The Zi'veyn: The Devoted Trilogy, Book One

by Kim Wedlock

  "Why?"

  He didn't react to the plainness of her tone. "Because," he replied precisely, "if it should get to the wrong people, it could easily spell trouble. We want to take care of this as quickly and as quietly as possible without alerting anyone who might try to stop us."

  "And why would anyone stop you?"

  "To try to use the magic themselves," Aria replied, having made a nearly full recovery after her father's attention, and Petra cast a thoughtful glance over her and the others.

  She gave a single nod of understanding as Garon stepped past her to look back over the ledge, and after announcing that there was no one following, he began to lead them through the valley, heading east to find somewhere to set up for the night with their new tag-along firmly in tow.

  Chapter 15

  Salus roared.

  He snatched the mug from the desk, still half-full with a strong brew of tea, and threw it hard at the furthest wall where it shattered and stained the drab, grey paper. He whirled around and kicked the chair, breaking one of its legs though he barely felt the impact, then lashed towards the desk, sweeping away the papers, pens, inkwells and burning candles with equal disregard. He bellowed again as his fury boiled over, the candles extinguishing themselves as though intimidated by his own fire while he turned to tear apart the bookshelf.

  Teagan stood silently in the centre of the dimly-lit office, staring unaffected at the wall ahead as the keliceran indulged in his most recent bout of ire. He didn't flinch even as a book flew close past his head. Salus had been fickle in his moods for two days, quick to anger and quick to calm, and yet as tense as a bandit's bowstring throughout. Teagan had predicted his reaction to this news when he'd received it not ten minutes before, and he had been correct: he did not like it.

  Salus punched the top of the desk. His rage must have been subsiding, for he didn't mark it, and with a final long and drawn out growl, he leaned on his hands, hanging his head in hot frustration as he finally fell still. For a long while, the office was silent.

  His eyes soon turned upon him, calmer though they remained set within a visage of fury. "Find out who he is. Find out what he's doing and who he confers with. I want to know everything."

  "Of course, but it will take time. The operative lost him."

  Salus shook his head sharply. "Magic concealed him; Elran wouldn't have lost him. He won't be far."

  "Then would it not be better to send a mage after him?"

  Salus's jaw knotted and his eyes momentarily flashed at the suggestion. "No," he managed calmly, despite his brief darkness, "it's too risky. The last thing we need are more mages gathering in one place." He pushed himself away from the bare desk, absently rubbing his red knuckles as he released a long, deliberating sigh. "We'll leave it to Elran. He knows who to look for. Send another to take his place in Mokhan."

  Teagan noted the distraction in his eyes. "What do you think?"

  Salus shook his head again, though far more slowly as his lips pursed in thought. "I don't know," he admitted quietly. "It's not like the first movements in other lands. And the Order already denies involvement. Of course."

  "So you have doubts?"

  He paused. "Purely for the fact that they failed in whatever they were trying to do. But the Order would deny it regardless, and their failure could be down to incompetence, or an alternative strategy to anything they've tried so far."

  "Unless 'failure' was the desired result."

  His jaw knotted again. "I agree. The Order simply isn't incompetent." He snarled and leaned back upon the desk. "Damned magic. Damned mages. They've never sat well with me, even before they all lost their minds the world over and started slaughtering people en mass to get their way. No one should have that kind of power."

  "This behaviour isn't a new development. Even in Turunda."

  "Mm..." Salus murmured doubtfully, to which his lip curled in resentment. "That is true, but I think the case a few years ago was unrelated. Two massacres and then nothing? And why leave it so long to pick it back up?"

  "Perhaps their movement was too small at the time; one of them became over-eager."

  "We'd have had the chance to find out if the Crown hadn't gotten involved so quickly...but I suppose that matter was never in the Arana's hands." He sighed roughly as he tried to push that matter from his mind, reminding himself instead that the search for the artefact, at least, was progressing. That gave him some hope. It was moving much quicker with Drassa's involvement, and once they recovered it, the mages wouldn't pose a problem anymore. No, then it would simply be the whims of foreign kings.

