Getting to her feet hurt and the world spun a moment, a whirl of winter monochrome.
Settled, she looked about with surprise. The area had been flattened, snow crushed, and bits of black flakes spread out. One of the ‘kin was bending near one.
“Do not touch!” Legs would not work, wobbled, and she locked her knees to remain upright. The ‘kin looked up, eyes bright at the challenge.
“Stand down,” Zachary told him, voice easy. “What is that?”
“The magician had a bone weapon. A knife. It broke. That may be a piece of it.”
“A bone weapon?” The Prime tensed, doubtless remembering another bone weapon they had found when tracking his mate’s killer. Arrow had nearly killed the Prime with it.
“I do not think it is the same as the crossbow. A weapon only, I believe, but best to be careful.”
“Wear at least two pairs of gloves and pick up all those bits,” Zachary told the ‘kin, “then burn it. Down to ash. Then bury it. Deep.”
“Prime.” The ‘kin bowed his head and stalked away.
“I cannot sense anything.” Kallish was kneeling by the slivers of black.
“No, that is the problem,” Arrow sighed. “Whatever the magician is using it is almost impossible to detect.”
“The bone crossbow on Farraway Mountain,” Kallish nodded.
“Is it true you nearly killed the Prime?” Orlis asked, eyes wide. Behind Orlis, Arrow realised that Kallish’s second, Xeveran, had arrived and was providing a translation for the Prime.
“Too true.” Zachary grinned, seeing the shock reflected on Orlis’ face. “Good thing she is a lousy shot.”
“Her skill with weapons leaves much to be desired,” Kallish agreed gravely, coming to her feet, “as does her sense.”
“She is standing right here,” Arrow said, without any heat in her voice.
“Away from your guard, mage.”
Arrow bit her lip against whatever words had risen, breathing once.
“What did he look like?” Orlis asked, curiosity not dimmed at all.
“Erith.” Arrow’s throat closed. “He is Erith. Not anyone I recognise. And maimed.”
“How?”
“Half his face is …” Arrow gestured, trying to think of words.
“Burned? Scarred?” Zachary prompted.
“Melted smooth.”
“That is not a natural wound,” Kallish put in.
“No.”
“You said surjusi? Possibly?” Zachary asked.
They had gathered closer, the Erith and ‘kin equally focused on learning more. She blew out a breath, echo of the damage ringing through her body.
“Possibly. Definitely very powerful. I think possessed.”
“And he was in that other place. How did he get there?” The Prime’s eyes were keen on her face.
She did not know. And did not have answers to the dozens of questions that followed, each failure another sting as the cold damp from the snow crept into her clothing. Folding her arms across her middle she finally realised that she was covered, head to toe, in dark clumps of ash. The remnants of mage fire. And as she had not had time to properly ward her clothing, that meant yet another new set of clothing was required. She sighed, trying to brush the worst of it off her sleeve and making a greater mess. It was a good thing she had dressed in human clothing today, she thought sourly. Damaging the Erith clothing would have been another failure to bear.
“What’s that?”
“Mage fire,” she told the Prime, turning her hand palm up and grimacing at the black streaks. “Almost impossible to remove.”
“Good thing we arrived later, then,” Zachary said cheerfully. Arrow slanted a glance across under her lids and saw the Prime’s attention mostly on the cadre. The more cheerful he was the more annoyed Kallish appeared. The Prime was baiting the White Guard, Arrow realised, and on shifkin territory. Kallish swallowed her annoyance with evident effort and made a small, stiff bow to the Prime.
“Thank you for allowing us to cross into your territory, Prime.”
“Absolutely my pleasure,” Zachary smiled, “always fascinating to see what Arrow will get up to next.” Arrow’s face flared with heat.
“Not the word I would choose,” Kallish muttered, drawing another smile from the ‘kin.
“How did you get here?” he asked Arrow.
“Walked,” she told him. He stilled, clearly taken aback.
