The Arcana: Shadow Wars, Codex I

Chapter VII

The Magus Makes a Bargain

In which a sorcerer both gives and asks for aid

The bellow came from the entrance, prompting them to rush back into the great hall. Knives out already, Constables Shu and Gold were clearly on the verge of a compulsion spell. At the door’s threshold a silver line glowed in stark relief on the white marble floors. A barrier, meant to prevent a large, belligerent man from entering.

The man was smartly dressed in a blue linen duster with gleaming gold buttons. Up close the buttons proved to be his family’s sigil, which Alia expected from experience.

The Fellraths’ prestige rested on their continued ability to control sea dragons, a rare feat amongst the Lyrcanians, New and Old alike. To boast of this, Brennus Fellrath’s grandfather had started the tradition of using signet rings depicting a leashed sea dragon. Brennus Fellrath never wasted an opportunity to remind people of how his blood ran thick with what he called ‘Old Powers.’

His eyes blazed when he spotted Alia. He drew himself up to his full height, and put his fists on his hips.

“You,” he spat.

Alia raised her chin and lowered her eyes at him, as though he were a brat whose tantrum she expected to end right now. In undisguised fury, Brennus immediately attempted to charge through the shield.

Seconds later, he awakened to find Alia staring down at him. He snarled, cursing under his breath as he struggled back to his feet. With much fuss and pomp he straightened his clothes before meeting her eyes. Face red as a cooked crab, Brennus exhaled through clenched teeth.

“I should have known you would be at the bottom of this. I will have your shield for this.”

Alia fingered her golden eagle medallion. “Come and take it,” she said softly.

Word around town is that Karis was Brennus Fellrath’s mistress. A scrap of intelligence Serafina shared once, concerning the false priestess of the Huntress Alia so ruthlessly immolated.

Brennus flinched, and eyed her warily. Good, he must now consider that whether she worked for the Watch or not she was still a servant of the Huntress, and would not be balked on those grounds.

Taking advantage of his hesitation, Alia set her own agenda. “These men are acting on my orders. You will not countermand them, or interfere with their job. As you see, the ward your son kept will not respond to you. Attempt to bypass my ward and your son’s bridge won’t hold next time. You can deal with whatever he saw fit to keep in that moat.”

“He was my son,” Brennus rasped. “I have a right to be here. Don’t think you can treat me like—”

“Your feelings are not my priority,” Alia continued. “Flayers take precedence. And you, as the father of Junius Fellrath, have a funeral to plan. I shall not detain you further from your duties.”

“Give me his body,” Brennus blurted. “Please, I need to bury him. If—if there’s any—anything left?”

The waver in his voice made her hesitate. How proper would it be to tell the truth on that score?

“Displaying his remains would be ill-advised,” Alia said at last.

Brennus buried his face in his hands. When he lifted his head he looked haggard, exhausted. “Huntress Ironwing, please. I—I will do as you ask. Whatever you want. Let me bury him.”

“Retrieve him from the morgue at your earliest convenience,” Alia relented. After all, she already took what she needed from his corpse. “But this house remains off limits until I say otherwise. Understood?”

With a curt nod, Brennus took himself off. Under Alia’s gaze he mounted his fire drake and flew away.

“That was close,” Constable Shu said, exhaling his relief.

“Send word: Behrouz is to guard Junius Fellrath’s aerie. No one is to come near this house without prior authorization,” Alia ordered.

Behrouz, the Watch’s fire dragon, was a fully mature male at least six hundred years old. The eldest dragon within reach of Ebon Cove, nothing less than an army would take him down. Especially as the dryads would never offer their assistance to Brennus.

“Right away,” Constable Gold agreed. He and Shu cheered, and Alia supposed they were glad to have a dragon backing them up against the likes of Brennus Fellrath.

“Sheridan, Serafina, to me. We have business to take care of,” Alia said.

