And I’ll be another corpse on the pile if I let him and Shrawn have it their way; Norenn will join me, along with most of the civilized world. She’d considered this idea to its natural conclusion more than once, wondering if she might simply enact a jailbreak of sorts, taking Norenn away in hopes that they might find some forgotten corner of the map where they could live quietly.
Shrawn is not the sort to forgive such a slight. And now that the Sovereign has made himself known to me, he would not allow my insolence to pass in any case.
The only ways out now are death or through them, then.
As it’s always been.
And all by my lonesome.
She descended the stairs back to the foyer, listening to the clatter of the guardsmen on duty, their armor clanking and clinking as they stood at relaxed attention, waiting to see what the portal would bring them today. Their weapons were always at the ready, prepared for an invasion the like of which they had seen only a few months ago, but their posture was relaxed. The axe probably won’t fall on them today, but they’d be ready for it in seconds if it did.
Aisling scanned the crowd in the foyer and then the lounge for signs of Verity, but saw not a hint of the elven wizard. Her eyes came to rest on a druid, a young one, human, whose name she did not know. “Would you mind taking me to Fertiss?” she asked, causing him to turn his dark-haired head up to look at her.
“I can’t—” He froze as he caught sight of her face, on his feet in a moment, practically standing at attention. “You’re her.”
There was something akin to a trickling sensation of cold water dripping through her innards at his words. “Yes,” she said, resigned. “Can you take me to Fertiss?”
“For him, absolutely,” the druid said, hastily raising a hand aloft.
She kept the chilled irritation at his statement to herself, trying to consider how the thief Aisling would handle it. She came to a conclusion in only a second, and it matched her own thoughts on the matter. “You’re taking me to Fertiss, not Cyrus Davidon.”
The druid’s jaw dropped mid-spell, and the glint of magic that had begun to appear at his fingertips vanished in an instant. “I didn’t … I didn’t mean to say—”
“Just take me to Fertiss,” Aisling snapped, letting her true feelings out and glancing away from the druid at the same time. She stared at the hearth as the winds of his spell swelled around her, becoming a wall of power and force, the air alive as it stripped the background from the room she was in and replaced it with another as though it were lifting her from where she was and carrying her away in a tornado.
When the winds faded, she stood in a courtyard next to the portal, the sun gleaming down on the snow-capped peaks that surrounded her. The foreign quarter of Fertiss was built between the mountains, and roads stretched off into the domes of the high swells. In contrast to those sections that had been built underground, this part of the city had been constructed here in the light of day and dark of night, suitable for guests of the dwarves.
“Wait here,” Aisling said, only slightly less ferociously than when giving her last statement to him. The druid nodded quickly, cowed, and she felt a little pity for him. At least he need not fear death from my anger, which is more than I can say for those who lord their station over me as I just did over him. She spun and headed down the wide path to her right, passing squared buildings that were built into the side of the mountain road, the shops and cafes of the locals who wanted to capture foreign coin.
She was nearly to the entry tunnel when she felt the tickle of a presence behind her. It was a subtle thing, like a footstep on the stone walk that carried no sign of a foot being responsible. She passed the glass window of a jewel merchant’s store, grand and filled with dwarven craftsmanship. Rubies, diamonds, emeralds and countless other priceless stones glimmered in the light, set in gold and silver rings, platinum necklaces, and even tiaras. She paused and looked in the glass, pretending to let a bejeweled set of earrings catch her eye.
In truth, though, she stared at the faint reflection in the glass before determining that, in fact, there was no one behind her. Fertiss was silent this morning, the foreign quarter as quiet as she’d ever seen it. The war, she knew.
Her eyes traveled along the shop wall to an alley not ten feet away, perfectly placed between the jeweler and a baker. The chimney puffed above and the smell of fresh, hard-ground dwarven bread filled the air. She turned lazily, a woman without a care in the world, and lingered close to the wall as she headed back toward the tunnel. My trip to the bank will have to wait until—
As she passed the alley mouth she heard the footstep again and whirled into the dark space between the buildings. She had her blade out before she dodged into the mouth of the gap herself, listening to the sound of a footstep in a puddle of still water, ripples radiating out from where her spell-clad follower splashed while regaining their footing.
