Betrayed, page 11
part #3 of The Taellaneth Series
“Where are we going?” Arrow held her ground. Lying down was what she wanted to do. Or perhaps soak in a hot bath. A sharp pinch across her lower back had her hissing in a breath. Healing potion, then bath, then bed. Perfect. Orlis did not notice.
“Gilean.” Orlis seemed shocked by her question. “He was a day’s ride from here not that long ago. The last place he was seen. Some farm. We are going to follow his path.”
“A day’s ride?” Arrow’s whole being seized in rejection of the idea, her mind coming up with easy objections. “We do not have horses. And-”
“I have arranged horses,” Orlis cut off her words. “Come on.” He handed her bag to her, silver wards flaring angrily at his touch, not noticing her wince as she took the weight of the bag, striding away along a path formed of bark chippings that curled around the side of the magician’s building.
She watched his back for a moment, truly tempted to ignore his demand and go inside. Healing potion. Bath. Bed. The words slid through her mind with a seductive pull. But. There was Gilean’s absence, the war mage perhaps taken with violence. And Orlis was too disturbed to be rational.
So, she settled the bag over her shoulder, bit back a cry of pain and set it on the other shoulder instead, forcing her body to move after Orlis. Bath and bed were out of the question for the moment, but there were healing potions in her bag. Her fingers fumbled with the straps as she tried to follow Orlis and get a bottle out without dropping the bag. She paused, nearly losing sight of his bright hair, and swallowed the potion in two hasty gulps. The bare tingle of magic through her body told her that she was more badly damaged than she had thought. Not just surface bruising, then. She was no healer, to be able to read the path of magic through her body, but she wondered if there was internal damage. Bleeding, perhaps, as she did not feel the ache of broken bones. The strongest healing potion she could conjure was barely touching the aches of her muscles, spreading lukewarm healing through her lower back and stomach. Internal bleeding, then.
Her throat closed in cold fear. Attacked out of nowhere. An attacker who had slid through her wards as if they did not exist. She shivered, wondering if she should follow Orlis. With a potential flaw in her wards and her whole body feeling like a single, freshly formed bruise, she was not sure she could defend herself let alone assist in finding Gilean.
There were more healing potions in her bag, and for a moment she considered taking another one. Stern warnings from the Potions Master at the Academy rang in her head. Something odd happened to a magician who swallowed back too much of their own power too fast. She could not remember the specifics just now, but she did remember the forbidding tone. Deciding she needed what little of her wits remained, she left the other potions untouched and hoped that the worst was over.
Orlis was out of sight now, too far ahead for her to call him back, so she kept walking. The potion settled to a distracting itch as it got to work, muscles barely eased enough that she could keep moving. Perhaps she could sleep on a horse. Or at least find some calm to pull some power from the heartland for more healing.
~
Arrow did not remember much about leaving the Palace, almost her entire concentration taken up with moving as normally as she could and not betraying how badly injured she was, how vulnerable she was among the Erith. She remembered Orlis’ dismay as he learned she did not know how to ride, something she might have found comical on another day. She remembered the odd sensation of sitting on top of a horse for the first time, her body stretched, muscles pulling, the rocking motion as the horse moved, the scent of the creature, warm and soothing, filling her lungs, creak of leather and soft sounds of the horse’s great hooves meeting the ground.
The horse’s long strides were smooth and even, and every one of them sent a fresh wave of pain through her body, nerve endings in her back protesting even the bare movement of cloth against her skin. Badly damaged indeed.
She came back to herself with a start as they rode through the bounds of the Palace wards, the static of the powerful wards raising her hair into wild curls as they passed.
Immediately beyond the wards was a wide expanse of rough grass. A tactical stretch of land, Arrow guessed, so that the White Guard would have early warning of anyone approaching. Beyond the rough grass lay woodland, the wide, earth road continuing at an easy curve through the large, broad-leafed trees. Her breath caught at the sparks of magic dancing among the branches and leaves. The heartland’s magic, visible here in the first world. Her breath caught again a moment later as the slight numbness left by the healing potion wore off with no warning.
