The Sah'niir Read online

Anthis sighed as she walked away, while Aria clambered from the well to sit possessively in her father's lap. "One death. It could have been much worse..." His eyes dropped sympathetically towards the pair, but while he found Aria expectedly lost in an all-too-fresh memory, Rathen appeared only suspicious. Anthis frowned. "What is it?"

  "Nothing, I hope. But my hope has been misplaced before... Don't you think that just one death - of a foreigner, no less - in the dead of night is a bit...convenient?"

  "You don't believe it. ...Do you think...?"

  "Like I said: I hope not. But Salus seems paranoid enough to take such extreme measures. I doubt there were any bandits at all..." He looked up as Garon finally joined them, finished at last with his intel-gathering and feigned friendliness among the locals. "Welcome back. Find anything?"

  He shook his head, eyes quickly scanning their surroundings. "Not much. Numbers of mage hunters are growing in the larger towns, there's been a sudden absence of ditchlings, complaints about the marsh, and the incident in Trinn is being blamed on the Order. The only thing of note is a supposed bandit attack on Eddon, wherein--"

  "Only one Kalosian was killed. We heard the same. It stinks to you, too?"

  "Absolutely."

  Anthis nodded, as though it had been immediately obvious to him, too. "Local supplies are thin. The flooding has ruined their stock. No one can say where it came from, but they're at least not blaming the Order - although one merchant did mention that a travelling priest put it down to Vastal's fury at the lack of a chapel, but the merchant seemed unconvinced. After all, there's never been a chapel in Nestor. But more than that, a few trade routes have been cut off and rerouted by a chasm to the south west. That's all."

  "Nothing, then, to suggest Salus's progress nor his intentions. Though that's no surprise." He glanced down to the loaded bag sitting at Anthis's feet, then turned and started back down the road towards the herbalist's shop and their waiting horses. "We should move on."

  "To where?" Rathen whispered roughly, grasping Aria's hand and hurrying after him. "Nothing but Korovor lies ahead of us. Horses or not, we will run into an ambush sooner or later."

  "Which is why we have to keep moving. We'll head for Mokhan - I have contacts there, we should have more luck."

  Rathen surged ahead and stopped him in his path, his voice as low and dangerous as the urgency in his eyes. "We were chased out of Mokhan not three months ago. It is also a city. A city a stone's throw away from Kulokhar. I heard what Kienza said, and I heard what Taliel said, but there is a line, and Mokhan is it."

  "And what do you suggest?" Garon grunted when he failed to reply. He stepped around him as he bristled and walked on with his usual commanding air. Until a shout stopped him dead.

  Everyone - the four, the nearby locals, even the two dogs that had been cocking their legs at the door of an out-of-work carpenter - turned and stared silently towards the furthest end of the village. For a moment, everything fell still. Nothing moved, until another shriek of alarm kicked life back into the air. All of a sudden, a crowd of people appeared running down the village road straight towards them, ensnared in a blind panic. Five figures followed them, but calmly, their every step brazen and confident as they tracked their wake, daring anyone to try to stand their ground before them, black cloaks billowing from their shoulders.

  Rathen's blood boiled in his veins; he scarcely managed to compress his rage into a growl. He felt a hand on his shoulder; the rough tug told him it was Garon, and his cold orders to follow him away confirmed it. But as fire flared and blinded him, bursting into life around the intruders, his feet held fast. The flames erupted into the air, encircling the five mages in a furious, twisting inferno, a shield of heat and cinders that lashed out wildly to sear all stone, moss and wood within reach.

  Had it been any ordinary fire, the damp wood and saturated moss would have been unscathed. But this fire was born of magic, shaped with the intent to harm. A glancing contact was all it took to leave a burning trail behind them. And the five young mages within its protection, each surely only recently graduated, appeared to relish the screams and destruction.

  In the seconds since the heralding panic, roofs were already aglow and spreading fast. The most distant shortly collapsed, and a wail of despair rose around it.

