Vultures

by Luke Tarzian

  Theailys nodded slowly. “I see,” was all he could muster. He eyed Serece again, who looked torn between whether or not to keep silent or speak whatever barb was on her mind. “Did you have a thought?”

  “Te Mirkvahíl is alive,” she said, and Theailys couldn’t help rolling his eyes. “You might think us mad, Theailys An, but if I speak a single truth to you this day then let it be this.”

  Theailys propped his chin up on his fist. “My sister felled Te Mirkvahíl. Her word, as far as I’m concerned, is proof enough.”

  Serece closed her eyes. “Then you’re a fool.”

  “I am inclined to agree,” Undrensil said. “I will bestow you with the ore you require for The Keepers’ Wrath and I will pray this weapon of yours destroys the Heart of Mirkúr once and for all; I will pray for your safety. You may rest here in Te Vétur Thae tonight to build your strength and replenish your supplies, but I command you leave at dawn tomorrow.”

  Theailys nodded. “Thank you kindly for your hospitality, Great King Undrensil.”

  He bowed deeply then withdrew, breathing a sigh of relief once he was out of sight.

  * * *

  Undrensil looked to his daughter once Theailys An had withdrawn. “You saw something during your time away, I am certain of it.”

  “Aunt Fiel, too,” Serece said, and she relayed to her father what she had learned in The In Between. “What should we do?”

  Undrensil sat, gazing out the study window, hands clasped together on the table. “Assemble the council to start, to see if we might be able to sway them to our side. We are both stronger and weaker without Yssa’s influence and because of that we will need help if we are to defend Te Vétur Thae and defeat Te Mirkvahíl.”

  Serece offered her father a skeptical frown. “With what army? Te Mirkvahíl and the lokyns outnumber us horribly—“

  “Which is why we need to retrieve Vare Tal-úlm from The In Between,” Undrensil said. “But to do so we need the council’s vote. Vare is, was…eccentric, chaos made manifest and Keepers know how much your mother despises him.”

  “She despises everyone,” Serece muttered. “Do you think you can sway her? She has the council in the palm of her hand and if she sees reason with what we say then the others are more likely to follow.”

  “I will try as best I can,” Undrensil said. “But it will likely take time.”

  “Right.” Serece glanced out the window, just in time to spy Theailys An walking through the courtyard. “For now, time is really all that I have. If you’ll excuse me, father…” She kissed his cheek, then stood and withdrew.

  * * *

  “Care to join me for a walk, half-blood?”

  Theailys turned to the source of the barb. It was all he could do to keep himself from retaliating with “Sure thing, paleskin.” He sighed. “Are you going to try and knife me like the last several times I was here?”

  Serece rolled her eyes. “No. Surprisingly, I’m just here to talk.”

  “Fine. Lead the way.”

  They walked in step down a tree-lined street, hoarfrost clinging to the bark, snow falling from the silver leaves and onto the cobblestones. “I saw things,” Serece said.

  “Have you been smoking anything?” Theailys asked. “That usually tends to bring the phantoms out to play.”

  “No, byaun,” Serece said. “I—Keepers, why the hell am I about to tell you all of this? I don’t even like you.”

  Theailys gestured to the intersection ahead. “Good place to duck out then, yes?”

  “It would be if I actually felt like doing so,” Serece said. “But despite my distaste for your country, I’m still going to let myself yammer away. I’m trying to keep you safe, Theailys An.”

  He snorted as they turned down the path to the right. “You, save me? You do recall the first time we met, right? You tried to kill me, and my wife subdued you.”

  “How is the mirkúr-wielding bitch?” Serece asked.

  Theailys tensed his jaw, swallowing. Breathe. He looked Serece in the eyes. “Dead.”

  Serece’s ears twitched, her cheeks went red, and she looked away. “Sorry to hear.” At that she turned and started back the way she’d come.

  Theailys kept on; this way led to where he, Leyandra, and Cailean were staying anyway. He thought of Serece as he walked, of their history. They had first met when he was nineteen or twenty years of age and for whatever reason she had not taken well to him at all. They always seemed to bring out the childish anger in each other and Theailys could not understand why to save his life. Had he offended her at some point in their previous interactions over the years?

