by T. A. Miles
Nera drifted into the room in the wake of Ashwin’s permeating aura, stirring Eisleth’s own soul-keeper from her shadows. Isevka drifted with red tails dripping from her black wings, across the motes of magic adrift in the air, toward the bright green dragonfly. Trails of green, white, red, and black light coiled and mingled, and both Eisleth and Ashwin felt what the other was feeling with no spells required. Between mages with a long-lived or especially strong bond, the soul-keepers constantly reconnected and reinforced, ensuring that such bonds were never forgotten, not in all the years of the most ancient of them. And there were none at Vassenleigh more ancient than Eisleth and Ashwin. They had been brothers longer than the Seminary had been established, since long before the Rottherlen family had been put upon Edrinor’s throne … and they would remain so long past it.
And on those familiar terms, Eisleth spoke without reservation. “I was never in support of allowing his path to be forced from the beginning.” While he spoke, he withdrew the magic and the Healing it was casting. He would examine the results later, enabling the magic time to further saturate the target.
“No,” Ashwin recalled easily. “It was another of my ill-guided decisions.”
“Unguided, perhaps,” Eiselth corrected. Ashwin’s incomparable guidance was available to everyone, it seemed, but himself. “Your leadership, at times, feels as spontaneous and enthusiastic as Ceth’s inventing.”
Ashwin took the comment in silence and in the spirit in which it was given, setting it aside because it was true, or because it was not important enough to argue. “I still see no safer path for him to have taken.”
“Some consider ignorance a safety.”
“And you and I both know that it is a hazard pending, for others if not for those sheltering in it. Look where the imposed ignorance of many of Edrinor’s people has gotten us.”
“You needn’t remind me,” Eisleth said. “I wasn’t arguing.”
“I argue with myself.”
“Some would consider that a method to guiding oneself, yet your arguments always occur after decisions have been made.”
“Yes, I know,” Ashwin admitted, because he had no delusions about how he had always lived. For the most part, his methods had been successful. He held what was currently among the most influential positions anyone in Edrinor could have, with the love, respect, and support of students and peers alike. Conversely, he was among the more feared and the more loathed of anyone living. He had made enemies of men, of mages in his time, and of demons. There were some who might have believed he had been forsaken by the Powers, or by the Gods, themselves, and perhaps there was some truth in that. Perhaps the same could be said of Eisleth, or of any mage. Concern for such things was secondary to Eisleth. He had set out on this path, to this destination, with and for his brother. They had the means to bring method to chaos. It had taken millennia, but the Seminary had been built and yet stood. Eisleth held no illusions about seeing it stand forever; forever was not a natural realization for anything. Even the everlasting changed over the course of its existence. Eisleth and Ashwin had both changed considerably.
Ashwin stepped further into the room, arriving at Merran’s bedside, where he seated himself and looked upon the Mage-Adept’s sedate features. “Still,” he eventually said. “His path has been one of devotion for more than three hundred years. Whether or not it was an ideal route scarcely matters. I also believe that he can continue.”
“The tool he was given is all but destroyed.”
“But he has mastered that tool, as you call it, and by now understands the application in such a way that he may be able to substitute something else.”
Eisleth knew immediately where Ashwin’s path of thought was going. He elected not to dignify it especially by looking at Merran’s hand or Ceth’s mesh lain over it. He considered also saying nothing more and leaving, but then his brother spoke.
“We would need your help, Eisleth.”
“I am uncertain as to whether or not I’m open to constructing something of that nature.”
“We can’t lose a hunter now, not one with his experience and skill. Beyond helping Merran, it’s to help us in this war.”
“This war has to end, yes. I’m uncertain as to whether or not we’re the ones to end it, brother.”
“Not us alone,” Ashwin said. “Of course, we both know that.”
“I don’t know that we should persist with this endeavor,” Irslan whispered.
From their place of relative protection, crouched beneath a stairwell along a street edging the harbor, Vlas scanned the increasing darkness that would undoubtedly herald a very long night.
“You would prefer to hide in waiting for a direct assault on your home?” he whispered back to his reluctant companion.
“What benefit is there to going to the Islands now?” Irslan demanded to know, though he maintained a quiet tone, which may not have been entirely necessary, given that none of the Morennish soldiers appeared to have set foot on land yet. “The attack has already happened.”
“Yes,” Vlas conceded, regathering his bearings since the last time he was in this very area. There would likely not be a boat where he had set off the first time with Vaelyx and Imris, but a boat was not what he was looking for. He intended to never be on one again, if he could avoid it and in this instance, he could. It would not be necessary to travel by water. Since he had been to the nearest Island already and retained memory of it, a Reach could be accomplished. The primary concern was to not focus unintentionally on the well, but as that had not been a problem in revisiting the day prior, he didn’t anticipate that it would become a problem now. Particularly not with another as his responsibility. He would never dare to dream of putting Irslan into his uncle’s tomb. In all honesty, he had not even a morbid desire to go into the rubble himself. Whether or not it was possible—it might well have been completely filled with rock and earth—self-affliction had never been of any interest to him, emotionally or otherwise. The purpose in walking to the harbor was to shorten the distance to the island and to witness the state of the battle. Thus far, the fighting remained on the water and to the north. People moved through the streets with undeniable purpose, but none of those individuals were the enemy, yet.
