Master (Book 5) (21 page)

Cyrus felt a sudden rush of discomfort. “We have no particular use for them at the moment, m’lady. However, I will keep that in mind should matters change. Our concern is that word is getting out about your town’s tie to the guild, and the last thing any of us would wish is to see your people massacred or held hostage in some attempt to make us suffer or extort cooperation from Sanctuary—”

“I understand completely,” Cattrine said with a nod, “but I have been assured by your man Belkan that a thousand warriors and rangers combined with the numbers of wizards, healers, druids and enchanters you have left us would be plenty enough to defend the Emerald Fields from a portal-based invasion. And that’s to say nothing of the rock giant.”

Cyrus blanched slightly at the thought of Fortin. After the fall of Alaric, the rock giant had packed a fairly minimal bag and retired to his land holding bordering the Emerald Fields. Cyrus could still see his rocky face staring as he made a last proclamation before leaving.
“Until you find someone who can defeat me in single combat, I’ll be in Rockridge.”
He had leaned toward Cyrus.
“I will keep an eye on your villagers—as a neighbor would help his own—but do not call on me for aid to Sanctuary unless you can find someone willing to challenge and defeat me.”

Cyrus’s hand came up and ran metal-clad fingers over his face, rubbing the bridge of his nose before he removed his helm and set it upon the table with a clink. “I worry about Fortin’s reliability in a fight, honestly. He’s somewhat unencumbered by great concern for lesser beings.”

“He’s been very decent to all of us,” Cattrine said with a smile. “He comes down from his mountain and plays with the children in the square.”

Cyrus froze and cast a look toward Erith, who appeared similarly stricken. “And he doesn’t … uh … eat them?”

Cattrine’s expression went to shocked in a second. “I should say not!”

Cyrus held up a hand. “Just checking.”

“He shops in our markets, laughs with our people. He has friends among us, and many of our own would count him as theirs.” Cattrine leaned forward, her cloak billowing over the back of the wooden chair. “He is in every way a citizen of our tiny nation and welcome in our homeland. I trust him to aid our defense if need be.”

“Ah,” Cyrus said, looking down. “I had only a brief exchange with him before he left; I had not had much of an impression that he would do more than look down the mountain and perhaps throw himself into a battle if it amused him to do so.”

“He is one of us,” Cattrine said and leaned back. “And we count ourselves fortunate indeed to have him.”

“Fair enough,” Cyrus said. “We were fortunate when we had his aid as well. May you never suffer the loss of it.”

“There are other things I wished to discuss with you, only briefly,” Cattrine said and seemed to take two breaths before she spoke again. “Gold and crops.”

Cyrus looked to his right to see Vara sitting there, her flesh almost back to its usual paleness. The traces of angry red so obvious earlier were now settled and almost gone. She turned her head slightly to look at him, impassive once more. He turned back to Cattrine. “Go on.”

“We could use more coin,” she said, and in spite of her pause it came breathlessly. “In spite of our best efforts, we have stored away enough grain only to last through one season. Our livestock have not grown to sufficient levels to sustain our people yet, and the price of every crop we try to buy seems inadequate to what we have—”

“Yes,” Cyrus said and bowed his head. “In many ways, our timing for this could not have been worse. Your people come to Arkaria in the days of the first famine we have experienced in a hundred years. The price of food has soared commensurate with that—”

“We just need a little more,” Cattrine said, and she sounded like she was pleading. “I hate to come to you with this, but—”

“It’s fine,” Cyrus said stiffly. “It can’t be easy to run a burgeoning land of—” He paused. “How many do you have now?”

“Counting the soldiers that remain housed here, one hundred and six thousand, seven hundred and fifty two.” She flushed. “We had three babies born yesterday, one of them to a young couple who met on the long retreat from Luukessia.”

“That makes yours one of the largest settlements in Arkaria,” Cyrus said with a sigh. “I’m afraid we’re going to have to send spell casters to conjure bread to make it through the winter.”

“There is no more, then?” Cattrine asked, looking at each of them in turn.

Cyrus caught the look of discomfort from Erith. Vara remained unsurprisingly aloof, though she showed a hint of uncertainty for an eyeblink that Cyrus caught. “I’m afraid our guild bank is exhausted,” he said. “We’re at the end of our reserves. We’re working on a few things to replenish it, but … it’s all gone.” He held up his hands. “Money comes in, it goes right back out.” He sighed deeply. “As soon as we have more gold, I assure you that we’ll be sending more your way, but for now we have nothing. I’m sorry. We’ll send another expedition to Purgatory in the next week or so, but prices for those goods are fallen to depths so low …” He could feel the contrition run through him, almost a sense of shame at not being able to send her on her way with sacks of gold to aid her efforts.