Aisling pursued, blade in hand, cloak falling off behind her as she came at her follower. She couldn’t entirely see them, but the splash of the puddle had covered them well enough to leave beads refracting in the dark, the shine of the sun hinting at their presence and where they stood. With a leap, she reached out and was able to grab ahold of a throat, shoving an invisible figure against the wall. “Shouldn’t have followed me, Verity,” she said. “You could give me the courtesy of five minutes a day without hovering over my—”
Aisling drove the blade right at the throat of her tormentor. She can die here, in Fertiss; no one will be able to trace it back to me, and I’ll be clear for a spell while they put someone else in Sanctuary to “handle” me. It’ll be a bit messy, and mysterious, but at least I won’t have that elven bitch breathing in my ear every—
Her blade caught in mid-air, stopped as still as if she’d hit a rock with it. It froze in plain sight before her eyes, held as effortlessly as if she were pushing against an immutable wall. It stayed there for only a second before there was a slight flash that forced her to avert her eyes, and the dagger was shoved roughly back, forcing her along with it. Her back fell lightly against the opposite wall, more the result of a push than a blow. When her eyes sprang open again, she kept the shock off her face only through long practice.
The man standing before her was certainly not Verity. In fact, he was not anyone she had ever met before in her life. “Who are you?” she hissed, at once curious and wary at how easily he’d repulsed her attack.
He was dark elven, that much was sure, and his hair was as black as the coal they’d burned when she was a child, before her family had switched to wood. It was slicked back all the way to the nape of his neck, and his features were sharp. He was thin, possessing a build that certainly did not hint at his ability to throw back a bladed attack, but his hands were covered with leather gloves. How did he—?
His lips were curled with amusement, but not of a scornful kind. Aisling had seen plenty of that in her life, enough to know the maliciously entertained glimmer in someone’s eyes when they scorned their lessers. There was none of that here, and in fact there might even have been a hint of … kindness?
“Hello, Yalina,” the man said, causing Aisling’s jaw to drop at the sound of her own—real—name, one left behind years ago, one that she had not heard spoken aloud in so long. “I wonder if we might have a talk.”
23.
Terian
Terian descended the staircase with J’anda at his side, the enchanter looking paler blue, almost the color of a cloudless sky, his wrinkles the only dark spots on his skin. Who is this Vracken Coeltes? Terian wondered. Not that I know a great many enchanters, but wasn’t the head of the Gathering of Coercers one of the Largesh family?
“You must be Terian Lepos,” Vracken Coeltes said, his hands clasped before him. He wore an ornate robe, even for an enchanter, with stitching in rectangular shapes that draped over his shoulder, unobstructed by the vestment that pronounced his style of magic. “We haven’t had the pleasure.”
“No one who has
met you has ever had pleasure in doing so,” J’anda said, whispering at Terian’s side. He said it at a volume that was audible to the entire room, and Terian almost opened his mouth to rebuke the enchanter before realizing that he was speaking to Coeltes, not Terian. He raised an eyebrow but kept his thoughts to himself. Whoever this Coeltes is, it would appear he and J’anda are not exactly old friends.
Coeltes grinned broadly, his skin pockmarked by craters all over his face. Terian stared at him, wondering at the obvious imperfections. He’s an enchanter, but he doesn’t bother to hide his blemishes; he’s either confident or he doesn’t care. “J’anda Aimant. So you took me up on my invitation.”
“I noticed you were not there when I spoke with the Sovereign,” J’anda said as Terian stopped at the base of the stairs. “It would seem you were not good for your word.”
Coeltes’s smile froze then broadened. “I’m afraid I wasn’t informed of your passage through the gates, nor any stage of your arrival.”
