“The heartland is the greatest spirit,” Kester said, unexpectedly. He was frowning, speaking slowly as if he was trying to find the right words. “We know we are home when we are there.” Arrow drew a breath. She knew something of that feeling. The sense of rightness that came with being on Erith territory. No matter what she thought or felt about the Erith, there was something in Erith lands that called to her. He looked up, met her eyes. “And the heartland needs things from us in return. A monarch. A focus.”
“The temple provides stability,” Undurat finished. “Especially where there is no monarch.”
The echo of the heartland’s grief washed through her. The scream of the land itself as Freyella had died, the fury that had threatened to tear the heartland apart. Arrow felt damp on her face and brushed the tears away impatiently. It was an echo only, and still had the power to stop her breath.
There was no monarch. Not yet. She did not know how the Erith chose their monarchs, only that they had not done so.
“The heartland is vulnerable,” she concluded, a sliver of ice working its way into her heart, tracing the path that the bit of surjusi power had taken not that long ago.
“We fear so,” Kallish agreed. The warrior exchanged glances with the other two Erith. “And no one else is paying attention.”
Erith politics. Damned secrets and lies and manipulation and self-interest.
Arrow speared her hands into her hair and rested her head in her hands for a moment. She had a life here. Simple, ever-expanding. A place of her own that sang to her senses. Tentative friendships. A place in the human and shifkin worlds.
And yet the Erith kept calling her back. The cloak on the table. The weight of expectation from the three Erith around her. Three of the Erith she trusted most.
“I am exiled,” she reminded them.
They had expected that, she saw.
“I can provide a travel permit,” Kester told her. His mouth lifted in a wry smile. “I am still Taellan.” Something in the way he said that caught Arrow’s attention, a weight she did not normally hear from him. Still Taellan. She wondered what else had been going on in Erith politics while she tried to make her new life.
And wondered why he had not mentioned anything the last time she had seen him.
Even as she wondered that, she had her answer. It had been an evening away from themselves. The human glamours. Trying new foods. Exchanging bad jokes. Trying to make Erith jokes work in translation to the common tongue. She had giggled, something she had not believed possible. It had not been an evening for Erith politics.
“Any of the other Taellan can cancel it,” Kallish warned, “so we will need to be careful where we go.”
Arrow shook her head slightly. They would need to cross the heartland, a vast distance, whilst avoiding all other members of the Taellan. It seemed an impossible task. And yet she could not refuse. Undurat’s brother. A twin. Dead, bringing a message to her. A message he thought was important enough to walk across the vast distances of the heartland.
“It would be helpful to see Duraner. If that is possible.”
“We expected that,” Kallish answered. “He is at the Taellaneth still.”
Still. The way Kallish said it made her pause. Some underlying message. She tilted her head, trying to work out what was being said. And not said. By Erith she trusted.
“It will be some days before the mages will open a mirror for us,” Undurat answered the silent question, his voice hoarse.
Mirror travel was quick but required vast resources of magic. Arrow almost asked why it would take so long, when the Taellaneth held one of the most powerful portal mages alive. There was no question that Evellan, Preceptor of the Academy, would honour a warrior’s request to transport his family home for burial. But Undurat had said mages. Evellan would not need help. So that meant Evellan was not at the Academy, or had refused to open a mirror, and the mages who could and would open the mirror were delaying for some reason. It was as worrying as Kester’s comment.
“I have work for the shifkin,” she told them, rising from the table, breaking the confusion spell as she turned back to the kitchen, taking her glass to the sink for more water. “Classes to rearrange.” She stood with her back to them, staring at the rippling water. “And no magic just now. I will need at least two days.”
~
The Prime was alright, openly amused at Arrow’s call to check on him. The amusement reassured Arrow more than anything else. He also patiently assured her that Paul had healed, and both Matthias and Tamara were fine, too. The shifkin were investigating the destruction of the residence that they had been on their way to visit. The human authorities were trying to trace the weaponry used in the attack on Lix’ streets.
The death count was terrible. Over twenty dead. Many of them the attackers. But there had been mothers and children on their way to an event. People going about their daily lives. As well as the dead, dozens more had been injured.
“You are not alright, are you?” Kester asked, when she ended the call with the Prime.
He had stayed behind whilst Kallish and Undurat went outside, Kallish promising that they would keep watch on Arrow until she had her power back. Arrow could only imagine the attention that a full cadre of warriors would draw to this small, quiet street. But she had no defences and memories of the day before were too fresh.
Now Kester, still settled at the table, was watching her as she moved, slowly, around the kitchen, clearing up after the warriors.
She stopped, back to him. He knew her as well as anyone. And even if they had not spent much time together recently, he had noticed something was wrong.
The faintest trace of warmth on her face. The hush of sea against the sand. The screams. And a fleeting glimpse of endless black that stopped her heart.
“I-” she started, interrupted by his arms coming around her. She had not heard him move. She tucked her head under his chin and returned the hold. Cardamom. Citrus. Weapons oil. Warm. Safe.
