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The Blood Wars Trilogy Omnibus: Volumes 1 - 3

Page 95

by T. A. Miles


  There was no real need for explanation of the situation, not in the verbal sense, at any rate. Vlas had grown to like the man—doomed as Vaelyx may have been—and there had been no opportunity to legitimately express that or even to really experience it. In retaliation, he had resorted to befriending Irslan. That was the whole of it. Vlas imagined that Cayri would argue the whole of it being more to do with—or at least including—his evident trauma over the experience. Trauma was a more dramatic word than Vlas preferred.

  They must have had the argument in silence, for Cayri continued the conversation without mention of any emotional consequences that Vlas might have been experiencing. “We know that Vaelyx was not in league with Konlan,” she said.

  “Yes,” Vlas agreed. “He was quite the opposite, believing that Konlan disrupted his friendship with Governor Tahrsel. It was his goal to unveil Konlan’s duplicity.”

  “So, then our task is to consider who might be in a position of political advantage, who Konlan might have been associated with in a way that benefited both parties.”

  “Not necessarily to the benefit of both parties individually,” Vlas offered. When Cayri tipped her head in questioning, he said, “It need only serve the cause which both of them supported.”

  “The cause being the infiltration and eventual invasion of Indhovan,” Cayri said with an agreeing nod. “It could be any one of the city’s officers.”

  That did happen to be the unfortunate fact. “Yes,” Vlas said, “and I’m presuming you haven’t detected any such motivation, since you haven’t mentioned it.”

  “I have not,” Cayri confirmed. “It makes me wonder whether or not the governor or his son are in more immediate danger.”

  “Assassination?” Vlas considered the subject as it was presented. Admittedly, he had not considered it before. “I imagine an accomplice was aware of the efforts Konlan made against Governor Tahrsel, and I also imagine that individual became aware of how those efforts were thwarted and by whom.”

  Cayri’s gaze lifted to Vlas, but she said nothing. There was not much to say. Anyone in witness to their presence knew that they, as mages, had methods that exceeded and could circumnavigate those of an ordinary person and in this instance, those of an individual practicing wild magic. It was Vlas’ belief that the individual who had unpleasantly charmed Governor Tahrsel with witchcraft, or by means of potential poisoning—or both—was Konlan. Vlas and Cayri had both concurred that the possession-like similarities between Tahrsel’s out of character behavior was similar to what Vlas had witnessed with Vaelyx and his daughter. Vaelyx had been using spells derived by the Islands cult and Konlan was not only a natural child of the Islands, but a frequent emissary between his home territory and Indhovan. He could easily have been a member of the cult and furthermore, discoveries Irslan had made within Konlan’s home seemed to strongly evidence that fact. Without question in Vlas’ mind, Konlan Ossai was a member of the Islands cult, working in opposition both to Indhovan and to its coven of witches. Both were resources were to be used and discarded.

  Undoubtedly, this accomplice shared that goal, but Vlas did not believe this individual had any training in or in depth understanding of magic. Vlas believed he, or she, left that to Konlan and that their task was far more political than Konlan’s, or perhaps merely a task less ornate in its design and execution. They had surely witnessed Cayri’s presence, and knew that it was a mage who had interfered with and for the most part overcome Konlan’s spellcasting. Vlas didn’t believe they would make any further attempt on the governor’s health now that the opportunity—or the success of that opportunity, at any rate—had been dismissed by Cayri’s presence.

  With that thought, Vlas reminded himself that his partner was also part of the conversation. “As to whether or not any further designs would have been made against the office….” He lifted both shoulders. “Perhaps they consider Deitir’s inexperience detriment enough. That isn’t to mention the impending attack.”

  “Which we weren’t supposed to be aware of,” Cayri reminded, purely for the sake of their conversation; it was certainly nothing that either of them had forgotten.

  “But we are aware,” Vlas said, “and counter measures have been taken … which could mean that those plans have been witnessed and exposed by this traitor.”

  “That could render the fire trap useless.”

  “But would a traitor have had time to make contact with the enemy yet? They would have had to depart and hope to meet their allies en route. Has anyone gone missing?”

  “No,” Cayri answered. “No one.”

  “So, perhaps they haven’t found their opportunity yet,” Vlas suggested.

  Cayri nodded. “Perhaps.”

  Vlas allowed them both a space to mull the matters at hand over, then stepped out of his small pacing rut and toward the sitting room doors. “I shall leave that to you.”

  Cayri’s gaze followed him. “Where will you be?”

  “The Islands,” Vlas replied, and though the decision was spontaneous, he had delivered his answer as if the plan were long forming. Perhaps that was not far from the truth, considering how prominently the well and the cult had both been on his mind since returning.

  Stopping at the doors to look back at his partner, he could see that Cayri’s expression appeared to question and advise against simultaneously.

  Before she could form any words, however, Vlas said, “My goal is not to mourn incomprehensible losses, but to assist Rahl’s men in their investigation and patrol. Ensuring that neither the cult nor the Vadryn had a contingency plan against the coven’s betrayal or Konlan’s failure is paramount. We can’t afford any further shocks at this hour.”

