Sennovia: the fantasy fiction series by Australian author TS Clayton

"Kell?" Salimen whispered urgently, breaking the poignant silence. "Talk to me. Please?"

Only a few occupants remained in the courtyard, in the stillness. Kellen lifted his head, not wanting to think as he took note of the mundane things: the faint bird song, the rapid approach of evening, the dead body at his feet.

At the far end of the courtyard a door opened and a lone servant slipped into the room. Kellen eyed him, his frown reappearing as he identified the gold sash at the man's waist. It marked the servant clearly as a member of Secondbourne's palace staff, and Kellen focused on the man, using the distraction to stop himself from thinking. Feeling. The servant held a flint and hurriedly moved around the edge of the courtyard, lighting the torches. Bright flames abruptly flickered and flared to life, adding warmth and brightness to the desolation.

Turning away from the light, Kellen ran a hand over his face. He ached from head to toe, a pain that was part physical and part emotional. Looking at the dais, he took in the destruction; the outcome of his fight with Wyran. Wyran…he did not want to think. In the middle of the charred dais sat Crizkerisomia. She was motionless and expressionless, another casualty of Mitthsombaine's endless war. Sitting at her side was Aiden, a son he could never trust. A son he could not even save, but then he had never been able to save those he loved. He looked away, casting his eyes down, glancing behind and seeing Shailen.

"What have I done?" he asked into the silence. The servant caught his attention again, and he watched as the man exited the chamber, the servant's nervousness obvious, and Kellen's mouth curved up in wry amusement.

Beyond those heavy, ornate doors was the world of Southern politics, an area into which he did not want to go. His knowledge was ancient and he was ill-prepared to deal with the niceties of modern court. Yet it was a world he had to venture into if he wanted to see his friends again.

"Kell?"

Salimen . . . and with slow precision Kellen dragged in a deep breath, becoming very aware of the king's grief. Salimen was crouched at Shailen's side with one hand pressed to Shailen's chest, looking haggard as Salimen muttered under his breath. Kellen stepped further away on reflex, not wanting to absorb Salimen's anguish, and blinked away the sudden rush of hot tears.

The irrational, fatigued part of his mind wanted to berate Salimen, to tell him that nothing could make the events of the past few hours––days––better, that nothing could––would––ever be right again. Yet . . . he also knew that their circumstances could get a lot worse. Were certain to get worse if I hesitate. He took another step away from Salimen and found his gaze was locked on the sprawled body of his son. What to do about Shailen? If he waited, if he allowed his heart to rule . . . then the outcome would––could––be unspeakable. Is this how Sasheer felt when he looked down at Serine's body?

Kellen tore his gaze away from Shailen, his eyes automatically scanning the area behind the dais to find Wyran's semiconscious sprawl. My demented brother. Wyran was still whimpering, and Kellen knew it would not be long before some measure of sanity returned to Wyran, and then he would see which personality dominated.

:Shard?: he sent, knowing the Shade was close. A whisper of movement caressed his cheek, lifted his hair, and he let his lashes fall, wandering what the snow dragon would do. Serine was no longer a part of him, so would Shard stay or be drawn by the madness of Wyran? He did not know. He opened his eyes, feeling the invisible entity before him. :I'm sorry.:

:A choice was made.:

:Not my choice.: Kellen frowned.

:Nevertheless, you have opened a door.: Shard sent, his tone harsh.

Kellen glanced away. :Then I will close it.:

:And condemn Sasheer?:

:What do you mean? Condemn how?: But Shard was gone, Kellen could feel it, and knew the Shade was toying with him for some perverse reason. Was it because he had sided with Terrica? :Shard?: he hurled the unvoiced question at his Shade, not surprised when silence was his only answer. By the stars…

"Kell?"

Salimen . . . and in that moment Kellen wanted to walk away from them all.

"Kellen!"

Without conscious thought his emotions betrayed him and Kellen looked at Salimen, struggling to control his expression, and only succeeding in plastering on a tight smile.

"What are you going to do about our charming host?"

As questions went this one was valid, only Kellen had no logical answer, at least none that Salimen would understand. The complexities; the old spells, the infective, festering magics which had simmered under the surface of Wyran's aura were still there, waiting for him to make a mistake. The inclusion of Serine's madness only added to the chaos, for the taint of Mitthsombaine was again a real threat, and something that had even terrified Lichien. It terrified him. It was this threat, this malicious intent, that had killed Shailen and now balanced them on the edge of destruction. Any decision he made would set the course for the future. So . . . do I step away, or do I stand and defend in a war that has never really ended? Do I step through the door and into…a war between the Twelve and the Magus.