“It is certain that there will be other things I deign not to inform you of,” J’anda said coolly, “now that the Sovereign has taken me into his service.”
Coeltes cocked his head, lips pursed in amusement, as though he’d somehow recaptured the lead in a race. “Regarding that—you’ll be working for me in the Gathering of Coercers.”
“No, I won’t,” J’anda said, placid, a slight smile on his face. “I am a spy in the service of the Sovereign. I will be reporting directly to him.”
“Ahh,” Coeltes said, holding up a finger as he reached into his robes with the other. He produced a piece of parchment. “The Sovereign was concerned. As you’ve told your guild, whom you’ll be spying on, of course, that you’ve come here to make amends,” Coeltes’s smile was barely contained by the edges of his lips, “we came up with, shall we say, an acceptable story to cover your activities. You’re a spy here, a double agent.” Coeltes raised an eyebrow. “Or is it triple? I can never keep track of these things.”
Terian’s blood cooled. He knows J’anda’s lying, too …
“I have yet to hear a reason why any of my activities concern you, Vracken,” J’anda said, showing a sign of ire.
“Because, naturally, you require a cover story to tell your guildmates,” Coeltes said, lips back to pursing in amusement. “And it is this—you are working in the Gathering of Coercers, instructing our next generation of enchanters, as only you could, you talented being, you.” He raised a fist and waved it slightly, not once looking as though he were anything but entertained by their exchange. “You will be reporting directly to me in this entire endeavor.” Coeltes glanced at Terian. “I trust you can keep this secret, being a General of the Sovereign?”
Terian blinked back to the present moment, his mind whirling with all the implications of what had just been placed before him. “I … think I’ve already forgotten whatever the hell you were trying to convey there.”
“Excellent,” Coeltes said, bringing his hands together. “You’ll be living in the Gathering, of course, being an instructor …”
Terian turned to look at J’anda’s face. It was frozen, utterly, and the horror beneath the sickening rage was obvious. What the hell did this guy do to you, J’anda?
“Do you hear me?” Coeltes’s amusement was gone now, replaced by sternness, disgust. His lips twisted and his smile was rough satisfaction coupled with triumph. “You’re under my command, now.”
“Of course,” J’anda said, and now his face was back to relaxed. His arms hung stiff at his sides, crossing where he massaged one hand with the other, the wrinkled skin smoothing out as his fingers worked over it.
“You look like the skin discarded from a piece of peeled fruit,” Coeltes said, looking J’anda over. “I hope you haven’t lost all your ability with your youth.”
“I suppose we’ll see,” J’anda said. “Won’t we?”
“Oh, I won’t,” Coeltes said, grinning again. “Don’t get into the weeds of teaching, myself. I have the whole Gathering to run, after all. Always supervision to be done, especially now. Traitors to ferret out. Disloyalty to expose.” He ran his dark tongue under the row of his front teeth, which were yellowed with black spotting. “Like your friend Zieran, for example. Treason is everywhere.” He leaned forward, smiling conspiratorially, and lowered his voice to a whisper. “It could even be in this very room.” He raised his eyebrows, and cackled. “Why don’t we leave?” It was not a suggestion.
“I need to talk to this man,” Terian said, looking at Coeltes, whose eyes flashed with anger as he looked at Terian, sizing him up.
“About what?” Coeltes asked.
“About the war,” Terian said, “and as a ranking General in the Sovereign’s service, I get to question our spies any time I damned well please, Guildmaster.” He snapped the title out, and watched Coeltes scramble to hide his anger at being addressed in such a cavalier manner. “Your man will be along when I’m done with him, and not before.”
“He’s no man of mine,” Coeltes said tightly. “Wouldn’t want there to be any misunderstandings, since there are questions that have to be addressed with the Sovereign—tomorrow, I might add.”
“Excellent,” J’anda said faintly. “I look forward to it.”
“Do you?” Coeltes asked, a most peculiar smile upon his face. “Do you, indeed?”
