Taellaneth Complete Series Box Set

by Vanessa Nelson

  In the pre-dawn dark, warriors from both sides had patched each other up, exchanged snippets of humour, lifted their faces to the dawn light when it came. All alive. A few injuries. A few marks of surjusi taint among the Erith. All could be healed. No losses among the warriors to add to the pile of dead Arrow carried with her. It was a minor relief.

  That battle was done.

  Trouble was already gathering.

  The peace between warriors was gone.

  The Erith had reported back to the Taellaneth, the heart of Erith government, and the Taellaneth had reacted by sending two fresh cadres of White Guard along with the Preceptor, the Erith’s authority in all things magical, and a gaggle of dark-robed magicians.

  The ordinary, human-made road had become extraordinary. Bounded on each side by a mix of high human-made fences, stone walls and dense hedges, the road was empty of humans at this hour. The road wound through a high-status residential estate, the fences, walls, and hedges bounding enormous gardens with equally grand human houses screened from view by mature trees. It was an arrangement the Erith would recognise. This particular wall, the one attention was focused on, bounded one side of the grounds that held what had been the Hessman residence. A human name with a bitter history with the Erith. This was the second time that a Hessman had been involved in trying to harm the Erith. Arrow did not think the Erith would allow a third attempt.

  It was underneath the Hessman residence that they had found the underground space, saturated with unclean magic.

  With the arrival of more Erith, their sleek black vehicles as out of place as the Erith themselves in this quiet street, the shifkin had withdrawn at a leisurely pace, settling around their own vehicles. Just out of earshot but not out of sight. Letting the Erith have the scene just now. The fresh White Guard were more interested in keeping an eye on the ‘kin than on the underground space or the magicians they had been sent here to watch. More than one of the new warriors betrayed their unease by sparks of amber in their eyes, knuckles white on weapon hilts, shoulders set.

  The warriors were still doing their duty. Unlike the others. Arrow eyed the babbling magicians with disfavour. They were terrified of surjusi. Not hard to understand why, as the demons had a great fondness for draining down Erith magic, leaving bodies in their wake, or infecting Erith with demon taint that could quickly spread. However, the surjusi was gone. All the bodies in the underground were entirely human. She was quite sure, because she had banished the surjusi and killed its human host. And the magicians were still too frightened to go near the doorway.

  Arrow had little patience for them. She had endured what was sure to be the first of many rounds of questions, the Preceptor openly scornful of the idea that surrimok would be here. In the human lands. In Lix. A city. The creatures favoured the Erith’s frozen lands and disliked company.

  He had been only fractionally less dismissive of Arrow’s suggestion that the hunt was not over. That there were more involved in the conspiracy that had called surjusi into the human world, using forbidden magic to do so. Not accepting. Far from it. But not as openly scornful.

  The questions were over for now. Arrow was not wanted. For now.

  So, she was standing a little apart from them all, the space around her probably partly due to the smell, which Erith noses would detect more keenly than hers. But mostly due to the impure heritage she carried which was evident in her rounder face, the freckles across her skin and the silver sparks in her gray eyes. Sparks that told anyone looking at her that she was a magician, and not Erith. Erith magic was amber. Always.

  For a moment she leant back against the stone wall, cold damp seeping through layers of clothing. The wall was high enough to let her tip her head back against it. She closed her eyes for a heartbeat and imagined herself elsewhere.

  Warm. Safe. Clean. Perhaps a bath. Oh. A bath. And while she was imagining the impossible, she may as well conjure up clean water, for her own, exclusive use, and bubble bath. Enough bubble bath to make a foam mountain. And perhaps coffee. Did one drink coffee in a bath? Never mind. She would.

  It was only a moment, the dream gone when she opened her eyes again. She had learned long ago not to relax among the Erith.

  “Will they talk like this all day?”

  Arrow bit the inside of her lip to hide a smile. She was barely tolerated by the Erith, and openly laughing at them would result in an immediate reprimand. Instead, she straightened away from the wall and turned to the warrior who had spoken.