Shaking his head in mute mockery of his own musings, Kellen knew what course he had to take. Just acknowledging the decision and taking the first step was difficult. "It stops here and now," he said, confirming out loud what he knew was right and challenging Shard to comment.

"What does?"

Kellen waved Salimen's puzzlement aside and swiveled on his toes, walking away. :Shard?: Still nothing. He went to the massive doors at the far end of the courtyard and pushed them open. They swung out with only a touch and he was not surprised to see a number of lords and court officials gathered. They all turned to regard him with wide-eyed respect and a healthy dose of fear. Kellen let his smile twist at their reaction. It was good to be feared.

The Palace Guard backed away as Prince Renn of Hersoford stepped forward and inclined his head. The prince looked unsure as he exhaled, his eyes searching before glancing back at the other council members.

"I––we––of the Southland Council were unaware of your connection to the Brethren," Renn said. "Or even that the Brethren had sent a representative with King Hanlin. Lord Wyran neglected to inform us of all the facts. Your imprisonment was an innocent mistake, and I assure you my father meant no offence." Behind Renn, the four remaining council members nodded in agreement.

"King Irison––your father––was working in alliance with Secondbourne," Kellen said, keeping his tone mild, even as he tensed. Lies upon lies . . .

"That's not possible," Renn defended.

Kellen shrugged, wishing he could make it look as nonchalant as Sasheer usually did. In fact he wished Sasheer were here so he could deal with Renn. "That is no longer a concern. What I do want to know is where Lady Kessendra has gone." He watched as Renn huffed a few times before looking to King Dalmir for an answer.

"She is currently within her rooms," Dalmir said. "I took the precaution of having a few of my own guards stationed in the halls outside."

"Good." Kellen looked again at Renn. "She is not to be harmed, nor is she to be given free passage until I say so."

Renn's brows went up as he folded his arms, his obvious demur of moments ago vanishing. "You?" he asked, his mouth curling into a smirk as he eyes narrowed, searching Kellen's face. "This brings me to a delicate point; I do not recall seeing you at the last council called by Kargcaz."

Kellen wanted to laugh, but covered his reaction, glancing down instead. I'm as demented as Sasheer. It was strange how he was suddenly starting to not only understand the neurotic and temperamental Mage, but also admire him. "That is because I was not at the council," he said in total honesty. Chew on that, he thought, his grin challenging Renn to argue.

Renn frowned in consideration, thrown for a moment. "You are a member of the Brethren . . . I take it."

Kellen let his eyes hold Renn, never blinking, very aware of the nervous energy coursing off the four councilmen gathered behind the prince's tall frame. From all that he had learned since his awakening, he knew Renn would not purposely aid Lichien, but then the highborn was not interested in an alliance with the Brethren either. Renn was out to secure his own position of power within the Southland. I am blood-related to the Brethren, so . . . "Yes," Kellen whispered the word as he leaned closer to Renn, as if sharing a secret. He was enjoying this game, very aware that Renn was trying to work out all the niceties involved so as to not offend, but also so as not be subservient either. Traditions, courtly status, rankings and titles; all the things Salimen had complained about on the long journey south were suddenly making sense.

"I . . . see," Renn said softly and with just a hint of disbelief.

Kellen waited, knowing the prince would push for more. No doubt Renn and the rest of the council were more concerned about what title he held, rather than in seeing justice served. This was just another reason why Sasheer mocked the Southland and its petty laws.

"You carry the dispatches from Kargcaz?"

"Sasheer carried them," Kellen said. As much as he was enjoying the baiting, he knew they really did not have the time to posture and talk around the real issues. "Until Irison took them from him."

There was a gasp of disbelief and Renn's eyes went impossibly wide in outrage as twin spots of color brightened his face. "Hersoford has been manipulated. Until this matter has been properly investigated through the judicial system, I want it known that Hersoford pledges its support to the Southland Council." He took a calming breath and bowed his head again. "I pledge my support."

Biting his inside lip, Kellen stopped his immediate response, his eyes skimming the many lords who lingered and listened avidly behind the four councilmen. Declaring that they were all misguided fools who had been manipulated would diminish his chances of cooperation, so Kellen stitched on a smile. "Thank you."

"I will have my guards secure this area."

Reaching out to stop one of the guardsmen from closing the doors behind him, Kellen covered the action with a lopsided grin. "May I have your dagger?" When the guard hesitated, he added, "I seem to have misplaced mine somewhere."

The guard paled and looked to Prince Renn for instruction before handing over his dagger, hilt first.