“I still don’t see why we should make such a dangerous maneuver,” Irslan pressed.
“There may be troops embedded on the Islands,” Vlas reminded, his gaze catching on the forms of someone in the water. “Or further supplies stored.”
Irslan’s bravery was rapidly flagging. Walking him through the state of emergency in the streets might not have been to his benefit. “I fail to see what only the two of us would be able to do about that.”
“Look harder,” Vlas instructed. He would maintain faith in this nephew of Vaelyx’s. His family had become deeply involved, whether it was Irslan’s direct doing or not. He knew that Irslan felt the pull of his obligation as a Treir to assist with the unhappy legacy of his family. Did Vlas actually require his assistance? No, he did not. But he would have liked to have it and for now that was all the justification he was prepared to put onto it.
“There,” Irslan said, pointing. “I see someone, climbing onto the pier. An enemy soldier?”
“No….” Vlas said. He recognized the slim, athletic form of Imris the instant she had been hoisted out. As to the man with her … perhaps another constable. “Two of our own.”
“Two of our own?” Irslan repeated. “Who?”
Vlas didn’t answer. He ducked out of their hiding place and rose to a fuller stand. “This way, Master Treir,” he said to his reluctant companion.
Imris spotted and recognized them immediately. When eye contact was made, Vlas quickened his pace, holding on to that contact and putting an effort into ignoring the fact that he felt some definitive relief over her apparent safety. He did wonder about how she wound up swimming in the harbor and decided to inq
uire. His mouth formed words as if given license by the formation of the thought.
“Are you all right, Imris?”
“Yes,” the lady constable said easily, making it easier for Vlas to move beyond his moment of unintentional demonstration and to what was actually on his mind.
“What happened to the both of you?” He gave a glance to her companion in asking, recognizing Oshand, now that they were stood closer to one another.
“Our ship was put under by the enemy,” Oshand answered, his hawkish profile turned toward the water. It was evident that he was far less concerned with present company and rightfully concerned with the approach of further danger.
Thus far the enemy’s fire tactics had not reached as far as the pier they were at. In effect, the Morennish fleet was still in the process of entering Indhovan’s harbor and therefore concentrating specifically on the ships and structures at the north end of the city.
“There was a demon onboard,” Imris said to Vlas, recapturing his immediate attention.
“A demon?” Irslan inquired as he arrived and let himself in on the conversation. He earned a quick glance from both Imris and Oshand, and managed to greet the both of them with a nod.
Vlas wasn’t surprised to hear that they discovered a demon among them, but he may have been somewhat surprised—surely relieved—that they had survived the encounter. “Do you know where it came from?”
“No,” Imris answered.
And Oshand expounded. “There was a shadow on the water, after the point ship went down. I didn’t actually see it come onboard, and I don’t think anyone else did either.”
Imris shook her head to confirm that.
The captain continued, “Whether that was the demon or wasn’t, one of the bowmen was brought down.”
“And the Vadryn fed from him,” Vlas presumed.
Oshand looked at him now. His eyes narrowed as he focused on Vlas for the first time, and perhaps with some disgust for what he recalled of the attack on his soldier. “Yes,” the younger man said.
“It took another after the first,” Imris put in.
Vlas nodded, accepting the information, then asked, “How did you escape it?”
“By leaping overboard,” Oshand answered with an air of ‘how else?’ in his tone. He added, “But not before Constable Imris demonstrated the presence of mind to set the deck on fire.”
Vlas’ brow lifted only a little, and not because he was surprised. The account was reminiscent of the Islands cave, and the ghouls. He was glad she recalled the use of fire, however, demons and ghouls were only cousins to one another. Fire would have put the demon’s vessel or its option of further vessels at risk, but the demon itself might still have survived, depending on how thoroughly it had gorged itself. Not that it mattered currently. Either way they would have the Vadryn to contend with, as they’d been expecting.
“I’m glad you weren’t on the water,” came the voice of Cayri.
“As am I,” Vlas said. “Though I would still like to make way. And, because it should be noted, I have no intention of getting there by water.”
“No?” Irslan inquired with a casual air that was awkwardly paired with trepidation.
“No,” Vlas confirmed simply. He had responded as automatically to Cayri, and it was only afterward that he realized her arrival should not have been expected.
“Why?” Cayri asked of him, before he could inquire anything of her.
“To assist….” His words trailed in the realization that Cayri had not happened to find him, and had not done so alone. She had a fellow mage in company, one whose relationship with red probably led them directly to Vlas, as surely as it would have led the Vadryn, if their souls were exposed. The occurrence of the thought had him instantly wondering if it was Korsten’s presence, the fact that he had not been destroyed by a Master Vadryn, or how eerily similar his red methods were to those of demons that held his voice in a knot that was presently lodged in his chest. He untangled it by sheer force of his own will and continued his statement. “To assist Rahl’s men in undermining this assault and its potential prolonging.”