  Rathen ignored the tightening grip on his shoulder. He watched, veins burning in outrage, as the mages manipulated pots, stones and rubble into the paths of those fleeing, cackling joyously while young and old tripped in their haste; as trellises and thatch toppled and bellowed more embers over the gardens; as those embers took root against wooden doors and burned houses from below while the roofs above stood as bonfires.

  "Daddy, what's happening?!"

  "Rathen, there's nothing we can do. We have to leave." The inquisitor's grip tightened, but Rathen shrugged out of it, his fingers already twisting into cryptic tangles faster than any human eye could follow. But as water rose in a geyser from somewhere on the outskirts to quench the furthest and greatest inferno, Garon grasped the mage's fingers and wrenched him around to stare another blaze into his eyes. It was met bitterly. Rathen tried to snatch his hands free, but Garon was already dragging him along and through the frantic crowd attempting to barrel their way out of the village while the now roaring fire overtook the arsonists.

  "We can't leave--"

  "We don't have a choice!" Garon thrust him roughly towards his horse, but there was no room to mount and no time to try. He didn't say it, but each of them were sorely aware that the uproar would draw any and all of their creeping pursuers. So they unhitched the reins, slung loose bags over their backs and led the skittish horses out of the village and off towards the right of the flooded road all others were taking.

  The creaking collapse of burning roofs travelled all too clearly through the trees.

  "We shouldn't have left," Rathen growled. "I could have stopped them!"

  "And then what?" Garon hissed, spinning towards him. "The village would remember us, blame us - we would become a part of this, and when people came asking, they would tell! Now, all they'll remember are those five mages; it's as if we were never here."

  "How can you call yourself a protector if you're willing to stand by and just let that happen, right in front of you?! They weren't there to intimidate, they were there to harm!"

  "Garon--"

  Anthis was ignored. "And your intentions would mean nothing after that exposure! For these people, all mages are now painted with the same brush!"

  "And by not stepping in, we've justified it! But that assumption is no reason to let people get hurt!"

  "Rathen, we--"

  "And if we're caught by--"

  "We need to move. Now."

  The bickering stopped at Anthis's firm tone, and was forgotten at the fervent flicking about of his eyes. There was no need to ask. They hurried on in silence.

  Then everything happened at once.

  There were no footsteps, no splashes; nothing more than a presence confirmed by a shadow almost missed in the darkness of the overcast sky. Then a figure appeared, two arms' length away, a stranger whose eyes bore an unmistakable purpose and keen focus that left little doubt to her intent. Her arm was already poised, a piece of silver glinting between her fingers, its point aimed unerringly at them. Understanding took too long to fall.

  But before it had the chance to land, Eyila suddenly stood in her place, rubbing her knuckles while the woman crumpled to the ground at her feet. Garon shouted while they stared at the girl in surprise, and his words cut a fever through their hearts. And through the woman.

  She leapt quickly and nimbly back to her feet, and another flash of steel electrified their bodies into action.

  But she didn't strike.

  A ragged gasped escaped her lips. She dropped more slowly this time, hitting the ground with blood trickling down her chin, and a blade protruding through her back.

  Petra tugged her sword free, flicked off the blood, and swung up onto her horse. She
gestured into the trees and set off, Garon mounted close behind and Eyila following suit.

  Rathen and Anthis stared at the suddenly lifeless and crimson-stained phidipan for a long moment. Neither thought in their shock to cover Aria's eyes.

  Chapter 15

  Tall, white and slender, drawn in smoothly half way up the body and rounded perfectly on top, one sleek arm bowed and resting upon a shapely curve, the other raised and extended, prepared and willing to serve at a second's notice.

  The teapot shattered beautifully against the wall.

  "How," bellowed the keliceran as steaming tea trickled, "could this be able to happen?! Scouts and patrols have been stepped up, from guards all the way to our own! Are we stretching ourselves thin for nothing?!"

  But while Teagan provided a calm and no doubt well-considered response, Salus wasn't open to hearing it. He could think only of the fact that his surveillance system, had it been in place, would have completely shut out any possibility of this occurrence. But while he was close to a breakthrough, 'close' presently amounted to nothing. He'd improved upon his previous achievements of observation and feedback points, and just yesterday had succeeded in forming a link between them for all of two and a half seconds, surveying the other end of the spell-shrouded practise room in perfect clarity before it all inevitably fell apart. It was a victory, on paper, but until that link could be maintained indefinitely, those few seconds were as good as total failure.