"Thank you," Kellen said again, this time meaning it as he weighed the weapon. He noted Renn's puzzlement. "If you want to be of assistance then I suggest you send men to secure the release of Dalzere who is held in the third spiral."

Renn scoffed, his mouth hardening. "He is Drow––"

"He is a member of the Brethren Council," Kellen said, cutting off the prince's protests.

"What you are saying is ludicrous. Against the laws of the south."

Kellen licked his lips and casually stepped closed to the prince. They were about the same height and Kellen captured and held the prince's dark gaze with ease. "Let me reword my request," he said, his voice laced with an undercurrent of menace. "If Dalzere dies I will hold you personally responsible. Then I will come after you, as I went after Wyran. Do you want that?"

Renn swallowed as he experienced the rush of Mage-Gift Kellen sent at him. He swallowed again, opening his mouth a few times before simply nodding.

"Good," Kellen said. "I am glad you and I understand each other." He turned and walked back into the courtyard, closing the doors behind him.

Once inside the quiet chamber, Kellen exhaled hard, then lifted his eyes and found Salimen watching him. Those shrewd blue eyes missed little and he sent his old friend a small, uncomplicated smile. Playing with the dagger in his hand, he considered it, then looked again at Salimen. This has to be done.

With measured steps, Kellen closed the distance between them, then knelt without a word at Shailen's side. He lightly ran a hand over Shailen's still chest. In a little while he could be . . . No! Never. I will not allow it, and with that thought Kellen plunged the dagger into Shailen's heart.

Salimen jumped, his shock evident as the stared at Kellen. "What did you do that for?"

"It was necessary."

"Necessary?" Salimen asked, horrified. "Kell, in case you hadn't noticed, he was already dead."

"In one sense." Standing, Kellen regarded the body at his feet. "We will set a pyre. Tonight, I think."

"A pyre?" Salimen looked at Kellen in uncertainty and worry. "What do you mean 'in one sense'?"

Kellen shrugged. "Long story."

Salimen grabbed him before he could move away, and held Kellen in place, his stare direct. "Then give me the condensed version, as I think it could be important. And you know how I hate not knowing the important bits."

Salimen's tone was light, jocular even, but the meaning beneath his words was telling; and Kellen sighed. He really did not have time to go into details, and he glanced beyond Salimen, realizing that Wyran was gone. "Where's my brother?"

"Huh?" Salimen released him and looked around. "He was there only a moment ago."

"Great," Kellen said, pacing toward the dais, realizing that Aiden had vanished also. "They must have used the rear doors," he muttered mostly to himself. "Damn him." He stepped up onto the platform and glanced at Crizkerisomia. She never moved.

"Kellen, talk to me."

Glancing behind, Kellen noted how tired Salimen looked as he stood at the edge of the dais. His clothing was torn and bloodied, his lip swollen, and he had a vicious cut above one eye. Out of all of them, this man deserved more than a simple explanation; so Kellen tried to order his thinking. "I'm running out of time," he said, wishing that would explain everything.

"Time for what?" Salimen asked. "Kell, you are starting to scare me."

Jumping off the dais, Kellen gripped Salimen's worn tunic and turned him, leading him back to Shailen's splayed and staked body. "Wyran released old magic. The dart that killed Shailen was meant for me. It was a construction of ancient spells, binding spells that would have entrapped me and locked me in a mental prison so Wyran could give me to . . ." he shuddered, not wanting to dwell on what Wyran had planned for him. "Shailen is without Mage-Gift so the binding was lost on him, but the magic was still deadly enough to kill him and push him beyond."

"Beyond what?" Salimen asked, his voice rising in dread.

Licking his lips, Kellen carried on in a rush. "Anything that is tainted by Mitthsombaine is dangerous. Anything––anyone––touched by the magic of the ancients is cursed. They are sent into a half existence that is not a true death."

Salimen looked baffled. "How can he not be dead?" he asked. "He has no heart beat, he is cold . . ."

"He died," Kellen said, keeping his voice low as the large doors at the end of the courtyard opened. He saw Renn pause on the threshold, before Kellen focused again on Salimen's troubled face. "Shailen died a good man. What could awaken under the curses of the old magic would no longer be Shailen."

Salimen's mouth opened, then he closed it just as fast, stopping Kellen from turning away. "Are you sure?"

"Reasonably."

"He can come back…like Kalern?" Salimen asked, shocked.

"Possibly. I won't let that happen," Kellen said, very aware of Renn's approach. "Now relax. Act normal."