  He batted away a snowflake as it fell, mood souring further with every step he took.

  For the second time in four days Serece found herself atop the highest spire in Te Vétur Thae. This time it was Fiel who found her brooding in the night, and it was Fiel who had come with a flask. Situationally useful, those things. Serece took it from her aunt without hesitation and knocked back the liquid inside.

  Water. She glared at her aunt. “You can’t hand someone a flask with water. It’s criminal.”

  Fiel chuckled. “Serece, the last thing you need is a drink.”

  “Why are you here?” Serece asked. She paused, hating herself for her words. “I’m sorry. How are you feeling?”

  “I should be asking the same of you,” Fiel said.

  “Well enough for having been savaged by demons,” Serece said. “Just a mild concussion; nothing a night in the snow can’t cure.”

  “So, what brings you here?” Fiel leaned against the balustrade, gazing off into the night.

  “Regret,” Serece said. “Regret and shame for having spoken to and treated Theailys An as I did, as I always do.” She slid down the wall and sat with her knees pulled to her chest. “Why, Aunt Fiel—I don’t understand why I treat him so…so…”

  Fiel raised an eyebrow. “Poorly?”

  “Yes!”

  “I could posit a theory based on what we saw in The In Between,” Fiel said, hesitating.

  “You could,” Serece said, “but Theailys An wasn’t in The In Between.”

  “Not directly,” Fiel said. “Did you notice he’s nearly identical to Faro Fatego?”

  * * *

  “You’re not dead!” Cailean took a swig from his flask.

  “You’re not sober,” Theailys said, taking a seat at the table. Leyandra sat across from him, arms crossed as she glared at Cailean. Theailys frowned, just now noticing the black eye and fat lip that Cailean was sporting. “Do I want to know?”

  “The better question is: will those sentries mention the exchange to Undrensil?” Leyandra said. “This idiot and his drunken, slur-slinging mouth nearly got us killed while you were away. ‘Paleskin bastards’—did you have to? Even after they apologized?”

  “Better pray to the Keepers they don’t,” Theailys said. “Undrensil already promised me the argentium. We can ill afford a change of heart.” He shot a scathing look at Cailean. “You said, you promised me you would hold your tongue. You apologized on the ride up!”

  Cailean waved his hand dismissively and took another shot. “You worry too much.”

  “You don’t worry enough,” Theailys snarled, summoning every ounce of strength he had to hoist the older man out of his seat and shove him away from the table. “Go lie down. Go to sleep.”

  Cailean wiped a trail of alcohol from his cheek, his expression darkening. “You fancy touching me like that again, boy?” He neared Theailys, jabbing him in the chest with a finger. “’Cause you won’t like what comes of it.”

  Leyandra leapt from her seat, pushing Cailean away from Theailys. “Both of you, knock it the fuck off. The last thing we need to be doin’ is fightin’.” Then, to Cailean, “Lie down. Sleep. You’re makin’ a fool of yourself.”

  “Fine.” Cailean glared over Leyandra’s shoulder, good hand tapping the dagger sheathed at his waist. “Touch me again…”

  “Cailean…” Leyandra growle
d.

  “And you’ll what—knife the one person who can destroy the Heart?” Theailys asked. “Because that would be the stupidest thing you could do in this moment, which is saying a lot considering you could have fractured our already delicate relations with the phantaxians just by opening your mouth!” He swallowed and sucked in a ragged breath, trying to keep the mirkúr at bay before Faro could rouse. “Just…go the fuck to sleep.”

  Cailean gave him the finger, then started toward a couch at the far side of the room. He managed half the distance before tripping over his own feet and landing with a thud. He grumbled profanities and curled himself into a ball, falling asleep where he lay.

  “Perdition,” Theailys muttered, taking a seat at the table. “Sorry, Leyandra. Rough day.”

  “No apology necessary. A giant fool, sometimes, especially when he gets drunk. …So. The argentium,” Leyandra said, shifting the topic of conversation. “Undrensil said he was going to give it to us?”