  His eyes snapped back from his daydream. "When was the last report from the scouts?"

  "Three and four days ago."

  "On time. And they suggested nothing untoward?"

  "Nothing; you would have been informed."

  Salus grunted. Teagan stared past him. "That the Order hasn't been placed under house arrest yet is beyond me," he muttered. "What is the Crown thinking...?" His fist slammed suddenly against the disarray of parchments strewn across the desk. "Damn it all! Mages are slipping past us, no one is pulling anything in on Doana, nor on Koraaz - in fact, our tails lost them four days ago! Our only sodding hope rests on our agents in Korovor - assuming ditchlings don't get them first!" Suspicion stalled him. His eyes travelled slowly up to Teagan. "How many of the scouts in that vicinity are phaeacian?"

  "Four."

  He laughed bitterly. "Out of six. In that case, it's clear what has happened."

  "Our phaeacians are not inept, sir."

  "They don't seem to be very competent either. What about our convergers?"

  "A little under half. Most are phidipan, as you ordered."

  "Well, that's something." But his tone didn't subdue. "I want more phidipans watching the surrounding area, and especially on their tail; replace who you can, juggle it around again." He rose sharply to his feet, knocking the chair back behind him, and made towards the far end of the office. Teagan's brow flickered as he passed.

  "Sir? Where--"

  "To investigate the phaeacians' incompetence myself."

  "In Korovor?"

  "Where else?" He kicked off his comfortable shoes and replaced them with worn down riding boots. "There's a translocator in Morton; with a horse I'll be there in no time." He hesitated beside a cupboard, which he opened after a moment's thought and withdrew a slender black roll of cloth. Teagan watched him tuck the fine blades into his boot without expression. Koraaz had also been heading into those woods. His gaze returned to the wall as Salus looked back at him. "Get it done."

  "Of course, Keliceran."

  And the matter was gone from Salus's mind. But as he rushed for the door handle, weighing his choice of the various reprimands the lowest rank of bungling subordinates had earned for themselves, there was a knock from the other side. A set of quick, sharp strikes from two second knuckles.

  Irritation prickled in his veins, but after a single breath - slow, through tightly clenched teeth - he managed to stifle his haste, summon with all his strength a visage of neutrality and open the door with a carefully measured tug. He feigned surprise at his visitor. "My Lord Malson."

  The old man's eyes were even more cantankerous than usual, and dropped almost immediately to his boots. His eyebrow rose crooked. "Am I interrupting?"

  "Not at all, my lord. I returned just a few minutes ago."

  He considered him for a careful moment, but his stare was met calmly. He soon pursed his lips in acceptance. "Very well. May I?"

  Salus half jumped aside as the Crown's envoy walked in without pause for response or gesture, and again forced back his annoyance. He closed the door, preparing for whatever had ruffled the old man's feathers enough to drag him to his estate. "Is there something I can do for you, my lord?"

  "Myself, and the rest of the country." He stopped beside the desk, eyeing Teagan very briefly, who appeared not to be listening, and turned to face him with an expression even darker. Salus maintained his composure, which seemed to visibly rile him. The keliceran took quiet pleasure in that. "The military needs intel. It needs it yesterday. Either Doana moves, or Turunda does - something has to give. Moore's soldiers are getting restless and he is about ready to charge in himself."

  "They are under constant watch--"

  "And you've found nothing. Step it up, Salus. Reposition, move closer, something. Kidnap their scouts, force them to show their hand, a hint of their plans! Surely Doana can't keep their secrets from the Arana..."

  A smile almost sickly in its tolerance graced Salus's lips. "No," he replied calmly, clasping his hands behind his back, "of course not."

  "Then make it happen. This cannot go on indefinitely."

  "I agree fully. And I can assure you that it's our top priority. But it has to be done tactfully - the last thing we want is for them to think they're getting under our skin."