  Kallish nuin Falsen had her arms folded across her chest, feet planted, an open scowl on her face as she stared at the chattering magicians. Kallish and her cadre had been the ones in the underground the night before, facing the surjusi with calm determination. The minor injuries and minor taint from the surjusi’s touch had been easily healed. None had been drained. None had lost their lives. Along with the defeat of the surjusi, Kallish had declared that a satisfactory result.

  “I do not know, svegraen.”

  “Evellan should just send them in,” Kallish said.

  Arrow followed the warrior’s line of sight to the solitary figure of the Preceptor. He was pacing the street a short distance from his magicians, his robes and ever-present shadows fluttering as he moved. He might be the Erith’s highest authority in magical matters, but he was not showing it just now. It looked to Arrow as if he was afraid of what he might find and covering that with anger. It was not something she had seen from him before.

  “And what do they want?” The warrior sounded almost grumpy, if such an ordinary term could be applied to the Erith. Even weary from battle, Kallish and her cadre were still extraordinary to look at, faces made of angles that should be jarring but somehow were beautiful and compelling, all of them tall, moving with a grace and fluidity that Arrow would never manage.

  Arrow turned to look. A new vehicle had arrived, one of the large, sleek, black vehicles used by the Erith and ‘kin alike. This one crackled with Erith wards, its origin clear to anyone with magic sensitivity.

  Five Erith warriors, a full third of White Guard, got out of the vehicle as she watched and began marching along the street with purpose in their strides. Arrow’s stomach tightened.

  “Looks like they are here for me.”

  “Why? What have you done now?” There was simple curiosity in that question.

  “Eshan will have found something,” Arrow answered and immediately regretted it. She was not usually so free in speaking with the Erith. Saying what was on her mind had caused trouble too many times in the past. “Never mind.” She tried to deflect Kallish, although from the warrior’s keen stare she had not succeeded.

  “You will come with us.” The leader of the third was a mid-ranked warrior, lip curling in distaste as he looked at her. It was an expression she was very familiar with.

  “Yes, svegraen.”

  “Where are you taking her?” The question from Kallish was unexpected. The warrior had a small frown between her brows, sparks of amber in her eyes betraying her unease. Arrow supposed she should have asked that, but she was long used to moving at the Erith’s direction.

  “Taellaneth.” The response was curt, and not in the least bit civil.

  Kallish raised one eyebrow a fraction but did not otherwise move.

  “The Taellaneth. Svegraen.” The tone had transformed miraculously into something far more civil.

  Arrow exchanged a brief nod with Kallish by way of goodbye then stepped forward, between the warriors, who immediately closed ranks around her as though she were a prisoner. Perhaps she was. It was not the first time White Guard had been despatched to bring her back to the Taellaneth, Eshan finding some reason or other why she had failed in her task or breached the terms of her mission. The Taellan’s Chief Scribe enjoyed the power he had. Her stomach tightened again.

  “Wait! Arrow is needed here.” The Preceptor was striding towards them, robes sending a cascade of shadow around him.

  “We have orders, my lord.” The leader of t
he third was far more polite to the Preceptor.

  “I want Arrow back afterwards.”

  Arrow noted that Evellan sounded as grumpy as Kallish had a few moments before. Perhaps it was the effect of being in human territory. Perhaps this was a normal Erith reaction to the aftermath of surjusi. Perhaps some other reason her tired mind did not understand.

  “Not up to me, my lord, but I will pass on the request.”

  “See that you do.” Evellan was frowning, eyes skipping briefly over Arrow but saying nothing more as the warriors led her away.

  The journey across Lix, with all its usual traffic hazards, seemed to take far less time than usual, with Arrow wedged in the back seat of the vehicle between warriors, two on her left, one on her right, all of them somehow managing to keep their straight-backed posture even settled on the vehicle’s yielding leather seats.