“We’re miles away.”
“Really?” She looked about with more attention and realised that he was right. She was miles into ‘kin territory. Miles from the building. “I did not realise. Distances …” she waved a hand. “It is easier to travel in the other place.”
“And you’ve been gone for most of the day, according to the White Guard.”
A quick check of the angle of the sun proved that point. It was nearly night. She shivered lightly. Time and distance moved differently amid the shadows. She would need much more practice before she had mastered that place.
Almost as if she had read Arrow’s mind, Kallish stepped forward, jaw set. “You will take one of us with you next time, mage.”
“I do not know how.”
“Find out. We need to see this other place.”
“I do not even know if it is possible to take someone else in,” Arrow protested, then doubled over, moaning, as that damned book opened inside her, a series of pages cutting through her insides. Her sight blanked.
She blinked, finding herself prone on the hard ground, cold seeping along her side where she lay.
“Mage!” Kallish was crouched in front of her, amber sparks in the warrior’s eyes.
“Svegraen,” Arrow coughed, choking on something, then spat red blood onto the snow. “Ow.” Her body was shaking. Teeth crashed together, making her head pound. Stomach was ribbons of hurt. Fingers frozen. Feet burning.
“Drink.” Orlis’s voice. She swallowed whatever was put to her mouth and choked again, spitting more blood, and spirit, onto the snow.
“She’s weak.” Zachary’s voice.
“Magic drained.” Kallish’s voice was sombre.
“You’ve seen this before?”
“Often.” The warrior turned and called orders to her cadre before explaining to the Prime. “Usually mages newly come into their power. They have little sense of their own limits. She is at her limit, and too blind to see it.”
“Not true,” Arrow said, voice hoarse, pushing up from the ground to sit, elbows on knees and head in her hands. She was weak and exhausted, but power was still coiled, unused, inside her. “It is that cursed book.”
“The Preceptor’s book?” Kallish frowned.
“It is … Oh, damned …” Arrow hunched over her stomach and breathed slowly and steadily. “Damned, damned thing. Worse than the oath spells.”
“Forced learning.” Kallish’s voice had softened, but her eyes were still full of amber.
“Yes.”
“A book is doing this?” Zachary sounded sceptical.
“Forced learning,” Kallish said again as Arrow took short, shallow breaths and tried not to pass out.
“It is supposed to be an efficient way of passing information on,” Orlis clarified, making Arrow jump as he put a hand on her shoulder then sent another healing wave through her. “It does not usually cause damage.”
Uncomfortable with the attention directed at her, Arrow shifted, wanting to stand, and was held down by Orlis’ hand and a stern look from Kallish.
“We have a vehicle coming,” the warrior told her. “Warmth, food and rest will help.”
“Are you learning anything?” Zachary crouched in front of her, a familiar, assessing look on his face as he watched her.
“Yes. Slowly. There is too much all at once.” Arrow rubbed her hands over her eyes, forgetting her wound for a moment and hissing as her face registered pain. “But I may be able to take someone with me to the shadow place.” The page with that information lay open inside her, almost po
ssible to read.
“Good,” Kallish said, satisfaction lighting her eyes.
“And you can hunt the magician there?”
“With time, yes,” she answered Zachary. She did not want to. The magician was too strong. And despite Orlis’ healing, she was still broken inside. But she had made a promise.
The hum of an engine distracted them, and she staggered to her feet against Orlis’ protests to find three Erith vehicles bumping across the ‘kin lands towards them. Arrow was horrified.
“The land is not meant for driving on.”
“It’s grass and plants, Arrow, it’ll heal,” Zachary was amused, “but you look like you’re about to faint again.”
She could not argue with that, almost glad of the injury to her face as it might hide some of her blush.
“What’s next?” he asked.
“We are still tracking the Preceptor,” Kester answered. He had been so quiet that she had almost forgotten he was there.