He was fairly certain they had already discussed this. He understood the climate had changed, but that only made the task he had in mind for himself and Irslan more relevant. “If they lose whatever resource they may have on the Islands, they’ll have to withdraw sooner.”
“That may only cause them to fight harder with the resources they have,” Cayri pointed out, and Korsten nodded agreement.
“Neither option is pleasant or ideal,” Vlas admitted, “but we cannot allow them to fully establish an encampment so near to the city. They’ll overtake Indhovan before there’s been any time for support to arrive.”
“If any is to arrive,” came Cayri’s next point in pragmatic opposition.
Throughout their conversation, the three citizens of Indhovan in their presence merely listened, though at the mention of support and whether or not it might arrive, the man and woman at arms exchanged a look with one another.
And it was for their benefit that Vlas said, “I believe it will.”
“All right,” Cayri conceded. “I’m going to stay here to assist the governor. First, Korsten and I intend to look for the potential of possessed enemy soldiers.”
Vlas gave a nod, satisfied to have it explained why she had left the manor without having to ask. For the moment, he avoided giving much attention to Korsten; seeing him delivered images of the well to the front of his mind and he would rather not have them at the moment.
It was Irslan who had a question. “How is it that you managed to find us, or was it purely happenstance?”
“It was mostly happenstance, Master Treir,” Cayri answered. “But Myrrh does have a way at finding Zesyl.”
“I … see,” Irslan said, perhaps because he legitimately had no other idea what was to be said.
Vlas met Cayri’s brief glimpse and secret smile before she turned to leave, trailed by the ever present scarlet damselfly she had referenced in both evading Irslan’s curiosity and taking a moment to reach out to Vlas with something familiar. Though he appreciated it, he could not feel entirely comforted. He said to their confused Master Treir, “Never mind, Irslan. I shall explain it to you if it ever becomes dire for you to know. Now, Captain Oshand, you should report back to your superiors, should you not?”
Oshand’s gaze was back on the water, tracing a path along the docks between them and the ongoing assault to the north. Eventually, he said, “Yes. But I don’t know that you should go to the Islands.”
“It’s quite possible that we should not,” Vlas replied.
Oshand looked back at him.
Vlas said, “But if we leave it to only Rahl’s men, and they do happen to discover more of the Vadryn, not only will Morenne maintain whatever resources they may have there, but we will be forced to fight your fellow soldiers as well. And if not them directly, then possessed soldiers empowered by the vitality they will have taken from your peers.”
Oshand held on to Vlas’ gaze for a lengthy moment. Whatever passed through the young soldier’s mind in that span, it led him to nod. “All right,” he said. “I can take you to a boat.”
Oshand must not have heard the previous part of the conversation regarding smallish craft on water and Vlas’ willingness to be aboard them.
Before Vlas could voice the thought, Irslan volunteered, “We’ll be traveling by magic, I believe.”
“You’re correct in that belief, Master Treir,” Vlas told him.
Oshand made no inquiry of the elected method. “Do you know which island you’re set on?”
“Yes,” Imris said, in the very instant Vlas had intended to say it himself. He took that to mean that she was again volunteering—insisting, rather—to accompany him. At least this time, he could be assured that it was not over distrust of the present Treir and t
hat Irslan would not turn out to have fathered a child with a demon who had lain in wait for intruders with an ambush of ghouls. An ambush may still have been a risk, however. In this instance, Vlas considered himself better prepared.
There was plenty to occupy Korsten’s mind, else he might have been more self-conscious about Vlas’ odd mixture of dismay and relief at seeing him. He might also have been dismayed himself to consider his immediate instinct to take such things personally. He understood that what happened in that cave with Serawe was harrowing, and would have been no matter who the mage. Vlas seemed the type to sort himself out, which was admirable.
Walking swiftly with Cayri toward the northernmost section of the city, he gave his attention as much to what lay ahead as he could. There was a dangling mental thread that threatened his concentration, however. “I won’t take the time to go into detail about how I arrived back here,” he said. “But, depending on how this looks and what goes on here, I may have to depart by Reach long enough to warn a coming ship to change course.”
Cayri glanced at him. “Who are they?”
“Neither soldiers nor supplies, with the exception of the two other mages onboard.”
Cayri slowed, looking over her shoulder at him.
“Lerissa and Sharlotte,” he answered, before she had to ask. Whether or not she knew them or recognized either name, Korsten didn’t take the time to provide detail. “It’s a lengthy explanation, so I’ll suffice it to say that I wound up where they’ve been spending most of the last decade. We commissioned a ship to carry us here, not knowing what state the city would be in.”
“A Reach would have been dangerous,” she agreed, without him having to argue it.
“Yes, though I managed to perform one blindly anyway.”
“It’s something you should work on,” she suggested.
“I intend to,” he said, and meant it. The potential hazards had already been made clear to him over the years; this was simply one more incident. Too many more could be considered inexcusable, not only to himself, but to other mages and to the Superiors as well. He had no idea what that would amount to, save perhaps a period of internment at the Seminary while he was monitored and retrained in a spell that he had somehow misinterpreted and was apparently doing all wrong. Reaches were supposed to take individuals to places, not people … and they weren’t supposed to occur sporadically or unconsciously.