  Previous experience told her that none of them would talk to her, so she used the opportunity to rest a little, slumped against the seats, aware of every bruise on her body, trying not to think about what had happened underground and not thinking about all the possible reasons why Eshan might have summoned her back to the Taellaneth. Fortunately, she had years of experience in not thinking about unpleasant things and passed the journey mentally rehearsing the runes of power, used in Erith spell work.

  All too soon she was back at the Taellaneth gates facing another familiar issue. The junior-ranked White Guard at the gates did not want to let her through, despite the third close around her. The Taellaneth was near-sacred to the Erith, her presence a constant irritant most days. This morning, frost still lining the grasses that stretched for miles in front of the Taellaneth wall and gates, she could not blame them for their disgust. The human clothing she wore was still covered in dirt, ash and blood and their sensitive noses would be able to pick up, far more clearly than her blunt senses, the stench of decomposition and death that clung to her.

  The third who had accompanied her ignored the gate guards’ protest, refusing to answer their questions as well, remaining stone-faced as they stepped through the gates with her.

  The familiar scent and presence of the Taellaneth washed over her, pure air finally clearing the stench from her mouth and nose, familiar feel of Erith magic against her skin relieving some of the itch from all that mire.

  “Wait.” The leader of the third instructed, the first words from them since they had got into the vehicle, and they left without a backward glance, strides brisk and efficient.

  Arrow waited. Now she was out of the vehicle, apprehension returned, and she wondered again what error Eshan would accuse her of. It did not matter whether she had done the thing or not. He would not listen to her.

  There were other possibilities. None of them good. She had used too much power in the underground. The seals that had once kept the true depth of her magical strength hidden were gone. She had torn them out herself when faced with a surjusi. But it meant her lie, all these years as an apparently mid-powered mage, was exposed. The Erith would not be pleased.

  Nausea rose in her throat, mouth dry. She wanted to be gone from here. But she was bound to the Erith, bound to obedience and service.

  The small pause also gave her time to catalogue her hurts. Aching ribs. Various bruises. The well of power inside severely drained. And yet she still had power enough. More power than she was used to.

  The physical inventory did not distract her long from the new set of memories involving tainted magicians in the dark which stank of death and decay and the bitter aftertaste of unclean magic.

  For perhaps the first time in her life the sight of Eshan nuin Regersfel bearing down on her, beautifully crafted robes flaring around him as he stalked along the wide path, was an almost welcome break from her thoughts. Almost.

  The Chief Scribe came to a halt a few paces away from her and eyed her up and down with evident disfavour.

  “You will come now,” he told her, then turned and stalked back towards the main Taellaneth building. Taking her to the Taellan, not to his own office.

  “Sir.” Arrow stretched aching legs to catch up with him, wondering why he had not commandeered a carriage, or sent a messenger for her. Choosing to walk was out of character for Eshan. He ignored her. She tried again. “Sir, I am not appropriately dressed for the Taellan, or in good order. It has been a very long few days.”

  “This will not wait. It is the tenth today,” he snapped at her, as though the date was her fault.

  “I do not understand,” she said plainly.

  “The tenth. Your service expired on the seventh. An oversight which we will now remedy.”

  “My …” Arrow’s throat closed up and she stopped without meaning to. In the events of the past days she had entirely forgotten the longed-for date.

  Fifteen years’ service demanded, and service given. An unimaginable period to her younger self, but preferable to no life at all, which had been her only other option. A period which had both crawled and sprinted past. Finally done.

  To be sure that it was real she raised one arm and pulled back her sleeve. The inside of her wrist was bare. Nothing but ordinary, pale skin. The heavy, black runes that had burrowed under her skin were gone. She checked the other wrist. The same. Bare skin. A hasty internal search. Her body remained hers. No crawling sensation of the oath spells working, no maddening itch under her skin that no scratching could relieve. It was true. It was real. The day of her release had come and gone, and she had not even noticed.

  Her head was light. She wanted to sit down. To run. To move. To laugh. That last an impulse so foreign her breath caught again.

  Free.