“The Queen of the Namtaru, you say?” Rikka asked, holding her palms up to receive the parchment Alia deposited in her hands. Rikka smoothed the paper in her lap and sat taller in her throne as she read the letter for herself.

Her throne bore all the colors of autumn—wooden rivers of gold and green and auburn, and was capped with a carved chrysanthemum at the head. The throne lay deep in the keeper’s bower, in a room shaped like an acorn. On occasion Rikka held court in the throne room, receiving all of the dryads and their familiars.

Alia studied the keeper’s bower, a place she was rarely invited as a child. The last time she stood before the throne was the night before she set out to leave the Ebon Grove for the first time in her life. On that night, Rikka presented her with moonbow blades and anointed Alia with the sacred oils of agar, sandalwood, and roses. Rikka blessed her, in the name of her mother, the Huntress.

“The letter was inside of this thing.” Alia pulled the cylinder from her satchel and presented it to Rikka.

The device earned an arched eyebrow and a disapproving stare from Rikka. After a moment she took the cylinder in her hands.

“Is the creature native to this world?” Alia asked.

“No … but it is an arsh’atûm not unknown to those who practice shadow magic. Earlier you spoke of the shadow priest; such a creature would suit such a man.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “This beast is a kind of soul-thief, young one. My heart is heavy for you, that you take such risks on our account.” Rikka patted Alia’s hand.

So uncharacteristic a gesture from Rikka made Alia’s eyes sting with unshed tears. “I gladly take the risk. What choice do I have, with such enemies as ours? Enemies who use things like this beast, as if these creatures were pets they command. What can you tell me, Keeper?”

Rikka clasped the cylinder again, and uttered a single word Alia had never heard before. A white light flared over the beast, indicating Rikka had neutralized the summoning spell.

“This creature will not come into this world, ever. I bind and bar it from this world,” Rikka said. “If you still need this device, you may use it without risking your soul.”

“Thank you, Your Holiness.”

Rikka examined the rest of the cylinder and sighed. All of her attention went to the shadow bestiary column, which she traced with her index finger.

“The Queen of the Namtaru is not a specific being. Rather, it’s a class of Erebossi, you might say. Arrogant, overconfident sorcerers will entreat potent namtaru—evil spirits—whom they class as kings. Obviously this queen is passing itself off as female. Either way, your Salamandran companion foretold it truly: Erebossa’s agents are involved.”

Alia shuddered. Too many infernals in this case already, and now a royal abyssal to look forward to dealing with?

“And the ‘nectar’? What does that do? What Children? And why would an abyssal have an interest in them? I have the feeling this has nothing to do with child sacrifice or the like.”

“Nectar is a lie. The fluid is akin to ichor, the divine essence which flows through my veins and the other Children of the Gods. Akin, but not equal, for there is nothing holy in this substance. The sorcerer who drinks this is inviting an agent of Erebossa into himself. And while the shadow agent resides within him, he can do things. Unholy things.” She grew quiet, and stared off into the distance, at something Alia could not see.

“Unholy,” Alia said carefully. “Like blighting your groves? Abducting your sisters?”

Rikka nodded.

So, the brotherhood’s attack was undoubtedly the work of Erebossi. Though furtive, though discreet, the shadow priests walking the streets of Ebon Cove always disquieted Alia, but now terror kindled.

Perhaps—likely—the shadow priests and their acolytes were not the product of alienation or disaffection for the greater society of the city as she once believed. How had it failed to occur to her that they may have embraced and willingly chose the Abyssal Serpent’s offspring? Perhaps Junius Fellrath had been building an army right under her nose.

How deep did this go?

From Alia’s earliest days her mother and her aunts whispered to each other about an insidious malaise permeating their grove. When Alia was eight, Rikka dispatched several of the dryads to scout abroad. They brought back disturbing reports, but found no concrete proof of an attack until Alia was seventeen, when the blight began. The blight circled the grove and grew steadily worse, weakening her mother, Rikka, and the other dryads until Alia was twenty—when the first dryad was taken.