Salimen snorted. "Normal?" he said, releasing Kellen as Salimen glanced back at the body on the floor. "This discussion in not over," he warned before Kellen could walk away.

"Prince Renn," Kellen said in half question as he regarded the tall man. There was wariness and mistrust in the hazel eyes. "You are back so soon. I trust you bring good news?"

"The Drow," Renn paused, rephrasing his words as a small polite smile touched his lips, "your comrade was no longer in the third spiral. I have sent guards to check the other two spirals."

Kellen's brows drew together. He knew Dalzere was held by the Black Guard; so for his friend to be missing had to mean foul play. "I trust you will do everything within your power to make sure he is found safe and unharmed."

"I am only a mere mortal," Renn said. "I have limitations."

Salimen did not bother to moderate his grunt of disrespect. "I'll remind you of that at our next council session."

Renn's gaze flickered over Salimen in brief discourtesy before centering again on Kellen. "What do you plan to do with the Princess?"

"Why do you ask?" Kellen asked.

"It is just that," Renn hesitated, glanced around and then straightened his immaculate tunic before continuing. "We had an arrangement. I offered the Princess my personal protection. My word is my honor and I am bound by it."

Kellen raised a brow. In reality Kessendra was the last person––thing––to need protection. He wondered if Renn was aware of the darkness lurking in her black little heart. Probably not.

"There is no 'princess'," Salimen spat, gesturing in annoyance and not bothering to moderate his tone. "What you offered to protect is Lichien. I bet Irison will be thrilled when he learns that. She'd make a great addition to the family."

"Sal, please," Kellen said, lifting a hand and indicating for silence. "Unfortunately, Salimen is correct. Kessendra is no longer the Princess in the strictness sense."

Salimen huffed. "In any sense."

Renn looked baffled. "She said it was a virus that left her with a skin mutation."

"What did she promise you in return for your protection?" Kellen asked shrewdly.

"Nothing," Renn hesitated, then relented. "There was the unspoken agreement between us that I would take her daughter as my betrothed."

"She has a daughter?" Salimen asked.

"I suggest you hold off on your plans for a while," Kellen suggested, thinking through the arrangement. If Kessendra was maneuvering events so that her daughter married the throne of Hersoford, then what had she planned for her two sons? And where did Wyran's plans fit in? He sought the memories Shailen had thrown at him, but already they were fragmenting into slivers of disjointed impressions and sounds. Double-crossing and bargaining . . . plans within plans . . . deceit and mistrust . . . and at the bottom of everything loomed the shadow of Mitthsombaine. "I need to find Dalzere, then I will speak with Kessendra."

"Will you––"

Kellen was stopped by the hand on his arm and met the worried gaze of Prince Renn. "The daughter is important to you. I will keep that in mind." He pulled away and grabbed Salimen, moving him away from the glaring prince.

"What are you doing?"

"Just walk," Kellen growled.

Salimen grumbled, but complied. Once they were out of earshot Salimen turned and eyed the exhausted looking Mage. "Now that you have played verbally with Prince Haughty, I want to know what we are doing about Shailen. We can't leave him here as someone might pull the dagger free."

Kellen nodded. "Can you make sure no one touches him?"

"Sure," Salimen said, then placed a hand on Kellen's shoulder, his eyes direct. "I don't want another Kalern, the first version was bad enough. But…are you sure there is no hope for Shailen?" He licked his lips. "We have lost too many already that…that––"

Troubled, Kellen drew in a deep breath, considering Salimen's words, understanding his plea. "Let me think about it." Then he pulled away.

"Where are you going?"

"I have to find Dalzere before an 'accident' befalls him."

"And my sons?"

"They are with Karl. Safe at this point," Kellen said. "I will send down some of Dalmir's guards to free them."

"And Ryland?" Salimen asked. "I want to find Ryland, as I want to see him given a proper burial," he said, his shoulders slumping as he sat in one of the chairs by the dais. "I feel old."

Kellen lent down and gripped Salimen's shoulder. "All is not lost, as Ryland's life is now tethered to Sasheer's."

"What?" Salimen lifted his head and stared at Kellen.

Kellen shrugged. "Pel has Sasheer's focus stone," he said, as if that explained everything.

Salimen opened his mouth and then closed it, lost for words and lifting a hand in confusion. "Are you saying Ryland is alive?"

"In a manner of speaking."

Salimen paled, then swallowed, his fingers finding Kellen's arm and biting in. "By the ten levels of hell . . . that's exactly what Sasheer said about Peleyia twenty-three years ago."

"Well," Kellen said, his tone light, "he was right."