  Cayri let out a strained breath, but nodded. “Agreed. Take care, Vlas.”

  “I intend to,” Vlas assured her. And as it occurred to him who might be of assistance to his investigation, he said, “I shan’t be going alone.”

  Water rolled in voluminous yet gentle sighs beneath the floor of simple planks underfoot. Oshand Dehras nudged a mound of sacks to test their stability. They appeared anchored by their own weight. Still, he bent forward and jostled the ropes holding them by hand. The knots felt secure enough. He straightened slowly and contemplated the simple bags which contained the volatile contents that constituted the fundamental core of the fire tactics. Fire was the catalyst to which the material within the bags reacted, with force. A demonstration had been given to both prove their use and help in determining just how much would be needed to disrupt the enemy ships. Oshand had been impressed. He was still impressed after the fact, and it made him unsure. The nature of his unsureness was nothing he could fully explain to himself, so he had been pushing it off to the side of his thoughts throughout the development of their plan to use this weapon against Morenne. It was strange to think that this material had been discovered on the Islands and that their inhabitants had been mining it, apparently under the supervision of Morenne. If allowed to carry on for long, Oshand imagined it might have been possible for an attack to be launched from the Islands, one they surely would not have been prepared for. It occurred to him, always as an afterthought, that that could still be possible. And then he reminded himself that a unit of men had been sent to determine that for certain.

  His gaze travelled from the fire tactics at his feet, toward the Islands. They appeared small in the distance, not a threat of any kind. But then, so did the ocean at the moment and not but days ago it had risen against them as if by will of its own.

  By magic….

  The reflection of the sun on the water streaked across his vision and he squinted, looking past the brightness for a moment before transferring his gaze elsewhere. A tight row of skiffs stretched back toward the harbor. They’d left the one nearest to the docks well enough away that fire wouldn’t catch off the water. The northernmost section of the city had been evacuated, but it would still be disastrous if t
oo many structures caught flame, and transferred that flame to others.

  He wondered how much time they had left to prepare. He presumed that night battles were dangerous, but regardless, Oshand hoped for cover of darkness to conceal their trap. Bowmen from a ship behind the line would have to memorize their marks.

  “Captain,” someone said. “The skiffs are armed and ready.”

  Oshand accepted that with a nod and a glance back at the woman. He recalled at that glance that she belonged to the constabulary. She’d also been in recent company with one of the mages the governor was currently hosting, on an informal assignment. That was how it had been relayed and while he harbored no grudge against something he barely comprehended, it felt somewhat strained to be in her presence, knowing that she knew much more than she could—or would—share. He’d also watched Constable Imris and Mage Vlas looking at each other. It was as if they held onto secrets, but perhaps it wasn’t that. He wasn’t committed to a negative perspective, but again … it felt strained.

  Whether or not Imris felt that strain, she dismissed herself with a simple yet dutiful, “Sir.”

  Oshand let her go, not too many steps away where she sat on the rim of the skiff near another soldier who’d assisted in the loading of the sacks onto the skiffs. With it clear that they had nothing more to take care of here, Oshand set about clearing others from the skiffs by signaling with a wave. The signal was passed down the line and eventually was observed by those manning the boat meant to recover personnel. There was still more for all of them to do. The patrol ships were going to have to be better armed and fortified against the coming onslaught. He trusted that Gairel had a solid handle on the preparations on land. Neither of them had had to contend with much more than a skirmish from incoming vessels resisting inspection, or minor riots directed at the governor over local matters. They were not battle tested, as such, but the suddenness of the wave had forced them to swift action. Casualties had been few. At times he felt optimistic about what was to come, and that only reminded him that he had too little experience in war. With an acting governor who had too little experience in leadership, optimism seemed almost foolish.

  The collecting vessel arrived at Oshand’s and he waited for the two others who had assisted him to board before stepping to the far end of the skiff and accepting a hand up to the taller boat. “Let’s align the scout ship as quickly as possible,” he said to one of his own soldiers. “Armed with no less than a dozen bowmen. I want them doing nothing but watching for the enemy and studying their marks.”

  “Yes, sir,” the man said while the boat was steered along a path toward the harbor. Oshand’s mind moved quickly toward what else could be done, dodging anxiety over what couldn’t be done, what they didn’t have the time for and more importantly, what they didn’t have the experience or resources for. The task ahead of them would be anything but easy.

  After hearing Vlas’ theory of an accomplice to Konlan, it seemed to Cayri that the most viable source of information regarding political intrigue would be the lady of the house. She had known many of the officers for years, since Deitir was yet a child. If there was one among them with a suspicious nature, or perhaps even a grievance against the governor or the governing of Indhovan, Cayri felt certain that Ilayna would know about it, or at least have significant insight. In seeking Ilayna out, Cayri’s path took her from the sitting room, to the bedroom where the governor yet lay asleep. He appeared peaceful within the semi-darkened space, beneath light layers of bedding. The guard at his door consisted of a single soldier, who admitted Cayri with scarcely a glance. Of course, Cayri held the role of attendant, along with the house physician, Emalrik. Neither of them would be questioned, nor would the governor’s family. She considered how many others might gain access to Raiss Tahrsel during his vulnerable period.