Relatively frail as they had now become, Rikka could no longer afford to let any of her sisters leave the grove. By then Alia had matured in her training and learning in the ways of the Huntress.

Which meant the task of investigating the blight fell to her.

For over a decade she pursued her missing aunts, learning first who might have taken them, then trying to learn how, and now she was beginning to get a glimmer on why.

If the Radiant Gate should fall, the Erebossi would rise in power to invade the world. Right into the waiting arms of Fellrath and his men. Alia’s anger at Rikka for inviting the flayers began to cool. Under the circumstances, the flayers were the gentle option.

“As for the ‘children,’ I think that is obvious,” Rikka continued. “I am a daughter of the Huntress, as are my sisters. Though the letter does not specify, I suppose the queen’s pseudo-nectar could be used against a sea dragon as well. They, too, guard gates; why shouldn’t the namtaru seek their downfall as well?”

A reasonable hypothesis, Alia judged. Though, a sea dragon would be a difficult target, as the seas were a far more treacherous domain than the wilds of the land. And of course, sorcerers no longer knew the secret of controlling the Sons of the Sea Lord.

No one could control them … none except the Fellraths.

“The Obsidian Stinger is a ship,” Alia told her. “I’m not sure where it goes, but I intend to follow or board it. It should lead us to your sisters. And possibly, this queen. When I find her, what will I require to deal with her?”

“You have all you need: your upbringing,” Rikka answered. “And your faith in our Exalted Mother. In addition, you have the weapons forged under Her blessing. But—to expel the queen from our realm you will need her name. Learning her name is prerequisite to facing this shadow fiend.”

“Any ideas? Do you know their names?”

“Many and none. This queen is one of many possibilities, and I doubt she will sit still for you to go through the list. Find the name and she will be yours to command.”

“The Salamandra have arrived, my sister,” Xylia announced, when Alia and Rikka emerged from Rikka’s bower. She smiled impishly at Alia and tugged Alia’s braid.

In return Alia smiled at her favorite aunt, and locked arms with her as they strolled out of the trees and into the clearing.

Serafina and seven other Salamandra stood in the center. The six who accompanied Serafina were high ranking priests or sorcerers, marked so by their robes of sapphire blue silk trimmed in white. Blue after all denoted the hottest natural flames, in contrast to the weakest red flames.

At Rikka’s approach the Salamandra bowed. All of the other dryads fanned about them, their curiosity evident on their faces.

When Rikka acknowledged the visitors Serafina lifted her head and spoke, “Your Grace, a time ago our people pledged to do no harm to the people of this world, nor to harm the daughters of the Huntress, and to keep Her laws. I bring to you the Fire Lords of Ebon Cove, to offer an amendment to the treaty: we pledge our services as protectors of your grove. Our lives are yours, until the safe return of your champion … and ever after if it pleases you.”

A rare smile graced Rikka’s face. “On behalf of my sisters I accept your offer in the spirit it was given: with love. Join us now in offerings to our Exalted Mother, for the protection and safe return of the beloved daughter of my sister, the one whom you call our champion.”

After a ceremony to seal the Salamandras’ oaths before the Huntress—and to pray for Alia—Samara claimed her foster daughter, stealing away with her to the bower where she had reared Alia. This move suited Alia perfectly, for she intended to save her mother for last, so she could savor her good-byes.

“And so you will leave,” Samara said quietly.

“Yes,” Alia replied. She poured out everything she knew about her mission, all that she had told Rikka.

As she spoke Samara grew more and more somber, until at last her eyes shimmered with unshed tears. She lifted her face to the afternoon sky, blinking rapidly.

Her bower was topped off with a dome, through which she and Alia would observe the night sky. In this room Alia would curl up next to her on their bed and Samara would tell her about the stars. She would tell Alia about the Huntress, and those days when the Huntress walked amongst them.