  "What of the meeting with Malson?"

  Salus's distant gaze returned and he glanced regretfully at his broken chair. "I've told him that Skilan will be attacking from the north-west, through the mountain pass, trying to get a jump on us." He gestured for Teagan to pass him the less comfortable chair from the other side of the desk. "Jalund may be dense, but General Norkan is wily. I'm not too surprised by his intentions - though I do wonder what he'll do to draw his force back together since we've managed to split them up so efficiently. But if we can prevent him from doing it, they'll be easier to crush and perhaps a few more lives can be spared."

  "They're tired," Teagan agreed as Salus dropped into the unfamiliar seat and his lip curled slightly in distaste. "The fragments won't be quick to rejoin - if some of them even arrive at the border at all."

  "If the people we have working to incite desertion are successful, their numbers should have dropped by a sixth..."

  The lightest frown creased Teagan's brow as Salus's gaze stretched for miles once again, exhibiting another sudden bout of quiet thoughtfulness. He stood silently for a while, waiting for him to shake himself out of it, but wherever his thoughts were, they had him in a tight grasp.

  "What is it?"

  "Nothing," he replied even before his eyes flicked back to him. "You're dismissed."

  The portian inclined his head and duly turned towards the door, showing no reaction to his abruptness. "Good night, Keliceran."

  Salus frowned after him as he left. Guilt began to prod him, and he wasn't sure why. Perhaps it was because Teagan was the closest thing he had to a friend, despite past events. But a portian wouldn't take such a tone as offence...

  He sighed. He was quite aware that he was being short, but he was tired and just wanted to go to bed. And he would have, had it not been only eight in the evening with things still to take care of, but his mind wouldn't keep quiet enough for him to do so. New thoughts tumbled into focus before he'd finished with the last; new problems presented themselves, old ones he thought he'd handled resurfaced, and potential issues that wouldn't arise for months, if not years, if at all continued to plague him out of nowhere. But none of them could be ignored, none were obsolete, especially the latter. Distant threats had a habit of suddenly becoming present threats, because, once one got into the habit of brushing them off or tucking them away, they were able to grow while out of sight. It had happened to others, those before him and those over the borders - in fact such disregard had resulted in numerous successes under his own command, so while sealing his victories, he did his best to learn from his enemies' mistakes, lining up countless plans for equally countless situations.

  But those were easy, in a sense. He had the room to stand back and view each scenario from afar, the time to assess opponents, predict movements. Present troubles were not so accommodating. Trying to keep three steps ahead without the time to cross-reference their intel as far as they would like made the Arana's actions both in the field and within the offices were crucial. They had no room for failure. They had to take any and every opportunity they could because it was he and his people who were the true front line of Turunda.

  But the Crown either didn't seem to see that, or didn't want to see it. They hindered their actions by wasting time talking about what had to be done when Salus had already told them. Even now he was cursing the Crown for rejecting his plans - he wondered if there was
n't some way to reword the requests so they might actually understand them...but even if he did, could he risk the Crown rejecting them again?

  Above all else, he needed eyes along the least patrolled regions of the border so he could watch the small advance forces the enemy sent through - but saying that would have them in an uproar. He knew they couldn't keep Skilan's forces out absolutely, even if the Crown thought the border was iron-clad, just as he knew that a few vanguard weren't as severe as anyone else would think. There was an irritating sense of patriotic pride that blinded every man and woman in the country, and from that stemmed the black and white ideals they shared with the Crown. Any number of enemies crossing the border, be it five or five thousand, would be considered a threat that needed immediate eradication.

  But letting in just a few enemy soldiers, a controlled handful, would ultimately work to Turunda's advantage. They could learn precisely where they were entering from and plug those holes in the future, and encampments would provide the opportunity for observation. It was all well and good to know their general had made plans, but with his operatives as low in Skilan's ranks as they presently were, they only had access to so much so soon, and there was little opportunity to uncover any hints while they were marching.