She was crying. She rarely cried. More and more lately. She tried to pull away, embarrassed, and his hold tightened. She was shedding tears into brocade fabric that was worth more than her whole wardrobe. He produced a fine, fabric handkerchief from somewhere and she dried her face, shoving the crumpled fabric into a pocket when she was done.
“Trouble sleeping?” he asked, voice soft and low. He was still holding her.
“Something like that.”
“Sleeping potion not working?” His hands had moved, up her arms, finding points across her shoulders, pressing gently. Right on the points where her muscles were tense. She dropped her shoulders under the pressure, breathing lightly through the pain. Clean pain. Muscles eased. He moved on to the next knot. She sighed into his coat collar.
There had been a question. She tried to remember what it was.
Then he tilted her head up towards him, fingers gentle, and kissed her and she could not remember anything.
CHAPTER 6
The lines, drawn in plain white chalk on a wall-mounted blackboard, flared a moment as the power took hold, then settled to a brightness visible in the first world.
“I did it!” The girl’s face flushed with excitement. She looked up from the rune, grin spreading across her face. “I really did it.”
“Good,” Arrow said. “Now, do you remember how to cancel it?”
“Already?” The student’s face fell, disappointment taking over.
“I am sorry. Yes. We are at the end of the lesson.”
“That’s an hour already?”
“Indeed. A little over.”
“Oh.” The student looked at the rune. She lifted her chalk, hesitated, then drew a straight line through the rune. The spell flared again before dying completely.
“That is the complete rune for confusion,” Arrow reminded the rest of the class. Ten in all. Human students, all listening intently, eyes bright with interest as they looked at the now-dormant rune on the blackboard. “Remember that it only disgui
ses the conversation of those within its range and it has limited range. It also only works if you apply your will to it.” Their unwavering attention was almost unnerving. “Your homework is to practice that rune, preferably in groups so that you can see if it works, and make sure you cancel it when you are finished. Questions?”
There were no questions today. A first. Normally an hour’s lesson extended by half that again with eager questions from her students. Today, Arrow thought the students seemed eager to leave, chattering amongst themselves. Excited to begin their homework, perhaps.
She shook her head, smiling, as she cleaned the blackboard. A simple rune that a junior student at the Erith’s Academy could manage, and the senior class in the human’s Collegia were excited to learn it. It was, as one of the class had put it, real magic.
It was also a fairly harmless spell, requiring little power from the student. Something every student in the class could manage.
She turned away from the blackboard and gathered her messenger bag. The sword was at her back, as usual, its weight now as familiar as her own body so that she rarely remember it was there during the day, mostly at times like now, careful to settle the bag’s strap flat over the scabbard.
The classroom was empty and tidy. Her work was done for the day. She was glad. She had slept better the night before, after spending time with Kester. A few hours’ unbroken sleep and the pain in her head was almost gone, the foul taste a memory. The well of power was settling inside her again, almost ready for use.
Meantime she felt naked, walking about in the world with no personal wards. She had been tempted for a moment to cancel the class. The likely disappointment of the students, and the promise of protection from Kallish and her cadre, had kept her on course. And she was glad she had honoured her commitment now. She enjoyed teaching here, with attentive students, and it had been a welcome distraction from other worries.
She stepped out of the building into the Collegia’s garden and the blinding sunshine and warmth of summer afternoon.
She paused, as she always did when entering the garden, remembering the first time she had seen it. At night, saturated with unclean magic, with the Collegia’s former Magister using blood magic to try and open a portal to the surjusi realm and summon its lord to this world. The Magister, his mind influenced by the surjusi, had believed that the surjusi would aid the humans in crushing the Erith.
A chill ran over her, despite the sunshine, remembering the Magister as he was now, in the care of the human’s hospital for the mentally ill, just outside Lix. He was barely a shell of a person, eyes vacant, speaking nonsense when he did speak, which was rare. The surjusi stone he had carried on a chain around his neck for most of his long life was gone, and without it his mind had fragmented. The decline had been astonishingly swift, the human authorities unable to get any helpful information from him. They knew that there were others still in the world carrying surjusi stones, but without the Magister’s help it could be years before they were all found.
Arrow remembered that one of the shooters, one of the few survivors, from the attack on the Prime had worn a surjusi stone, too, and wondered if the shifkin and human authorities had managed to question him before his mind had disintegrated. There were so many questions. And so few answers. So far.
Most of the others who had been with the Magister that night had known very little. The ignorant ones were currently in the human’s prison, also just outside Lix, the prison’s perimeter and buildings now supplemented by Erith wards and the occasional visit from the White Guard and shifkin, making sure the prisoners were secured. Those of the Magister’s companions who had known more had either lost their minds in the same way as he had, now housed in the same hospital, or found ways of killing themselves in custody.
Arrow shivered lightly. She had carried a bit of surjusi power for a little while and could still feel its echo from time to time, the wriggling bit of dark that had urged her to violence. And she was a fully trained mage, taught to guard her mind and person against outside influence. The humans who had carried the stones had not been.
She shook her head, forcing her attention back to the here and now.
