Revealed: The Taellaneth - Book 2

by Vanessa Nelson

  “Keep down,” Kallish hissed between bouts of gunfire.

  “How many?” Arrow crawled to a spot near the warrior, sheltered by the vehicle and a large tree.

  “Perhaps a half dozen left.” The warrior cast a quick glance over her shoulder. “You are wounded again.”

  “Ribs broken.” She was also dizzy again, head aching. The warrior looked unconvinced and Arrow wondered how bad she looked. Despite the hasty application of power after the crash, the edges of her sight were hazy. Every breath, every movement, brought a fresh wave of pain. She could not gather her thoughts or concentration enough to form even the simplest spell.

  “You may reload for me.”

  So, Arrow kept the warrior’s guns loaded until there was no more firing from below. Only after there had been silence for a few minutes did Kallish cautiously rise, then go down the slope to check. Her face was grim when she came back.

  “Most dead. Five bodies. Perhaps one alive, but he has gone.”

  “Alright.” Arrow struggled to sit up. Now that the chase was done, and the firing had stopped, her adrenaline was running out. There was wet on her face, cold in the chill air, and new points of pain appearing around her body with every breath, including the shoulder she had used to break her fall when the vehicle overturned. She managed to focus for a brief moment, enough to send a tiny trickle of healing through her, the effort making her sight dim further.

  “There appears to be some sort of building up in the trees. It may provide useful shelter,” Kallish noted. “Wait here. I will go and look.”

  “Alright.” Arrow slumped back against a handy tree trunk, hoping that she would not be required to do much more activity for a while. She tried to gather some more power for healing. Her focus kept slipping, power sliding out of her control.

  It felt like mere moments before the warrior was back.

  “There is movement in the trees. Come, the cabin ahead will be a better defence point.”

  The thought of being shot at again brought Arrow to her feet and, leaning on as many trees as she could, she staggered up the slope in the warrior’s wake.

  They had just reached the small clearing around the cabin when movement nearby startled her.

  “Stop where you are!” The words, spoken in the common tongue, were heavily accented.

  “How did that one get past me?” Kallish asked in Erith, annoyed. She moved silently to take a position nearer to the trees, seeking cover, weapon raised. Arrow slid to rest against another tree, breath harsh and loud in her ears.

  There was a pause then the stranger’s voice went on, in fluent Erith.

  “Who is there? Identify yourselves!”

  After a frowning moment, Kallish seemed to come to a decision.

  “Kallish nuin Falsen, of the White Guard, in the company of a war mage. And who are you?”

  “You can call me Thomas.” The stranger was visible now, coming towards them through the trees. Arrow was glad she was fully supported. A tall Erith, he moved with a warrior’s grace, long warrior’s hair bound back from his sharp, aristocratic features sharply contrasting with his haphazard array of human-made winter clothing.

  “Thomas?” Kallish’s composure cracked, astonished. She rose to her feet, weapon holstered, and stepped forward. “Thomshairaen vo Pretenai?”

  “Perhaps once,” the man grunted, uncaring of his dignity, coming to a halt a few paces away. He had a large assault weapon slung over one shoulder, and a brace of Erith knives at his hips. The hilt of a sword peeked out next to one ear.

  “Kester vo Halsfeld’s long lost cousin?” Arrow scrambled to stand, astonished in her own turn.

  “The same.” Kallish was still shaken. “You were dead, old man. Your funeral rites were sung even though there was no body or stone to sing over. Your House has been torn up and its retainers scattered.”

  “Good,” he said with a dark, vicious bite.

  “But you are not dead.” Kallish’s own anger was rising.

  “Better for everyone to think I am.” He turned his head deliberately, looking at Arrow. “So, you are the orphaned brat? You have turned out well, I think. A war mage? Your grandfather would be proud.”

  “My lineage is struck,” Arrow answered, tongue stiff, the old hurt compressing her chest along with her ribs. The older warrior’s eyebrows lifted.

  “Is that so? So which House claims you?”

  “None,” she began, and before she could reveal her exile she was interrupted.