Alia reached out, touching her mother’s arm. “Don’t fear, Mother. I will find this self-anointed queen, and she will harm you no more when I am through.”

Samara clasped Alia in a fierce hug. Alia gasped, both surprised and breathless.

“Precisely what I am afraid of,” Samara said after a moment. “That you will face this one who thinks herself queen. But this knowledge you bring is a boon, because now I know how to face this enemy, what I must do. Your task is—it does not have to be you who does this. Now that we know—”

Alia stepped back, out of her mother’s embrace so she could look her in the eye. Taking Samara’s hands in her own she said, “Mother. None other can carry out this task. I was with those other venatori last night, and I discovered they are ignorant of what you taught me. And what time do I have to teach them? And Aunt Nalini and Aunt Chrysantha and everyone else—I can’t turn back now just because I am finally the one who must face the Erebossi. I would do no less for you.”

Her words left Samara breathless. After a moment she wiped her eyes and hugged Alia again. “Forgive your poor mother; she let her fear overcome her. Try and do better, my daughter.”

Alia patted her shoulders. Warmth suffused her being as she let the silence grow between them. No words remained unsaid between her and Samara; in her heart she steadfastly believed in her foster mother’s love for her. And Samara never had cause to doubt Alia loved her.

“You taught me well, Mother. If your sisters live I will bring them home. If not, I will avenge them.”

“There is someone who may be able to help you with this name you must find. A magus, Shahin of Anshan. Though he may seem strange to you, I ask you to look beyond his manner. Tell him I am calling in a favor. No request of yours will he deny, for my sake.” Her voice hardened and she added, “And his own.”

“Oh?”

Mirth tinged Samara’s laughter this time. “Did you think I only left this grove to visit you alone?” She kissed Alia’s cheek, releasing her.

“Fair enough, Mother,” Alia agreed. She took one long look at Samara, memorizing her features.

I will carry her memory wherever I go, she reminded herself. I will carry her memory in this world … and the next.

Shahin chose to live amongst the farmers, who dwelt between the grove and the city. Alia wondered about it. Was he a farmer as well, or did he lend them assistance? The Reaper’s children, as she called the farmers, held little fascination for her. The fruits of their labor were delicious, but beyond that?

Magus. By such a term Samara called this ‘Shahin,’ a fact which piqued Alia’s curiosity. The Old Lyrcanians seemed to reserve the term for suspect sorcerers from a place they called Anshan, which had once been part of the Pelasgian empire.

However, the term was no longer used exclusively for the Anshani; the Lyrcanians extended it to sorcerers from Xia as well as the sorcerers amongst themselves who were less than pure in their intentions.

Alia skirted the prejudice, not understanding the origin or reason behind it. Dryads didn’t partake of human superstitions, so Alia concluded Samara picked up magus from those who knew the sorcerer. Did others call Shahin magus in reference to his origins—he was from Anshan, after all—or because of his deeds?

Her gryphon landed on his back porch. The setting sun haloed her, and cast a rosy glow on the window panes. Shahin’s dwelling, a simple two story house of stone and timber, featured cornices with carvings of manticores and gryphons. A plot of land surrounded his house, and he kept it fruitfully tilled; the pepper trees nearest his house were well-cared for. No clucking chickens, quacking ducks or lowing livestock, so he apparently kept no animals.

An invisible breeze tickled her cheeks and whispered past her ears.

Magic in the air.

“What may I do for you today, huntress?”

Startled, Alia looked to her right, where the voice had come from. A man stood at the corner of the cottage, basket in one hand, a sickle in the other. Grey curls swirled around his head, and his eyes crinkled a little as he favored her with a cheerful smile.

“Good evening to you,” Alia replied, before introducing herself.

“And I am Shahin. Would you like tea? It would take the edge off. Brisk day.” He gestured with his sickle, encompassing the surroundings.