  “Yes, and hopefully he still will,” Theailys said, and he proceeded to relay the phantaxian king’s skepticism about Te Mirkvahíl’s demise.

  “He does raise a valid point, love,” Leyandra said. “I’ve fought my fair share of demons, went up against things straight outta nightmares when I lived in Harbanan and ran with the Galrun Muir. Their rule of thumb? Unless you have proof, it’s not dead.”

  “Makes sense, but that doesn’t mean Undrensil is right.” Theailys yawned. He drew his pipe, smoke bag, and matches from his sack. A little joy before sleep to keep Faro at bay. “We should pack it in for the evening. We’ve a long day ahead of us tomorrow and we’re expected to depart at dawn.”

  * * *

  Dawn came far too early. Theailys and his companions found themselves at the outskirts of Te Vétur Thae within the hour, shepherded by a half dozen leather-donning, dagger-wielding phantaxians and a pair of gray-robed heralds. Neither Undrensil nor Serece were present.

  “Dren Undrensil and Tem Artemae send their regards and wish you well in your travels,” the first herald said. She produced a bundle of cloth and passed it to Theailys. “Farewell.”

  Theailys stowed the bundle away in his pack and watched the phantaxians withdraw. For some reason he had expected the exchange to be a bit more ceremonial, but the fact Undrensil hadn’t bothered to see them off personally said more than words ever could, especially considering the previous day’s exchange.

  Back to Ulm, then straight to Naldunar.

  The Church city was a good week or so from the Phantaxis Mountains, but Theailys found himself looking forward to the journey. It would surely be more welcoming than the phantaxians had been. He adjusted his pack, gritted his teeth, and started after his companions, thankful the mountainside would not be thrashed by storms this time around.

  * * *

  Serece had not slept a wink and Aunt Fiel was to blame. What she had said about Theailys An, about the possibility Serece loathed him because he looked nearly identical to Faro Fatego…it made sense in more ways than one. It also filled her with a strange feeling of dread, especially when considering the message Vare Tal-úlm had left in The In Between. Was history really on course to repeat? If that were true, what fate would befall her people this time around? Another plague? Complete annihilation?

  She started from the cliff she’d been sitting at and made for the trees. It was going to take time to sway the council to their side, but Serece refused to sit idly by as this eldritch shadow fell over her world. What had the Faithbringer Khar Am once said? Truth from madness. Something was amiss and Serece was going to find out what. If there was a connection between Theailys An and Faro Fatego, she was going to figure it out.

  It was time to return to Helveden.

  8

  Witness

  “Relatively quiet these last couple days,” Cailean said. It was night and they had made camp in the Gray Meadow east of the Phantaxis Mountains. A fire burned in the center of a collection of rocks. He prodded the kindling with a stick, then tossed it into the flames. “Peaceful, here. Away from the snow.”

  “Away from the phantaxians, you mean,” Theailys said from behind a stack of parchment, spectacled eyes glued to whatever secrets they held. He looked up, setting the parchment aside. He appeared tired, more than he usually did, though it could have been a trick of the light.

  “No,” Cailean said, taking a breath. “Just the snow.” He sat up straight, his good eye fixed unblinkingly on Theailys. “Sorry about that whole thing. Sorry about my mouth and thoughts. I’m just…”

  “Sorry,” Theailys finished, nodding. “Me too. Just…caught up in the moment I suppose. My meeting with Undrensil didn’t go as well as I’d hoped. His daughter was there and…and…” He removed the spectacles, brow furrowed, jaw tensed. “You said something to me the night we rode to Ulm, about guarding my heart, about things not always being what they seem.”

  “I did,” Cailean said slowly. “What are you getting at?”

  “Undrensil and his daughter, Serece, are convinced Te Mirkvahíl is still out there,” Theailys said. “Leyandra more or less agrees.”

  Cailean nodded. “Course she does. The ways of the Galrun Muir die hard.”

  “So, what do you think?” Theailys asked.

  “I think you’re afraid,” Cailean said, “and rightfully so. I think your fear is causing your mind to run amok. I think that’s why you haven’t slept for a day, because you’re busy wondering whether or not Searyn actually felled Te Mirkvahíl.”