Movement nearby. Another horse and rider. Erith. Her wards flared a moment before she drew them back, catching Orlis’ attention before he recognised the rider.
“Kester.” The greeting was flat.
“Orlis.” Kester drew his horse to a halt nearby, sending a sharp glance over Arrow before returning his attention to the journeyman. The warrior was perfectly comfortable on a horse, Arrow noticed. She felt graceless and clumsy in contrast once more, even without the pain cascading across her back.
“Where are you going?” Orlis’ chin was set, tone still rude.
“I am coming with you,” Kester answered, voice pleasant, ignoring the hostility. “Gilean is my friend, and anything that can overpower him is likely to be dangerous.”
It was clear that Orlis had not thought about that, so eager to follow Gilean’s trail. His shoulders slumped a moment.
“Very well. But you will need to keep up.”
Arrow opened her mouth in silent protest at the idea of moving faster. She had used the distraction of their conversation to begin drawing on the heartland’s magic again, a tiny thread of healing that was slowly repairing the damage. Head first, so that she could regain her focus. Any faster movement of the horse and she would lose that small bit of healing. Not to mention fall off the horse.
“Orlis, you are being a brat,” Kester said baldly, startling Arrow out of her misery. “Arrow looks like she has never ridden a horse before.”
Heat scorched across her face at his accurate assessment. She had reminded Orlis that servants do not ride, and yet most Erith did, in fact, learn to ride from a very young age. And use weapons. And doubtless would have been able to defend themselves easily against an unseen attacker, even if the attacker did breach their wards. But she was not Erith. No one had thought it necessary to teach her how to ride a horse. Or how to defend herself from physical attack.
Old, familiar, anger lit inside. Not worthy of the sort of education Erith took for granted. But useful to them.
Here, now, in the heartland, because she was useful to them.
Here because an Erith lady was dead, killed by skilled magic, and a war mage was missing. And the Erith, who had dismissed or ignored her most of her life, now needed her help.
A small, tight, smile crossed her face as Kester and Orlis rode on ahead. She was useful. That had currency. And if she could not, yet, defend herself from physical attack, there were measures she could take. Body armour. A cadre of White Guard. Her nose wrinkled at the idea. She was too used to working alone. White Guard tended to follow their own rules of conduct. Still, they could be useful.
The ringing in her head finally faded, leaving her mind clear. Another small smile, this one darker-edged. She had the Preceptor’s writ in her bag. The Queen’s command. Resources to draw on besides her own. And she had survived oath-service to the Erith, constrained by those oaths. Not helpless. Not by a long way.
When the river of pain across her back had finally gone, ache reduced to a bearable level, she surrendered the heartland’s power with some regret, and with thanks. The well of power all around her could have healed her several times over in the mere blink of an eye, but that would have drawn some notice.
She stretched, arching her back, hissing as the barely healed muscle protested. The dragging warmth inside was gone, whatever internal damage there had been mended. She was still sore. But she had use of her limbs, and her mind. And now her head was clear she wondered if an attacker who freely walked the halls of the Palace might already be known to the Erith. There were two Erith riding ahead of her. Well, one Erith, she amended, and one mostly-Erith, who was accepted by them. And Orlis had a knack for gathering information.
“Svegraen, mage,” she called, drawing the immediate attention of the pair ahead of her, engaged in a good natured discussion about some sporting event.
They slowed their horses, coming to ride alongside her, Orlis’ eyes narrowing. He had been too distracted earlier to pay attention to her.
“When did you put on the glamour? And why does it just show your own face?”
“It seemed prudent,” she answered, opening her second sight a fraction and sending her senses out. There were no other Erith nearby that she could sense.
“You are injured?” Kester asked, brows lifting. She could not read his expression. It might have been simple surprise. It might have been something more.