Zachary’s eyes flared green and a small, pleased smile curved his mouth. A predator’s smile.
“And when the mage is well enough, we will try and follow this rogue,” Kallish added.
Arrow’s stomach churned, and a cold trickle ran through her. She did not want to face the magician. Not in this realm or the shadowed place.
Her opinion was not sought, the ‘kin and Erith reaching some agreement she did not follow, edges of her sight becoming hazy as they talked. When they were done, she let the Erith lead her away, still cradling her hand close to her, the empty scabbard at her back an almost impossible weight to bear. She had failed.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
She did not remember much of the journey, having only the strength to eat food that was given to her and shower away the mage fire before falling asleep, hand twitching with the memory of splintered bone and the agony of healing.
The White Guard left her to sleep, and she woke when daylight crossed her face, far into the morning, to find that the warriors had left her another gift. Another pile of Erith clothing was on the wooden chair set at the end of her bed. She had not noticed the door opening during the night, or stirred once, she realised, catching sight of herself in the small mirror on the bathroom wall. Her hair had dried overnight into a snarled mess, pressed up against her head on one side. It took a while to work the tangles out using her fingers, stopping every now and then to admire the miracle of a whole, working hand.
As she worked through her hair she contemplated the further, unexpected gift of Erith clothing, puzzling through the possible meanings, unsettled by not knowing. It might be as simple as the Erith being offended by the only other option, human-made clothing. The second set of Erith clothing, like the first, had clearly come from a House, as beautifully made as the first, with the House insignia carefully removed.
If the White Guard had simply wanted her out of human clothing, they could have requested cast-off clothing from the Taellaneth laundry mistress. Servants’ wear discarded from by the primary Taellaneth servants when it became too worn, or did not fit, or needed mending. Servants, unlike warriors, did not wear mended garments with pride. Arrow had been clothed from that pile throughout her time with the Erith.
This, she thought, smoothing the sleeve down, was something quite different. Perhaps a matter of pride for the White Guard, apparently charged with her care, but something as rare and precious to her as their care of her.
Strapping on the sword harness had become an almost automatic reflex even in the short time she had carried it. The empty scabbard reminded her of the destroyed spell. She found the remnant wrapped in cloth and set it on top of a tall cabinet of drawers, unfolding the cloth, seeing the tangled, torn, ends of the spells glittering silver in the daylight. She did not want to look in second sight, opening it a fraction only to confirm what she already knew. Damaged beyond repair. A reminder of failure.
Touching one fingertip to the severed end of a line of spell, she froze as the line moved, coiling around her finger, a faint trace of familiar warmth sliding across her skin, the spell recognising her power. Perhaps not entirely destroyed.
Her hand went to the buckle of the sword harness, intending to leave it behind with the fragments. Fingers clasped around the cool metal she could not go further, for some reason unable to leave it behind even if it was foolish to carry an empty sheath. She folded the spell remnants back into the cloth and pocketed them on impulse, hand lingering over the traces of the spell. There was an Erith saying about keeping the thorn that had bitten as a reminder to be more careful with rose bushes. The original saying was far more poetic, naturally. For the first time she almost grasped the meaning, the non-weight of the spell fragments and the empty scabbard both points of discomfort that could not be set aside. She could, and did, hide the shame of the empty scabbard with a glamour.
Clean, dressed, and as presentable as she could manage, she paused behind the door, catching the faintest trace of other people moving about the building at the very edge of her hearing, clearer in second sight, all sound almost cancelled by the soundproofing the ‘kin had added to the building. The cadre were awake and going about their business. Her stomach grumbled, noise loud against the quiet room, reminding her it was late in the day and she had used a lot of energy in her defeat the day before. She could not hide here forever.
Opening the door, she went into the kitchen and paused on the threshold, blinking in surprise. The cadre had been busy. They had been out and apparently brought back the contents of an entire bakery. Every surface in the room was covered with open paper bags spilling out pastries, rolls, and savouries that she barely recognised. Around the room warriors helped themselves with apparent relish, comparing notes on flavour and texture.