The garden was beautiful. A welcoming space in the midst of the Collegia’s main quadrangle, the sounds of the city muted and distant.
It was a serene space now, even with the presence of an entire cadre. Kallish and her warriors claimed that they were well rested, and happy to stand watch for the few hours Arrow needed to spend here. The students thought it was a thing of wonder to have White Guard within their boundaries. Arrow was not sure the new master of the Collegia would feel the same. He had not been given a choice, though.
The garden itself had been thoroughly inspected by all three races and then cleansed, more than once, by Erith mages. The Erith had also donated a tall sculpture to stand in the middle of the garden, where the Magister had been drawing his portal spell, and where humans before him had etched a blood-powered communication spell. The sculpture had been gratefully received by the Collegia’s new master as a generous gift. Arrow thought that the new master was clever enough to realise that it was also a potent reminder, highly visible in the Collegia, of the power and influence of the Erith. A reminder of how easily and how quickly the Erith could defeat the humans. If they chose.
Arrow had also made an inspection of her own, confirming to her own satisfaction that there were no active or dormant spells in the sculpture. It was simply a beautiful piece of art which fitted well into the garden.
“There you are.” Dorian, the Collegia’s new master, came out of a nearby doorway. He might have been chosen, unanimously, by all other members of the Collegia as their new leader, but he continued to dress as a combat magician, the bandoleer across his chest filled with vials of pre-prepared spells.
“You were looking for me?”
“Just wondering how the class is getting on?”
“They are doing well,” Arrow told him, stepping out of the shadows of the building into sunshine. The memories had chilled her and she wanted sun on her face. “They are very attentive,” she added, feeling something more was called for.
Dorian laughed. “They are on their best behaviour. Being taught by a real Erith mage is still a novelty.” He sobered a moment later and she thought, not for the first time, that he looked many years older since she had met him only a few weeks before. “Let me know if they give you any trouble. Students can be difficult.”
“Are they likely to throw knives at me?” Arrow asked, genuinely curious.
“What? No! Of course not.”
“Then I shall manage,” she told him, smiling at his expression. “I taught classes at the Academy,” she reminded him. “The students there did not wish to listen at all.”
“And threw knives?”
It had been one knife, on one occasion, and had been far easier to deal with than the near-constant name calling. Arwmverishan. Arwmverishan. Abomination. Over and over. It seemed a lifetime ago now.
She shrugged slightly in answer.
“They actually blend in quite well,” Dorian commented, waving a hand at the warriors scattered around the garden. “I didn’t believe it when the students claimed there was a whole cadre here. Should we be worried?”
“A temporary measure,” Arrow said, hesitating.
“Rocket launchers in Lix get attention,” he answered, expression grim. “I’m glad you’re ok. And the Prime.”
“Yes.”
“Any news?”
“Not that I know.” She stiffened her spine. “I need to be away for a time.”
“Any idea how long?”
“Sorry.” She thought of the class she had left, the homework she had given them. “You might ask Evellan if one of the junior teaching staff at the Academy would come and practice with the students. It would be good practice for them.”
“The students or the staff?” Dorian asked, eyes gleaming. He was not stupid.
Arrow gave a short half-laug
h. “Both. There are enough Erith at the Taellaneth who speak common tongue that translation should be fine. Tell Evellan we were working on confusion spells.”
“Thank you.” Dorian sounded sincere.
She shrugged slightly. She did not think she had done much.
“The repairs have settled well,” she said instead, looking at the centre of the garden. Where there had been stones etched with blood-runes, there was now a gravel circle with the sculpture in the centre. The border of the gravel had been planted with sweet-smelling plants. Arrow wondered if Dorian could also still smell the ghostly trace of blood as he passed, wanting to replace that memory over time with something fresher.
He was silent for a moment. She glanced across to find his jaw set, eyes bright. The former First Mage of the Collegia, he had been confident in his position and authority, believing he knew his fellow magicians. Believing in the Collegia as a place of learning. All his beliefs had been shaken.
“You’re late again.” Juniper, Dorian’s deputy, stuck her head out of a door further along the wall. “Hi, Arrow.”
“Good day.”
“D, you’re needed.”
“Damned meetings,” Dorian grumbled. He glowered back at Juniper, who smiled in response.
“If I have to go, you have to go,” she told him. “Come on. The sooner we’re there, the sooner it’s over.”
Still scowling, Dorian made a curt farewell to Arrow and went back into the building with his deputy.
Arrow crossed the garden, forcing herself to walk straight across it, past the Erith sculpture. She had avoided the centre for some time after the Magister’s defeat, finding reasons to walk around the outside. Once she realised what she was doing, she made herself walk across the centre on each visit. The memories were still powerful but as the plants grew she could breathe in their scent and remember where and when she was. Here and now.
~
She had told the Erith she needed a couple of days before she could travel to the heartland. In truth, she had nothing else to do in Lix. Her head had eased to a barely-there, dull pain. It would not be long before she had full access to her magic again.
Taellaneth Complete Series Box Set Page 119