“I was attacked in the Palace,” she told them, and released the glamour she had held over her appearance. The sharp indrawn breaths on either side confirmed the glamour had been necessary. She reached a hand up and touched the side of her face, grimacing as she found the skin hot and swollen, grimacing again as the movement made the bruises ache. She wondered how bad the damage had been before the makeshift healing she had managed.
“Orlis. A healing,” Kester commanded.
“Not now,” Arrow contradicted. “The worst of it is mended.”
“Not much I can do on horseback anyway. The horses get spooked,” Orlis explained. His eyes narrowed on Arrow’s face, “But I do have something to help with the swelling and bruising.” The journeyman rifled through his satchel for a moment and handed a vial across to Arrow.
“Thank you.” The potion was faintly bitter, full of Orlis’ magic, and sent a savage, healing itch across her face that had her hissing a breath through her teeth. Her head spun with the combined effect of three lots of magic inside her before the itching descended through her body, making her twitch under her clothes until it settled to a bearable point that she could ignore.
“What happened?” Kester asked as she handed the empty vial back to Orlis.
She told them about the attacker who had breached her wards as though they were not there, and the message he had so brutally delivered. Both faces were grim when she finished.
“What did Miach say?”
“I have not spoken with him.”
“He would want to know,” Kester insisted.
“I do not know where he was. He took me to the Queen’s chambers and was not there when I left.”
“You saw the Queen?”
“Patience, young mage,” Kester’s voice was firm, “one thing at a time. Miach was at the rites.” The funeral rites for Lady Teresea vel Fentraisal, he meant.
Arrow had not realised they were taking place that day and wondered briefly if she should have attended them, dismissing the idea as quickly as it occurred. She had not known the lady, and her presence was more likely to offend the Erith. Perhaps more interesting was the realisation that the Queen had not attended the rites, despite claiming Teresea as a friend. Arrow had no more time to think as Kester was continuing.
“He was delayed when the rites ended. A lot of courtiers wanting to know where the Queen was.” By the tightening of Kester’s face, it was a question he had asked himself, too.
“How was the Queen?”
“She seemed well,” Arrow answered slowly, thinking back to her meeting with the Erith’s monarch.
“Well? What does that mean?”
“I have never seen her before,” Arrow reminded him. Orlis’ scowl took over his whole face before he nodded.
“I keep forgetting you have not been here before.” He shook his head slightly. “There have been a lot of nasty rumours about her health and well being. And Miach is not talking to anyone.”
“He is very loyal,” Arrow remarked.
“And not very trusting,” Kester added with a ghost of a smile.
“But he would still want to know about the attack,” Orlis pressed.
“So, it is not common?” Arrow asked, part genuine curiosity, partly needing to know.
“Someone roaming the Palace corridors who can break through a mage’s wards and inflict damage?” Orlis’ voice was as high as his eyebrows. “No. Not common. Your personal wards are some of the strongest I have ever seen and if someone can break through those, well … Miach would have the entire White Guard scouring the Palace for such a person. No courtier would leave their rooms until they were caught.”
“Interesting.” Arrow turned the new information over in her mind. “But is someone who can break through wards unknown?”
“I have never heard of such a thing,” Orlis told her, eyes narrowing as he thought, “although a ward keeper would be able to dismantle any ward, given enough time.”
“This was not a dismantling.”
Both Kester and Orlis had more questions, few of which she could answer although she surprised herself at the details she remembered when they prompted her. She had not been able to see anything about her attacker. He had not been wearing any House insignia or carrying weapons as far as she could tell. Taller than her, but only slightly.
Eventually the questions ran out and they rode in silence for a few moments, Arrow finding the steady rocking of the horse soothing now that every movement did not cause pain.
“What do you need?” The quiet question from Kester saved her from making the request that had been turning in her mind.
“Some body armour would be wise, I think.” She tried, and failed, for a light tone, trying to make it a joke. Trying, too, to ignore the sudden, shaky feeling as speaking the words aloud made the threat more real. She had rarely required body armour before.