Alia hadn’t considered that the days were growing cooler, as winter approached. However, her mother’s enchantment in her coat meant her body wouldn’t have felt the chill regardless.

The sorcerer kept a cozy house. The rugs and tapestries throughout depicted foreign flowers unknown to her. A cluster of purple flowers especially fascinated her.

“Lilacs,” he said, seeing her admiring them. He set a cup down in front of her, and one in front of a vacant chair. “From my home. And you—does the rendering of the Gryphon’s Way make you feel at home?”

“I—what?” What was the Gryphon’s Way?

Shahin cocked his head, indicating the heavy draperies over the windows. Woven throughout was a scene of a woman in a white dress standing up to her waist in a river dotted with water lilies.

“The Gryphon’s Way,” he repeated.

Alia looked from the sorcerer to the tapestry. Her keen eyes insisted no gryphons were woven into the scene. “The tapestry reveals a woman and flowers and a river, but no gryphons. What are you speaking of?”

Shahin wiggled his eyebrows at her. He brought over an iron kettle and poured red tea into a delicate cup, sending the scent of jasmine wafting through her nostrils.

“Your homeland, of course, surely you remember it?” Shahin pursued. He filled his own cup, then sat across from her and stared at her.

“Oh,” Alia sighed. Ah yes, her homeland. The mysterious place some humans or Salamandra spoke of, and always happened to be someplace else. The idea of one’s home being somewhere other than where one was born, or where one chose to live one’s life was utterly foreign to her. Only poorly adapted immigrants who couldn’t let go of their pasts thought that way.

“Oho, a Lyrcanian through and through, eh?” Shahin smiled mischievously. “Ah, I see many of your kind—Lyrcanians, I mean—who have no thought at all of their ancestral lands. But it’s strange to see a Ta-Setian in that position. I thought your people always stood outside of time, looking in on us mortals. Making your plans. Maneuvering us to do who knows what, for whatever purposes suits your ways.”

Alia’s stomach plunged, as though she’d fallen through another portal. Her body went south, her mind fled north. Ta-Setians? Enigmatic—immortal?—people who manipulated others? Certain interactions with Lyrcanians took on a different light. Did some people believe her to be toying with them? With their fates?

“You have the advantage of me, sorcerer,” she said at last. “I know not of such games you speak of. Or of this Ta-Seti. Before you is a child of the Ebon Grove, and that is all.”

“Indeed?” Shahin clapped his hands together. His eyes danced as he looked her over. “Well. Well. This is quite the opportunity. A once in a lifetime thing. How fortunate am I.”

Alia rose. So far Shahin seemed a playful old man, not at all worthy of the magus slur. But she sensed he believed her to be in his power somehow, beyond his abilities as a sorcerer. Unsettling. However—Mother sent her to him, which obliged her to stand her ground, not turn and flee as she wished.

She planted her hands flat on the table. The wooden surface was a highly polished teak, very smooth, and still honey brown. “No games, sorcerer. I come to you as the daughter of Samara, dryad of the Ebon Grove. Do not meddle with me.”

Shahin shook with silent laughter, and wagged his finger at her as he fought to regain his composure. “No tricks, immortal huntress. No tricks. I give you my word. Daughter of Lady Samara, you say? Oho, there’s a story there. And now it’s all clear. You must be the foster child she spoke so lovingly about.”

Alia waited. After a decade amongst humans she suspected the man was baiting her, trying to draw her into some game he might enjoy, but at her expense. Well, she would not play along. Nor would she let him distract her from her purpose; not if she wanted to face down a high-ranking agent of Erebossa and live.

Shahin brought out treats, one for her and one for him. Cakes flavored with cardamom, pistachios, and saffron, and scented with rosewater. The man liked his fragrances, she noted approvingly. She grew up with the scents of flowers and trees in the grove, and she missed them in the city. A wave of nostalgia washed over her as she remembered running through the grove with Misty on her heels.