  But once they crossed the border, they would be unable to act without giving something away - as long as one knew what to look for, and his people certainly did. He had a few on stand by for precisely this; individuals who were encouraged to delay before officially reporting in from tasks in order to cut down on paperwork, allowing them to take care of the necessities he knew the Crown would rather not know about.

  Not that he'd ever used them in such a severe situation. It was only ever for small, niggling details, tasks that weren't worth keeping the records of. But this was serious, and the Crown and military needed to be kept apprised of such things to prevent accidents or misunderstandings.

  But again: could he risk the rejection?

  He snarled in exasperation. There were far too may other details clattering together in his sleeplessly addled head that equally needed addressing, and this new development in Mokhan had only complicated it. They'd been watching the Order closely, but there had been no hint at all of this attack. That was partly why he doubted the intent behind it, but at the same time, what else could it be? None of his people planted in other countries had caught any whiff of rebellious activity, even those he'd sent out specifically to look for it, but it had happened none the less.

  Hopelessness washed over him at the thought that the rebellion had finally begun, that the accursed mages were moving as silently here as they had everywhere else. How could they ever hope to stop it while their attention was being torn away by war? And what of these strange magical occurrences in the wilderness? What were they? What was the Order up to?!

  He growled again, certain he was becoming a beast as his frustration began to boil over. He thundered up from his uncomfortable seat in an attempt to redirect it, but still lashed out at the desk, slamming his foot through a drawer. He snapped off a curse as he pulled it free, then turned and gave the chair another swift kick. This time it didn't break, and he certainly felt the impact. Pain shot through his toes, flashing a white sensation through his mind which only fuelled his anger, but as his foot drew back to kick it again out of spite, a knock came at the door.

  "What?!" He caught himself with a curse and attempted to bite back his sparking anger. But it was late, and he wasn't expecting anyone else. "Come in!"

  He shifted his weight off of his smarting foot as the door opened, but surprise bluntly shoved aside the lingering pain and his acrid mood. "Oh." The brown haired phidipan woman closed the door behind her, her face, empty of expression the last time he'd seen her, marred slightly by caution as she noticed the state of the ransacked office. It could hardly be missed. But she didn't turn that look onto him, even as he made a hasty attempt to straighten up the mess. "I'm sorry," he said, standing his chair back up and scraping together his papers from the floor. He thought he saw a twitch of surprise in her fine eyebrow at his apology, but he was probably mistaken.

  "I'm sorry for intruding, Keliceran," she said with a shadow of hesitance as he dropped the muddled reports and stationery back on the desk, "but I thought you'd like to see this report right away."

  He frowned curiously, returning the misshapen candle back to its saucer, but as his eyes dropped to her papers, a heavy mixture of hope and dread lurched in his stomach.

  The location of an unmarked advance party in the north west. Half a Skee platoon moving ahead of the main body and towards exactly the point of the border he had wanted to reinforce.

  His jaw tightened as the question of risk and rejection reverberated, once again, through his mind.

  "Thank you..." His tone was distant as he discarded the report on the table and began filtering through the disorganised mess, fishing out a few maps, located only due to their size, and marked a number of their points with hastily scrawled notes. He glanced up as she stood patiently, waiting to be dismissed. "Good work on Moore, by the way."

  This time her eyebrows did rise, but his gaze had returned to the paper. "Oh...thank you..."

  "He's tightened his security, but it seems it wasn't as necessary as I'd feared."

  "It did prove to be a challenge."

  "Which, I suppose, is a very good thing." He straightened, then grunted as a wash of heat suddenly swelled in his skull. His fury had abated only to be replaced by a headache, through which his thoughts still tumbled uncontrollably, reigniting his frustration. His hand rose to his forehead as he grumbled beneath his inescapable woes. "How can we protect the country when it seems to want to destroy itself?"