  “Well, come on.” Eshan had stopped too, several paces ahead. “I have a busy enough day without wasting any more time on this than required.”

  “Of course.” She made her voice calm and followed him the rest of the way to the main building, stomach fluttering.

  The pale stone statue, gleaming in weak sunlight, steadied her, the name set out in the grass around it. Fallen not Forgotten. The six Erith who had stood against the last surjusi incursion on Erith soil. The implacable expression on the war mage’s face as he stared at his enemy, however much a product of the artist’s imagining, stiffened her spine as she walked around the group and up the shallow steps to the main doors.

  Inside, the faint citrus scent of the Taellaneth building chasing away some of the stench of her clothes, she made a few, futile efforts to straighten her appearance as she walked, stiffness of the unfamiliar scabbard across her back and the familiar, reassuring weight of her bag against her hip steadying her. She had made plans for this day, decided her course long ago. There was a whole world she had not seen. A coastline that human poets wrote about and painters showed in astonishing terms. The alluring prospect of travelling without restriction. And the ability to have a clean, warm bath all to herself and for as long as she wanted.

  Before then she had to stand her ground against the Erith. Face them as if she were their equal. That she was worn out and badly in need of some soap did not change matters.

  Eshan led the way, scattering Taellaneth servants around him. No one wanted to attract the attention of the Chief Scribe. Eventually he stopped before the door to one of the smaller rooms, knocked and entered the room, snapping his fingers for Arrow to follow.

  ~

  This chamber was set out as an informal receiving room with comfortable chairs, air full of the scent of Erith tea and the kitchen’s finest baking. Despite being light-headed from hunger, she gave the trays a bare glance, focusing instead on the Taellan present. The Queen’s councillors, the heart of the Erith government. Some of the most powerful Erith alive, dressed for their station in hand-crafted, luxurious fabrics, the soft sheen of brocade, the rustle of silk, the richness of colour that all Erith favoured all acting as counterpoint to the Erith’s natural beauty. The room was full even though there were only four of the Taellan there. Eshan’s master and the leader of the Taellan, Seggerat vo Regersfel
, took centre stage. Sitting with him were Eimille vel Falsen and both the Halsfeld lords, glancing round with no alarm or particular attention. It was unusual to see Seggerat and Eimille without Gret vo Regresan, but she was thankful for it. Gret in particular disliked her intensely.

  “My apologies for the intrusion, my lady, my lords.” Eshan swept a low, Court bow, far lower than required. “As I mentioned to Lord Regersfel yesterday, there is a minor administrative matter that requires a moment of your attention.”

  Arrow stiffened her spine slightly, although she was not really surprised that the Chief Scribe considered the disposal of her life and service to be unimportant.

  “Yes, Eshan, I recall.” Seggerat, after one scathing glance at Arrow’s attire, withdrew his attention, looking around the others in the room. “Its service has expired, and we require to hear its renewed oath. Well?” With that last word, as was so often the case, the inflection of his voice let her know she was being addressed.

  She made a small, polite bow, which felt awkward in her human clothing.

  “No, my lord.” Her voice was quiet and thin, nerves stretched. She had not been able to make a flat refusal to the Erith for the entire length of her service. The word was strange on her tongue, shape unfamiliar even as some constriction in her chest eased. No. It was possible to speak that word to the Erith without pain.

  “What?” She had the elder’s full attention now, and that of everyone in the room. Eshan was staring at her, open-mouthed.

  “No, my lord.”

  “Your service is required,” Seggerat said, voice a soft, silky tone she knew well. “Give the oath.”

  “Fifteen years of obedience and service were compelled from me under oath as a condition of my continued life and to complete my training at the Academy,” she countered, using a clear, icy tone that the elder was fond of. She did not think she had ever used that tone before, but it issued perfectly from her mouth. “The Chief Scribe informs me that the fifteen-year period expired three days ago. I will not renew it.” Three days ago. She tried to puzzle out where she had been at the time. She thought that was the day she had comprehensively lost her temper with the Taellan.