“So I ask again, huntress: What can I do for you today?”

“The blight in my mother’s grove is the work of Erebossa’s agents. A group of sorcerers use infernal ichor to strike at my grove. I need the name of their shadow ‘queen’ if I’m to expel it from this realm.”

“Would you care to ask for all the treasures of the fire dragons of Goldhaven, too?” Shahin laughed at his little joke. He calmed himself and said, “I hear things. About Junius Fellrath and his people. The Lords of Chaos, the shadow priests he kept on his leash.”

A fitting name. The shadow priests stood outside of the order of things, and seemed determined to sow further disorder in Ebon Cove.

“These priests seem numerous,” Alia groused. “And they are not above soul cutting.”

“Indeed? Be on your guard, huntress. For my part, I have kept an eye on things here as best I can. And my ears to the ground as it were! Has the name Obsidian Stinger come to you?”

“Yes.”

Again Shahin rose, and went over to a clay pot he kept on a spice shelf above his stove. He rummaged through the pot for a moment, before pulling out two rings. One was a seal ring of hepatizon, a special red-violet metal. The seal used a sigil Alia recognized, from the letter of marque in Fellrath’s office.

The other ring was a carved ruby, made into a perfect copy of Fellrath’s signet: a two-faced head, the left being that of a manticore, and the right being that of a sea dragon.

“How did you come by these spoils?” Alia asked.

“I have my own resources, huntress,” Shahin said with a mischievous smile. “These I give to you freely. If you fear my generosity, know that I must help you. Unlike those allied with the demon, sorcerers such as myself find ourselves hindered. Cornered. Allow me this means of striking back, I ask of you.”

“Cornered? How?”

“Like other sorcerers, I must consult with spirits from time to time. But for quite some time, my … steps have been dogged. Some dreadful thing has done its best to keep me away from the spirits. There is no good that would come of this. Trust me.” He glanced at her. “Or not.”

“Who or what is doing this? The shadow queen?”

Shahin pointed to the infernal signet ring. “This came to me by chance. Carefully arranged chance, but chance all the same. Unfortunately, I cannot assay the name behind that sigil, not now. The danger is too great. I must wait until the time is right, but you don’t have time for that. There is one other thing.”

He gestured for her to follow him, leading her upstairs to an expansive room he apparently reserved as his library and still room. The volumes in this room carried the scent of myrrh, revealing they were used to record spells.

Shahin went straight for one codex in particular. Leather bound, tanned hide, vellum pages. He handed the volume to her. Expectant, Alia opened it, then looked up in surprise.

“Why is it blank?”

“The first signet ring I gave you will get you aboard the Obsidian Stinger. But the infernal name? You need to find someone who has had dealings with that entity. Write the name of that person in their blood in this codex and you will be a step closer to your goal.”

Alia’s lips curled. “A blood codex? Tell me this binding is not human skin!”

“It’s not human skin,” Shahin deadpanned. Seeing her expression he smiled sardonically. “Dragon leather. And the pages are dragon-skin vellum. Very smooth, is it not? Best of all, the pages are safe from fire.”

Somewhat mollified, Alia accepted the codex. “Do I need any extraordinary tools to write in this? A hydra tooth, perhaps?”

“Don’t be melodramatic,” Shahin scolded. “Use your quill. Or kill two birds with one stone and use a stylus. You can get the blood and the instrument all in one.”

At the mention of stabbing someone with a stylus, Alia paused. Well, of the rivers of blood before her, this was only a drop.

“Why do it this way? What exactly will this book do?”

“Think of this codex as a brute-force scrying pool. You know it is said, ‘blood will out?’ These pages prove that. You said that Fellrath’s people are taking the queen’s ichor into themselves. Quite fortunate, because that is what binds them all together. No celestial or infernal can be scried, but someone tainted by Erebossa’s shadow agents can be found out.”