  "Keliceran?"

  He blinked, remembering himself, but he couldn't seem to stop his tongue. "The mages in the Order are drastically stronger than any the Arana has. How can there be any hope of stopping a rebellious faction if the rest of them won't even acknowledge its existence?"

  Her frown lingered, but rather than let her gentle brown eyes fall upon him to assess the intention behind the outburst, she seemed to gauge the weight of the silence instead. "Perhaps the Order is already handling it," she said at last, surely feeling his expectant eyes upon her. "After all, just as the Arana does not reveal all to them, neither will they reveal all to us. And I cannot believe that they would all be involved, or they wouldn't wait for the distraction of war to make their move."

  "You think it doesn't warrant concern?" He asked thoughtfully, regarding her a fraction more closely.

  "I think it may not warrant our concern, Keliceran. It takes magic to fight magic, and given the state of other lands, the Order would not run the risk of ignoring a threat within their own ranks. Perhaps you are piling more work onto your shoulders than you need to; after all, what can the Arana do against magic with the little we have? Would it not be better to turn it towards the war, where we can do more?"

  "You speak boldly, Phidipan."

  "Forgive me, Keliceran."

  A smile twitched across his lips as he watched her cheeks redden, but still she didn't look at him. "No, it's all right. I asked you a question and you answered it. What's your name?"

  "Taliel."

  He nodded. "Taliel." He wouldn't forget. "Thank you. You're dismissed."

  He watched her incline her head, turn away and slip back out through the door. He sank slowly into his seat, thoughtfully, still staring at where she'd stood.

  It takes magic to fight magic. Yes, he'd thought of that before, and as he'd said himself, the mages within the Arana were both weaker and far less numerous than those of the Order. In truth, there was little they could do against mages - that was part of what made it so infuriating. He refused to accept that he, one of Turunda's highest authorities, could do nothing about it. That was why he'd chased the rumours of the elven-made relic, because if he had such a thing, he could use it to silence the magic of Skilan's mages as well as local rebels - and there were just too ma
ny learned men convinced by the stories for him to be able to disregard it.

  But he hadn't considered that the rebellion wouldn't wait for war to make their move if there were so many involved, as it was that very war that clouded his own mind. But though it was an idea that certainly had merit, he couldn't trust in it absolutely. Mages were revolting and he had no way of knowing just who was among them. It was safer to assume guilty until proven innocent and maintain a scrupulous eye. What if their insurrection reached higher than a few lowly scholars or preservers? What if it reached all the way up to the elders?

  No, his present actions stood, whether it was more work than some deemed necessary or not.

  But...it was a side he hadn't considered. He felt doubt begin to wriggle into his mind like a worm in an apple as he wondered what else he may have missed...

  At that moment, he was startled out of his thoughts by another knock at the door, provoking a growl as his frustration suddenly doubled. He just wanted to go to bed!

  "This whole matter would be a foolish one if it were anyone else pursuing it, but he has the means to take it as far as the king himself could!"

  "The ability to neutralise magic in the hands of someone so absolutely against its existence is dangerous. He would be able to use it indiscriminately - he could unravel Turunda's magical defences while they're in the midst of preventing an attack!"

  "But wouldn't that mean he removes magic as a factor entirely?"

  "Would that not be for the best? Especially after what happened in Mokhan today?"

  Malson sighed and shook his head, folding his thin arms over his chest, and he looked across the uneasy faces around him. Though the light was dim in the back room of The Cockatrice, Kulokhar's busiest tavern, the doubt that pooled deep within their hearts was clear to see. And it was not misplaced, whether it be for committing acts they hadn't believed in upon their superior's order, or for standing there at that very moment, whispering with Malson against him. Such were these uncertain times. "It would remove magic as a factor, yes," the king's envoy replied cautiously, "but who knows what protective spells are in play? Only the Order could list them off for certain, and he's not likely to confer with them before using it. None of us can truly make an informed decision without first speaking with them."