“I’m looking forward to you leaving my house,” Terian said, his patience already worn thinner than a cheap carpet from Sovar. “Get to that, will you?”
“As you say, General,” Coeltes said with a bow, far more chipper than Terian would have expected from the enchanter given how hard he’d just been thrown down in his place. “Though … this is the house of Ehrest, is it not?”
“Of which I am a part,” Terian said, gesturing toward the door. “Guturan!” he called out, and heard the motion of the steward on the landing behind him. “See this man out, will you please?”
“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” Coeltes said, nodding at Terian. “I expect we’ll meet again.”
“I certainly hope not,” Terian said as Guturan Enlas swept down the stairs, past J’anda, who stood transfixed at the base of the steps, “but I suppose I’ve seen worse misfortunes in my time.”
“Is that so?” Coeltes asked, seemingly out of politeness only; his eyes were narrowed.
“Yes, once I was decapitated by the Siren of Fire in the trials of Purgatory,” Terian said. “That was a personal low point, right there with this moment, I think.” He glanced at J’anda, who was unmoving. “You want to lord your power over my friend, best do it while I’m not around, or else you’ll see how the hierarchy of Saekaj works when it’s used against you, for once.”
“As you say, General,” Coeltes said, following Enlas toward the door, which was now opened for him, “and when will you be leaving for the war again?”
“Whenever I’m godsdamned good and ready!” Terian snapped. He’s rubbing my face in the fact that I won’t be able to keep him from J’anda for long. “Why don’t you—”
J’anda placed a firm hand on Terian’s shoulder, drawing his attention and shutting him up. “I’ll be along in a short while,” the enchanter said to Coeltes.
Coeltes acknowledged his victory with a smile. “Don’t be too long. You’re not yet allowed to walk about without guards. Not until we’ve settled the question of your status.”
With that, the enchanter vanished through the door, which Guturan shut behind him. Terian stared at the steward, who seemed to care little for anything he’d just seen. Probably already mentally composing his report to Dagonath Shrawn. “He’s a real charmer,” Terian said. “I thought you enchanters were supposed to be gracious.”
J’anda answered with a hollow voice, as if stirred from a particularly troubled slumber. “It depends on the enchanter. Some of us operate from a place of peace, working our magic almost with the cooperation of our subjects, using their thoughts in harmony with our spells to create a seductive realm of imagery for
their imagination.”
“Right, heart’s desire,” Terian said, staring at Guturan, whose back was to the door, standing stiffly at attention. “I … remember that.”
“There is another way that enchanters can operate, another basis for our spells,” J’anda said. “An easier way, in the short term.”
“What’s that?” Terian asked.
“Fear,” J’anda said, hand drifting over to rest on the staircase. “To pluck the strings of the mind that wrap around fearful ideas, the things that drive us, worry us, frighten us. Every enchanter gets to choose the path of their magic early in their training. My method is … more complicated, let us say.”
“Figures he’d have chosen fear,” Terian said, glancing at J’anda. “It radiates off of him, the desire to push people about with whatever force he carries.”
“Indeed,” J’anda said, quiet again. “Did you wish to finish our discussion?”
“I don’t know,” Terian said, glancing at Guturan, who was still watching them with undisguised hunger in his eyes. “Did we have anything else to discuss?” How do I let J’anda know that Guturan can’t be trusted? Oh. Right. “Because if so, we should find a quieter place to do so.” If he’s not in on this with me, I’m completely stuck. Because there is no other conduit by which I can get information to Sanctuary without his help.
Well, it’s probably impossible.
“I think there might be a thing or two to talk about now,” J’anda said, nodding, and made a weak hand gesture toward the stairs. “I hate to be presumptive, but … shall we discuss it?”
“I can think of nothing I’d rather talk about,” Terian said and watched an almost imperceptible cloud cross Guturan Enlas’s face as he followed J’anda back up the stairs toward his room.
Sanctuary 5.5 - Fated in Darkness Page 14