  “The mage is injured,” Kallish snapped. “We have been pursued. Is there shelter here, or do we require to move on?” It was the least graceful request for aid that Arrow had ever heard. Thomshairaen vo Prestenai had been gone from the Erith, presumed dead, before Arrow was born. Before then he had been highly regarded by all, his praises still sung by the older White Guard who remembered him. A White Guard who had fought surjusi face to face and remained to tell the tale.

  Watching the warrior’s face, seeing the white bracket his mouth and the darkness in his eyes, Arrow wondered if this warrior had fought one demon too many. It happened, on occasion, but such warriors were usually returned, with all care, to the folds of their family, all the Houses considering it an honour to care for their veterans. However much they disliked facing weakness, Erith Houses were justly proud of their warriors.

  After a frowning moment, Thomshairaen gave a curt nod.

  “Come and be welcome at my hearth. Here, let me take the young one.” He stepped past Kallish as though she were not bristling with weapons and temper, and put a careful arm around Arrow’s waist, aiding her the last few steps.

  Arrow gathered confused first impressions of Thomas’ cabin. All about it outside was chaos, parts of old vehicles, half-finished carpentry projects and at least one old fridge under the snow cover. Inside the place was spotless, and austere. A wooden floor gleamed with fresh polish, the only covering a small, plain, woven rug. The furniture consisted of a cot bed tucked in a nook near the fireplace, a large sofa and a small table with two chairs. The furniture was all of shifkin manufacture, Arrow thought. There were two open doors to one side, the scent of food curling out from one. The whole place was, to Arrow’s eyes, simplicity and abundance at the same time. More than enough to support a full life.

  “Here.” The warrior eased her onto the sofa. “Ribs?”

  “Broken. Banged my shoulder. And I think I hit my head again.” She swallowed against nausea, having trouble focusing on anything.

  “Salve will not work on this, I think,” Kallish said darkly, standing behind her, tone telling Arrow that the warrior was still glaring at Thomas. “She needs a healer.”

  Arrow was too tired to laugh. Erith healers despised her as readily as the Chief Scribe. She did not want their care. Sleep. She wanted sleep. A period of quiet dark without pain.

  “Salve cannot do more damage,” Thomas contradicted.

  Arrow lost track of the conversation. More was said, in tense voices. Kallish was angry but from time to time her expression would slip, transformed for a moment into hurt. Thomas appeared not to notice, but the lines around his mouth were still white. Thomshairaen, she reminded herself, thoughts still scattered. Erith to his core, every move and word betraying his heritage as he faced his former colleague. There was a history there.

  The brewing conflict between warriors was cut short by a shrill sound. Thomshairaen moved across to the wall where an ancient looking telephone was fixed, wires running up to the ceiling. Radio telephone, Arrow thought, focus gathered for a moment. There had been an aerial on the roof. He answered with a curt, “Yes?”

  Settled on the sofa, with no one trying to kill her, Arrow felt sleep tugging at her. Her ribs ached fiercely, and she was sure there were important things to do, but she really wanted some rest. This place felt safe. A place of refuge. All the chaos firmly left outside in the cold.

  “There was a lot of gunfire, yes,” Thomshairaen said, words filtering through her tired mind, “and I be
lieve a rocket launcher.” He listened for a while, head tilted towards the phone, tension fading and humour creeping into his eyes. “Well I have two strays here. A warrior and a mage.” He paused, listening again. “Of course. Good hunting.” He hung up the phone and turned to his visitors. “Zachary Farraway will be here shortly. Your arrival was noticed.”

  “Yes.” Kallish’s mouth tightened. “That is unfortunate.”

  “Zachary is not pleased at the disruption to his home.”

  “We will leave,” Kallish suggested. Arrow blinked, staring at the warrior. She was fairly certain she could not get off the sofa. Even if she managed that, she wondered how they were going to get off the mountain as their transport was currently on its side, wedged against a tree that had been mostly blown apart.

