred—or one thousand—times the beast a lesser one is on its own. Her presence was malignant and overbearing as I’ve never felt before. I know my experience dealing directly with demons is more limited than a hunter’s, but they can’t be up against that constantly; they’d all be dead from sheer exhaustion.”