“Yes. A cadre?”
“The Preceptor did not want to send a cadre,” Orlis said. “He thought they would be too noisy. Too visible.”
“When it was only Gilean, yes,” Kester began.
“Armour for now.” Arrow broke through the brewing argument. “And I will take care to only be in public spaces when alone.”
“Or always have someone with you.” Orlis’ jaw was set again.
Arrow made a non-committal sound that drew a sharp glance from both of them. To her surprise, neither of them pressed the matter, simply exchanged looks she could not fully interpret. For the first time, Arrow wished that Kallish nuin Falsen was here. The warrior had a quiet, competent manner that made her a peaceful companion. Unlike Orlis, who could never be quiet for long. Or Kester, riding nearby and simply by his presence stirring up flickers of memories too new and too raw. She did not want to be his mistress. She was not sure what she wanted, but not that.
The short space of quiet was broken by Orlis, naturally.
“What did you talk about? The Queen,” he added, impatiently, at Arrow’s puzzled expression.
“She told me about Lady Alisemea.” Arrow heard her own voice flat and hoped that Orlis would leave the matter alone. The void inside was still there, demanding attention, wanting to be filled with more stories, more knowledge. A woman who had been nothing but a name a few days before now had a faced and the tentative edges of personality forming in Arrow’s mind.
“Orlis.” Kester interrupted before the journeyman could utter any of the dozen questions so obviously forming on his lips. “Ride ahead and check which way we need to go at the crossroads.”
The journeyman opened his mouth to protest, took another look at the warrior’s face, swallowed, and rode ahead in silence.
Arrow shifted in her seat, not really sure of Kester’s purpose, mind full of the stories the Queen had told her about a woman she would never meet.
“Here.” He steered his horse slightly closer to her and stretched, a pot of White Guard healing salve balanced on the palm of his hand. “It should help with the bruising.”
“Thank you.” She took the pot, careful not to touch his skin, and managed, somehow, to keep her position on the horse and smear some of the salve across the bruised side of her face, the familiar fresh mint scent of the salve loosening the last knot between her shoulders.
Kester shook his head when she would have handed the pot back, and they rode on in silence until the rapid pattern of hoofbeats ahead indicated Orlis’ return.
The journeyman merely pointed out the correct turn at the crossroads now coming into view, casting a sharp glance at Arrow before riding ahead in silence, tension clear in his back.
Worried about Gilean, Arrow knew, and half opened her mouth to call him back and distract him, thinking he might want to know more about her visit with the Queen. But she found she did not want to share the stories that the Queen had told her, and, body heavy with the aftermath of healing, still sore, could think of nothing else of interest to say. Even as she tried to think of something, Kester rode ahead until he was alongside the mage and the pair struck up an apparently friendly conversation. With their attention elsewhere she allowed her shoulders to slump slightly, and arched her back slightly, muscles easing, grateful for the small amount of privacy.
Now that they were out of the Palace grounds and the bruises across her body had settled down, she had time to be amazed that she was in the Taelleisis. The Erith heartland. And not in chains. Her one prior visit to Erith lands beyond the Taellaneth had been for the Trials and her graduation, and there had been no time to look around.
She tipped her head back to see the sky, a clear blue carrying the last of winter’s bite as the world turned into spring, a few clouds scattered here and there, even the air saturated with magic. The trees around them were larger, more regal versions of the trees in the Taellaneth and every leaf and branch carried sparks of the heartland’s magic. A few more years, she thought, and the Taellaneth would more closely resemble this place. Once the trees there had been given more time to settle, to send their roots deeper and draw up the world’s power. For now, the Taellaneth’s magnificent gardens were a pale imitation of the heartland. It was no wonder that few of the Taellan stayed very long in their residences, preferring to return to the Palace or their Houses when they were not required for Taellan business. Arrow thought that if she had the option to freely travel between the heartland and Taellaneth, she would also spend more time here.