  Fersmyn, perhaps. She had not witnessed the officer frequenting the room, though, nor any of the others, for that matter. Considering the manner in which some were priorly braced for a bout of poor health from the elder, Cayri wondered if assassination would affect the atmosphere significantly? Many seemed ready to transition into Deitir’s time as the head of the city. The abrupt removal of one so young, who demonstrated such promise would surely be more crippling to Indhovan than the already anticipated death of the elder Tahrsel.

  The reality of the threat became more tangible during the moments Cayri applied Vlas’ theories to her own. Deitir’s inexperience may have been an advantage for the enemy, but anyone present to witness would recognize how swiftly the acting governor was overcoming his lack of experience. Deitir looked to Cayri for support often, but it was for support, not for direction. His instincts were true and his intuition strong. He had given no one cause to doubt him beyond his youth, which was not so young as to insist upon immaturity or youthful incompetence. He had been raised well, if slightly dependent on his family. Cayri forgave that, understanding that being the only child of an important household, some sheltering was to be expected. Now was his time to learn, to utilize what his parents had given him with their shelter and their guidance. Deitir accepted guidance and at times sought it from others, but he was not incapacitated without it. He demonstrated many of the traits of a strong and lasting leader. Assassination was a very real danger in such a sensitive climate as the approach of war.

  The thought carried Cayri from the doorway of Raiss Tahrsel’s room, through the corridors of the substantial manor to the governor’s study. There she found Deitir in conference with his mother, who stood with carefully collected ease at the window nearest the desk. Fersmyn was also present, along with Firard Mortannis. Cayri’s gaze settled upon the latter to the point that he took notice and glanced in her direction, though he did not interrupt his conversation with Deitir.

  “We knew very little about the coven or the agenda of its leader,” the man was saying.

  His words held a mildly peculiar aspect to them, nothing that was overly strange to a mage who was accustomed to existing alongside people from all over Edrinor, but the sounds of his speech did stand out noticeably from others in Indhovan. It was different, even from those who held the heritage of the Islands. Probably the nearest tonal quality to it was demonstrated by Ilayna. Cayri had also heard it recently from Korsten. So, the three of them were likely from the same area. She recalled that the city of Ilayna’s origin was Cenily, another coastal town, smaller than Indhovan and further south.

  “The wave struck us completely unaware,” Firard continued. “Simultaneously, it struck a Morennish ship, presumably an advance scout. That, of course, means that the attack is imminent, but as you were already informed….”

  While he made a conceding, possibly condescending sweep of his arm toward Deitir, Cayri continued to study him. The man felt of frustration and of impatience, and not of the collectedness and control she anticipated from a potential spy. Of course, if such an individual were less confident in their role, they might have been more furtive or anxious. Firard was neither. His emotional presence spoke of stability.

  “We were informed,” Deitir said to the man, demonstrating only mild peevishness at his manner; which seemed that of someone who felt more thwarted by himself than by the very young man of authority before him. “But that does not mean your recent experience holds no value. You said neither you nor any of your companions witnessed the fate of the Morennish crew.”

  “No,” Firard responded. “It was all we could do to keep track of our own.”

  “And you saw no other vessels nearby,” Fersmyn added.

  Firard shook his head tautly. “None.”

  Fersmyn and Deitir exchanged brief glances while Ilayna took visible note of Cayri’s presence in the doorway. Her gaze did not linger, and soon it went to Firard. She inhaled deeply and quietly let go a sigh of stress. “Well, upset as you may be about it, Firard, I’m not upset by the fact that you didn’t make it further north.”

  Firard had been look
ing at the floor, but in that moment he lifted his gaze to Ilayna. There was some familiarity between them, hence no one seemed to be delivering or taking offense when Firard quipped with some impatience, “I realize that.”

  Even Deitir kept his defensiveness over his mother reined in while he tolerated whatever the nature of their relationship may have been.

  “Master Mortannis,” Cayri inserted, drawing the attention of all parties. “Were you well acquainted with Konlan Ossai?”

  Firard considered the name, then shook his head. “I scarcely knew the man beyond hearing him speak at gatherings.”

  The answer came neither too soon nor too late, and with an air of dutifulness that marked him a soldier, accustomed to succinct questions and succinct answers, performed with diligence and efficiency, under circumstances where order had to dominate over all else. That air seemed to extend primarily to strangers he held in a professional light, or at least to those not quite so familiar as Ilayna and her relations may have been. He was not a young man and though he had not yet arrived at the same tier of agedness as Ilayna and her husband, it was not impossible for a relationship to have occurred near thirty years ago. It was quite possible, in fact, but there was something about the pair that suggested something else. Cayri concluded that Firard Mortannis was not Deitir’s father and also that he was not Konlan’s accomplice.

  “Can it matter much now?” Deitir asked in regards to the topic of Master Ossai. “We know that Konlan betrayed all of us, but is it important to investigate beyond that at this time?”

  Cayri looked at him, and said, “We should be wary of any allies he may have had among his fellow activists, and any accomplices he may have had among your father’s subordinates.”

 

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