  “The Prime wishes to speak with you,” the other warrior contradicted flatly. “It may take him a short while to get here.” There was a pause, the warriors eyeing each other warily. Arrow could all but see the hostility crackling the air between them. Curious, but also apprehensive about how much damage they could do, she straightened, hiding a wince.

  “Do you have a tool kit of some sorts, svegraen?” She gestured to the collar around her neck. “These are somewhat troublesome.”

  He knelt before her in a swift, graceful move that had Kallish putting her hand on a knife hilt. Thomshairaen ignored her, examining the collar closely. “Nasty, nasty,” he said after a while, “crudely made and all the more dangerous for it. There was a worm, too?”

  “The worms are gone.”

  “More than one?” The warrior glanced up at Kallish for confirmation.

  Turning her head, Arrow saw the warrior’s face tighten before she reached up and unbuttoned the high neck of her coat, showing the collar she also wore.

  “Well, then.” He straightened and carefully stowed his rifle and ammunition on the arrangement of hooks and shelves near the cabin door before going to one side of the cabin, opening a cupboard door to reveal a very organised, well stocked interior. One side seemed entirely to be made up of preserved foodstuffs, in tins and sealed jars. The other was all tools. Arrow’s attention snagged. Everything he needed was in this cabin. It was a sharp, welcome, contract to the careless abundance that most Erith displayed.

  A moment’s sifting through the collection and he put a small tool box on the table, turning on the lamp that sat there. Bright light searing her eyes, Arrow struggled upright at his gesture, biting her lip against a whimper, and went to sit in one of the straight-backed chairs, tugging her hair out of the way with a sharply indrawn breath as her ribs protested the movement. The lamp had a moveable head and the Erith warrior turned it so the light shone on the collar, settling himself in the other chair, which he moved closer so that their knees were nearly touching.

  “There is explosive contained within the collar,” Kallish told him sharply as he reached into his tool box.

  “So I see, svegraen. We will get to that in a moment.”

  With quick, sure moves he turned the collar a little, running his fingers over the surface, examining the device with a magnifying glass. Glancing up at Kallish, Arrow saw that, in better light, the collar looked like a thick length of tubing, joined inexpertly with a welding tool.

  “There is no remote trigger,” he concluded moments later, “which is a good thing, or you would both be dead. There is, however, more than a little explosive within these devices, and a wire threaded through which will detonate if the collars are tampered with.”

  “We need to be careful.” Kallish was hovering behind the warrior’s shoulder, eyes keen. She had put down her human weapons, carefully placing them by the wall with the extra ammunition clips, and now was simply armed as an Erith warrior.

  “We need to fool the device into thinking it is all still in one piece,” Thomshairaen agreed. “Hmmm. There should be some copper wire and small clips in the box.”

  Kallish sifted through the box, producing a length of wire and two metal clips.

  “If we put one clip here, and thread the wire around the back, then clip it here.” The warrior clipped one end of the wire to a point at the front of Arrow’s neck, threaded the wire around the back of her neck, and clipped the wire again, leaving a short space between the clips. “And then we cut.”

  Without any warning, he used a pair of pliers to sever the collar between the clips. Arrow’s heart thumped, anticipating an explosion. Nothing happened. The warrior calmly removed the collar.

  “There, young thing, now you may relax. Back to the sofa with you, and I’ll see to your guardian.”

  “My thanks, svegraen.” Arrow inclined her head and moved stiffly off the chair. She was too worn to protest the assumption that Kallish was her guardian. Kallish was capable of correcting the error in any event but did not, which in normal circumstances would have caught Arrow’s attention. As it was, Arrow was not sure that sitting was a good idea, certain that there would be no getting up again for a while, but obeyed Thomshairaen’s request, limbs heavy, watching him quickly and efficiently repeating the process to remove the collar around Kallish’s neck.

  Kallish’s thanks were more formal than Arrow’s. The older warrior did not seem to notice, giving them both a warm smile.

  “Much better, I think. Now, young warrior, I have stew in the kitchen.” He nodded to the open door. “Bowls in the cupboard beside the sink, utensils in the drawer next to it. Enough for all of us.”