  "And yet--"

  "Yes, you're quite right, it has gone on for long enough, but the fact remains that they are in our land, and if we're to bind their game to our rules, we cannot let them think for a moment that they have the upper hand."

  "I hate to be the one to break it to you, Salus, but they do have the upper hand."

  His smile only waned because the situation demanded it. "Regrettably. But they can never be one hundred percent assured of that. We need to cultivate that doubt and expand it, which means we need to be--"

  "Tactful, yes..." Malson sighed wearily, his agitation abruptly doused by the keliceran's confidence, with and to whose surprise he appeared either disinclined or unable to argue. But as he bowed absently to the promises, his eyes travelled slowly towards the third body in the room. The portian continued to stand in silence, apparently not listening - but one could never be sure.

  Salus noted the change that befell him as he returned; it was quite impossible to miss. His tone lightened, his weight shifted, and the newest tea stain on the frequently re-treated panelling seemed to fascinate him. But his poor attempt at nonchalance was ultimately betrayed by his blatantly deliberate obscurity. "The Order?"

  Salus straightened. Nestor. He was in no mood for a reprimand. He had little choice but to resort to the liaison's own tactical vagueness. "Surely you're aware that the Crown is still allowing them to run riot?"

  "...Regrettably. But surely you have thoughts? Inklings?" At the briefest flick of his gaze, Salus eased in understanding. He was probing for his own, private request - an off-the-record surveillance of the Order that Salus has already put in place months ago.

  "Nothing worthy of your time, my lord," he replied with a smile most regretful, and after being spared another swift but meaningful glance, he watched the liaison nod and retire to his usual, infuriatingly elite bearing.

  "Doana is your priority, above absolutely all else. Get me something by the end of the week - or I daresay the Crown will start to reconsider both of our positions."

  The old man, brusque and dismissive, strode past Salus as though he was no longer there and left the office without even the most cursory farewell.

  Salus's face darkened as the door clicked shut.

  "'Our top pri
ority'?" Teagan still didn't move his gaze. "Are you planning something against Doana?"

  "Planning? Not as such. But that old coot is right: something has to give. And it looks like it's us. What a surprise." He moved silently towards the door and listened, but heard nothing on the other side. He nodded to himself. "Forget about it for now," he said quietly as he turned the handle, "see to the phidipans." He slipped out into the corridor like a shadow, unaware of the tension in his jaw.

  What on Vastal's forest-riddled earth did Malson think of him? What did the Crown think? That senseless, unreasonable gaggle of geese, tugging the strings of each authority like puppets manipulated for the entertainment of the king. They expected everything at the drop of a hat, as though he'd just been sitting cluelessly on a mass of information rather than passing it on as soon as it came in. Despite his every success in his eight years as Keliceran, anyone would think they deemed him inept - surely none of the other authorities were treated like this. Perhaps he ought to kidnap the old fools and dump them right outside a few of Doana's camps, then they could gather for themselves all the information the Arana was apparently choosing to ignore and he could focus his efforts on more productive solutions.

  He grunted to himself. At the very least, having the Arana rescue them after their inevitable capture would be a simple yet boundless source of amusement.

  This wasn't the first time the Crown had issued such 'priority' orders, but they were certainly stepping up the pressure. Fortunately he'd already prepared his responses following Malson's last acrid visit, and they seemed to defuse the liaison's temper with surprising success. But the Crown didn't need to ride him on this matter. He was fully aware of the situation - whatever reports he didn't read, Teagan did and kept him apprised. And as little as they seemed to yield, he was already considering alternative means.

  And yet...Doana remained a maddeningly trying ordeal. The country of mountains and terrace farmers was far too adept at concealing their intentions. Either they had outside help, or they had created the single most successful facade in history. And though he wished to favour the former, he couldn't afford to rule anything out. And given how easily they'd picked off his local agents, the latter seemed increasingly plausible. Not all countries had a web of spies, informants, assassins and thieves - and not all that did answered to their monarch. But Doana had always seemed too simple, too primitive to have developed such organisation regardless of loyalty.