Shahin paused, and his eyes darkened, as if fixed on something in his mind’s eye. “Some sorcerers use such volumes as this to reveal family bloodlines—especially if they intend to destroy that bloodline. And now, through their ties to the so-called shadow queen, Fellrath’s group has delivered themselves into your hands. Seek them out, huntress: their movements will be revealed to you.”

Shahin’s feral smile intrigued her. “You are so passionate about this. Are you a huntsman or a reaper?”

Reapers were inherently against blights: devotees of the Reaper were obliged to cultivate plants or harness animals sacred to the gods.

“Must I be either? Could it not be that I simply oppose Fellrath because he was a man with a cause that must be opposed?”

Alia shrugged. “Fair enough.” Instinct warned her this was not the extent of Shahin’s interests in Fellrath’s affairs, but she was not cynical by nature and Shahin’s sentiments were beyond reproach by her own lights.

However, she was beginning to suspect Shahin’s allegiance belonged to neither the Reaper nor the Huntress. She knew little of Anshan, but she had heard the Anshani were devoted to Aletheia, the Truthsayer. A goddess in the Seeker’s Alliance, whom truth-seers in particular paid fealty to.

Alia glanced down at the ‘brute-force scrying pool’ in her hands, then decided against pressing the issue.

She put the codex in her satchel. When she looked up, Shahin was still staring at her. Looking her over. Taking her measure. Openly calculating.

“What is it?” The words came out sharper than she intended.

“You are a most curious person. Did the dryads name you? Certainly they must have; your name is in keeping with their style. What was your name before, I wonder?”

Alluding to her origins again. Alia sighed.

Of course she knew Samara wasn’t her natural mother, but it never occurred to her that fact was supposed to be interesting. Not worth brooding over or obsessing about. Samara was a marvelous mother, and her aunts were so loving and taught her much.

By the time Alia found out humans were supposed to have fathers, she lacked the freedom to indulge her curiosity about what fathers were, and what they were like. The matter must wait. All of her energy went into protecting the family who raised her, not searching out the family who didn’t.

Now this Shahin was dangling a tantalizing morsel before her eyes, and anger sparked within her.

“Why would that matter to you?” she demanded.

“Come, huntress. Come. You need the shadow queen’s name to expel it. There is power in names, as I’m sure you know. Yet, no one can have that power over you. ‘Alia Ironwing’ is a name bestowed by those who needed something to call you at their own convenience.”

“It is my name,” she insisted. “All names fit your description. Why are you Shahin? Why is someone else named Sharma or Sheridan? There is nothing special about my situation. My name is no less legitimate just because the dryads chose it.”

“Would you teach me my business, huntress?” Shahin’s smile had an edge to it.

Alia eyed him warily. There was no further reason for her to stay. She could leave right now, and have done with whatever agenda the sorcerer was attempting to further.

Yet she didn’t move.

He nodded, holding her gaze. “Alia. As in, another. There may have been another human present when your mother took you in. Or, perhaps you are the other human she and her sisters ever fostered. Did she tell you? And Ironwing—the lorekeepers say that whenever dryads take in a foundling, they bestow a name that refers to iron. To remind the foundling of their proper place, outside their groves. How long did Lady Samara keep you?”

“Until I was twenty,” she answered. Inwardly, she cursed herself. Why was she playing the sorcerer’s game instead of ending it? To what end? The snare the sorcerer set before her was loaded with sparkles and dainties, yet for all of that it was still a snare. And still she was stepping in it. Fool!

But she did not move.

“So they kept you a long time. Longer than normal.” He nodded to himself. “Your mother undoubtedly loved you very much indeed. But I think there is more to this story, perhaps more than she ever told you. Your situation is special. By your looks you are a Ta-Setian. Immortal folk do not leave their children strewn about. How might you have ended up cut off from your people, with no knowledge of yourself? Quite an intriguing tale to unravel.”