  Lips pressing together, Kallish swallowed whatever she wished to say, moving into the kitchen.

  The old warrior carefully stowed his tools away, leaving the collars on the table, before coming over to Arrow. “Now, let us get the coat off and see what the damage is.”

  Struggling to stand again, Arrow was ashamed of dampness on her face, and shamed that she needed the warrior’s hand under her elbow to help her rise. Any wish to sleep vanished in renewed agony. She bit her lip, hard, swallowing any noise.

  It was a relief to have the weight of the coat off, even if it was humiliating to require the warrior’s assistance again. He did not stop there, peeling layers of clothing from her until she was in her vest top, shivering slightly with cold and pain. He raised the hem of her top and made a soft sound. Glancing down, Arrow saw that her mid-section was covered in mottled bruising.

  “This is more than one event,” the warrior said.

  Kallish came back into the room then, bowls of stew in her hands. She stopped, frowning, seeing the extent of bruising.

  “You are badly damaged,” she said baldly. “You should have said something.”

  “It has been an eventful few days,” Arrow answered them both, taking shallow breaths. “Do you have bandage, svegraen, or some more salve?”

  “Both. Wait.” He moved away, going through the other door, giving Arrow a glimpse of a spotlessly clean bathroom as he moved.

  Kallish set the bowls on the table, and was about to say something when she stiffened, hands going to her weapons, eyes on the door.

  A moment later and a loud knock sounded, followed immediately by the door opening.

  Zachary Farraway came into the cabin like a winter storm front, temper clear in his glowing eyes and tense movements, teeth slightly bared as he saw Kallish’s hands on weapons.

  “Ah, there you are.” Thomshairaen came back from the bathroom, seemingly entirely at ease, hands full of a medical kit. “Zachary.” The warrior nodded, acknowledging the Prime. “Kallish, another bowl, I think, but do close the door first. We have wounded, and it is still freezing outside.”

  Perhaps taken aback by the warrior’s commands, Kallish moved to obey. Zachary remained rooted to the spot, eyes blazing as he looked around the room again before coming back to glare at Arrow. She smoothed her top with hands that trembled slightly.

  “Prime,” she acknowledged.

  “Mage.” Despite the temper in his face, his voice was calm. Almost conversational. “You have a knack of causing trouble.”

  “My apologi
es. It was not my intent.”

  He opened his mouth to reply, eyes still full of power, and was interrupted by their host.

  “Berate her later. For now, have some stew and let me bandage her up. Come over here, Arrow.” Thomshairaen moved her away from the centre of the room to his cot, opening the medical kit on his blankets. Sighing, her back to the room, Arrow rolled up her top again, trying not to whimper as the warrior spread Erith healing salve all over her rib cage then wound thick bandages around her. She thought he also sent some healing into her. He was muttering under his breath as he worked, words too soft for her to hear. The familiar scent of burnt amber rose around her and her pain eased, head clearing as he worked. A healing spell.

  The bandages both supported her ribs and constrained her breathing. That done, the warrior spread more salve over the growing bruises on her shoulder and arm, before silently handing her clothes back to her. Whilst she dressed he returned his medical kit to the bathroom.

  Turning back to the room, she found Kallish standing near the table, on which four bowls of stew were set. Zachary was also still standing, arms folded, eyes sparking green in the dim light of the cabin.

  “What happened?”

  “Talk while we eat,” Thomshairaen suggested, going across to the table and holding a chair for Arrow. Heat rising under her skin at the unaccustomed courtesy, she inclined her head and moved across to the chair, feeling her ribs sore but bearable as she sat. “You need your strength, young thing.” He pushed a bowl across to her, then produced two folding chairs, taking one himself and waving Kallish into the other. After a scowling moment, Zachary settled in the empty chair, accepting the bowl of stew with a quiet word of thanks.

  The stew was delicious. Whatever Thomshairaen had been doing since he left the Erith, if he wished a change of venue, Arrow was quite sure he would be able to open a restaurant. Discovering she was hungry, her body needing more energy to heal, she was happy to simply sit and eat.