Arrow’s mouth twitched, throat loosening and chest lightening with laughter. If Lord Whintnath, or any of the more traditional of the Taellan saw this sight they would believe the White Guard thoroughly corrupted. Then she caught sight of Kester vo Halsfeld, in his White Guard clothing, brushing flakes of what looked like a croissant from his clothing, and had to bite down a smile.
“Human food comes in quite marvellous variety,” Orlis commented. He was settled at one of the chairs around the table, a pair of empty paper bags in front of him, biting into what she thought was an apple turnover, eyes sparkling. His red hair was tangled as ever, and his front bore the traces of several pastries.
“It does,” Arrow agreed.
“You should get some before the cadre eat it all,” Orlis added, speaking around a mouthful, something which would earn him an immediate reprimand in an Erith household. His comment drew wry glances from the others, telling Arrow that Orlis had eaten at least as much as them. Her lips twitched again, welcome bubble of laughter easing some of the pain in her chest.
Arrow found a meat pastry she particularly liked, and then an empty spot against the wall to stand while she ate breakfast. The warriors in the room did not appear bothered by her presence, too busy with breakfast.
“Neith vo Sena contacted me earlier,” Kester said.
Mouth full of rich flavour, she lifted a brow as a silent prompt.
“His horse has been returned. The animal was apparently shaken up, which Neith is furious about. He gave me the location it was left.”
“Was there any taint on the horse?” Arrow asked, forgetting her breakfast for a moment.
“I did not ask. I will do so,” he said, frowning.
“Lord Evellan knows how much Lord Neith values his horses. It is unlikely he would have risked a taint,” Arrow observed. Unlikely, in normal circumstances. The Preceptor disappearing into the night on horseback was hardly normal. “Where was the animal left?”
“Kallish has a map.” Kester turned, looking for the cadre leader. She was there a moment later, a large parchment map in her hands. She took one look at the crowded kitchen and took her map to the workspace, Arrow following with Xeveran, Orlis, and Kester, watching as the warrior spread the map open on the empty workbenc
h.
“Are these items you need?” Orlis drew her attention, holding up a handwritten list. Arrow recognised her own writing. “It was left on the workbench over there,” he prompted.
“My apologies, I had not realised I had left it out.” Careless. She had left it when she went into the shadows. Foolish to leave it out so openly. The list was ingredients for containment spells for surjusi, and, hopefully, would not make sense to anyone who was not an Academy graduate.
“It is no difficulty. Kallish says she can send a third to the Academy for the items whenever you need.”
“That would be helpful,” Arrow agreed, watching as the list changed hands into a junior cadre member following which, ducking into the kitchen for a few more pastries for the road, the junior third left without further fuss.
“Here.” Kallish was showing Kester, leaning over the map, Xeveran at the other side of the bench. Finishing her breakfast, Arrow went to look, Orlis ahead of her.
The map was a beautifully detailed work depicting part of the Erith border with the human lands, the far edge of the largest lake near Lix, where the Erith claimed both the land up to the water’s edge and the end of the lake, forbidding human boats from crossing the border. There was no magic in the map, its lines drawn with exquisite care, notations in complex Erith symbols. Kallish pointed to where a curved mass of land jutted out to the lake, the water around it making it look almost like an island on the map, attached to the Erith lands by a thick stump of land. The depiction on the parchment was deceptive, Arrow realised, seeing the map’s scale, and making a rough estimation in her head. The lake was enormous, and the mass of land was almost as large as the Taellaneth grounds.
“What is at that location?” Arrow asked. It was outside the Taellaneth and she had never been.
“A large tract of woodland that has grown wild for at least a hundred years, a null spot in the midst of it, and a cairn or two from the human settlers. Xeveran?”
Revealed: The Taellaneth - Book 2 Page 22