“And that helps you how?”

Shahin’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “It helps me not at all. I simply am curious. Sorcerers are an inquisitive lot, you will find. The better ones amongst us, at any rate.”

“But you want something,” she pursued. “Subtlety is not in you today, if ever it was. Speak your demands.”

“A dryad’s directness. Nice.” He winked at her. “I wish to bargain with you: I will see if I can unravel your tale. In turn I ask you to avenge me—”

Alia turned on her heel, breaking the tension between them. “Good day to you. Thank you for the codex and the rings, but I think our business is done.”

Snap! A silver line appeared on the floor before her. Alia recoiled; recognizing a barrier. Instinctively she whipped out moonbow knives even as she whirled to face the sorcerer. Only the look on Shahin’s face checked her.

All the color had drained from him. Audible breaths, hard and ragged, as if his little spell had taken all of his energy. He lowered his gaze, bowing his head to her.

“Forgive me, huntress,” he whispered. “Forgive a desperate man. I have nowhere else to turn, and no better hope than you, if you will aid me.”

Still in her fighting stance, Alia coolly eyed him. “Speak.”

Haltingly, Shahin obeyed her. “I have a sister. Young, happily married. With a little boy. Darling, boy, she writes. He should be nine or so, I’d think.” Shahin gestured to her bag. “Remember what I said about the codex?”

Alia paused. “That its normal use—”

“My name is written in one of these books. Shadow priests are hunting bloodlines, for reasons I do not believe are virtuous.” Shahin paused, his lips thinning and his eyes going out of focus at the memory. He inhaled sharply and continued, “They snared me well, lovely huntress. A year ago I was attacked on the streets in Lyrcania, when I was on an errand to help a victim made poor by a crop charming. So I thought. Sadly, the address I was given wasn’t even real, just an alleyway between a boot shop and a dry goods store. I didn’t find that out until after I was patched up, though.”

“Were they after your blood?”

Shahin clutched his arm, as though he were still pained by the wound. “Yes. If you guess I was relentless in my investigation you would be right. Finally I found the Anaxander who had posed so artfully as a victim. Would you believe he was the same man who knifed me? When I found him he was with a partner, and a man was collapsed at their feet. Knocked out. The smug git was using a bloody stylus to write in a manuscript similar to the one I gave you. They ran away when they saw me.”

“Did you catch them?”

“If I were twenty years younger!” Shahin’s shoulders slumped. “To my bitter shame they got away. I went back for their victim, another sorcerer. He said Anaxander was one of the shadow priests, and even where their stronghold is, but it does me no good. You? You are already at war with them.”

Silent, Alia contemplated his words. Fellrath had used a blood spell to trap the dryads he’d abducted. Perhaps he was selective about his source of blood, preferring certain sorcerers? A blood codex would help him track down the right people.

Now she considered the reports to the Watch from time to time, of sorcerers being knifed on the streets. Random crimes, she thought at the time. But perhaps not so random after all…

“If you don’t want to kill them, at least destroy the codex,” Shahin pleaded, misreading her hesitation. “If I make a move, they can retaliate by attacking my sister. For all I know they have cursed my bloodline already. But you would be invisible to them, nameless immortal, even if they had your blood.”

Alia dismissed his assurances with a wave of her hand. Let the shadow priests come looking for her; the sooner they found her the sooner she could destroy them. What interested her now was their purpose in searching out bloodlines. They were the last people she’d trust with such knowledge.

“Here is how it will be,” she said at last. “Cease your inquiries into my origins. Protect the family I have now, with whatever spells you have in your arsenal. If I find the blood codex I will destroy it. I will learn why the shadow priests are after sorcerers. And I will deal with them accordingly. If I am pleased with how you have aided my family, I will tell you what I learned. Do we have a bargain?”

Shahin paused, then smiled slowly. “We have a bargain, huntress.”