  The dread in Theailys’ eyes was as plain as the night was dark. “I can’t stop thinking about it, Cailean. I know she’s my sister and I trust her with all I have, but…”

  “Things are odd,” Cailean said. “The incident with the burial mounds, the claims she wields mirkúr, and now all of this. I get it—I’ve been wondering the same things. My past forbids me from turning my good eye away.” He crawled over to where Theailys sat and dropped down beside him. “I’m not saying your sister lied to everyone, not by a long shot, but there is something weird going on.”

  Cailean pulled a flask from his pocket and took a swig. He passed it to Theailys. “Warm yourself up and knock yourself out. You need some rest, my friend. Long day’s ride ahead of us.”

  “I asked about your shield last week,” Theailys said, taking a sip.

  Fuck. “You did,” Cailean said, supposing it was better than Theailys asking him about the time he’d died, not that the gray-eyed man would be privy to such a thing. But either way… “And here you are asking again.”

  “Are you going to deflect my question a second time?”

  “No,” Cailean said. “But only because I know what Leyandra said about me and white wine. The two of you whisper louder than you think.” He chuckled, then pulled up his sleeve to reveal the patchwork that had at one point been his functioning left arm. “Beautiful piece of work, this. Wrought from stupidity, now serving as a monument to failure.”

  “Perdition,” Theailys murmured, brushing his fingers along the flayed skin, through the angry red fissures. “Your shield did this?”

  “Thing went off like a bomb,” Cailean recalled. “My fault. We were surrounded, I was in command. Told the Illumurgist to keep channeling into my shield or else the barrier was going to fall. Stupid thing to do. Lost half my contingent, Illumurgist included, and nearly lost my arm.” He chuckled again, wryly this time. “Might have been better if I had. Hell, might have been better off if the blast had taken my life.”

  “You think so? If you were dead, who the hell would be making sure I get to where I need to be?” Theailys said. “You’re a prick sometimes, Cailean, but so am I. My point is, you’re here for a reason.”

  Cailean knew damn well why he was here, and it wasn’t because the queen or Searyn had asked him to go—because they hadn’t. It was much more than simply playing bodyguard for Theailys An. “Redemption,” he murmured. “Deliverance. So many things have gone to shit in my life, and I thought if I could see you to th
e end of this war, to the destruction of the Heart, it might free me from an endless cycle of failure and make me feel as though my life wasn’t a complete waste.” He paused. “That, and I knew it’d break Searyn’s heart if anything happened to you.”

  “Thanks.” Theailys sniffled, then took a drink.

  “You’re welcome.” Cailean produced a second flask and clanked it against Theailys’. “Spiced rum from Egan. Cheers”—he felt Theailys’ drowsy weight against his arm— “and may your dreams be sweet.”

  * * *

  It was strange to be standing in Helveden after all these years. Stranger yet to be standing alone, horribly out of place in phantaxian garb, hood pulled well past her eyes. In a perfect world Aunt Fiel would have stayed with Serece to help her sleuth. Then again, in a perfect world none of this would actually have been necessary. Fiel’s reasoning for not staying was sound: she would need to corroborate Undrensil’s claims if they hoped to free Vare from The In Between. They would need to full support of the council if they were to retrieve the parts of Vare’s corpse from beneath the Ariathan towns and cities of his name. Not that the council will believe either of them, Serece grumbled to herself. Most if not all of the council members thought her father mad and the majority of Te Vétur Thae viewed Fiel as a pariah. They had an uphill battle ahead.

  Which is why you’d best not focus on the things you can’t control. She looked at the city before her, rising up in silhouette like some monstrous thing from the void. Was there any distinction between the two? Perhaps not, considering what the Ariathans had done after the onset of the plague—the butchery, the forceful exile, the brief conflict in the Phantaxis Mountains.

  Serece rubbed the crystal vial hanging around her neck, feeling the cold of the snow encased within. She had several more in her bag, lifelines, the means to temporarily halt biological rot whilst away from the sanctuary of her mountain home. She was hopeful if things went smoothly enough she wouldn’t need to use them all.