“We’ll make it, though,” Cattrine said with a faint smile. “Which is more than our brethren can say. You have given us what you could, allowed us to use your wizards to transport us to the distant portal nearest the bridge where our carpenters still gather lumber to build our settlement at no cost. You have allocated soldiers to defend our lands against all encroachments we might imagine, and you’ve given us all you have to feed our people.” Her smile was not quite glowing, but it held the light of encouragement. “We’ll make it, and that is what is important.”

“I wish that we could do more,” Cyrus said, leaning his elbows upon the table. “That there was something else we could give to ease your people’s troubles.”

“You have done more than anyone else would do, I believe,” Cattrine said, acknowledging each of them in turn. “We could scarcely have asked for more faithful friends than Sanctuary.”

“We are to be a refuge in times of trouble,” Vara said stiffly, “and a haven for those who need it most. We could not have done anything other than what we have.” Her face was paler now, the last hint of rosiness gone from her cheeks.

“It is incredibly important to us that your people know that they are not alone,” Cyrus said, gripping the table. “That they never feel they are in this by themselves, without aid or friend in all Arkaria.”

“I don’t think they have ever felt that way,” Cattrine said. “Not once since arriving on these shores.” She pushed her seat back from the table, carefully pulled her cloak over the back of the chair to keep it from snagging, and let its hem fall back to the ground. “You have never given us cause to feel that way. And we are grateful. I can see a day when the Emerald Fields will be prosperous in our own right; the seeds are planted, and now we must simply continue to sow until that day of bountiful harvest comes.”

“May it come soon, m’lady,” Cyrus said, standing and then bowing at the waist.

“It’s not ‘m’lady’ anymore,” Cattrine said. “I don’t think it has been since the day we rowed the sea with Caenalys burning at our backs. My old titles all burned with the city.” There was a tightness at the edge of her eyes. “It is merely ‘Administrator’ now.”

“Not anything grander?” Erith asked with a note of surprise.

“The King of the Elves confers titles in the lands we inhabit,” Cattrine said. “He gives us a great deal of autonomy, but not so much as for us to overthrow his authority. No, it is only Administrator now; we may have been Barons, Duchesses and Kings in the old world, but now we are in a new one, and fortunate to have what we have.” She smiled. “A humble title reminds me of my place in this new land and reminds me to keep my humility about me. We are not now what we once were, and to forget it would be to let seep in the old entitlements. No, I’ll take the new titles, and with them the new equality that has come between men and women in this land.” She straightened. “For I am a pragmatist and live in the now.”

“Administrator,” Cyrus said, and bowed his head.

She smiled faintly. “Only you could say it in a way that still makes it sound like ‘M’lady,’ Cyrus Davidon.”

He returned her smile. “I try. If there’s nothing else, I can escort you out—”

“No,” she said, holding out a hand to stay him. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to be escorted out by Lady Vara.” She smiled. “Since I’ve had the ears of you and Lady Erith for quite some time already.”

“Certainly,” Vara said with a curt nod. It was impossible to tell from her expression what she was thinking, but she moved quickly enough, stepping from behind the table toward the door. “If you’ll come with me …” She held the door for Cattrine, and Cyrus watched them both go.

“Trying to decide if that bodes ill for you?” Erith’s voice reached his ears and Cyrus glanced at her with a frown. She wore a grin. “They seem to get along well.” Cyrus said nothing for a moment, and Erith’s tone changed. “That thing you said, about none of us being alone … Cass used to say something like it all the time to the Daring.”

“He used to say it long before that, too,” Cyrus said, watching the door that had closed only moments earlier. The sound of it still echoed in his mind, like a reflection of other doors that had been closed to him as well.

“We are none of us alone.”

The words echoed in Cyrus’s ears as he made his way back down the long hall toward the foyer. He could hear it in Cass Ward’s own intonation. It lingered in his mind as he shuffled along, taking his time. Erith had gone on before him as Cyrus sat alone in the conference room for a time after her departure, the words of Cass—his friend—echoing in his ears.

Finally the smell of the bread baking in the kitchen off the Great Hall had gotten to him, and he could wait no longer. As he entered the foyer once more, the smell grew stronger, mingled with something else—cooking eggs, Cyrus thought. It had been a long time since they’d had those.

“Cyrus,” came the soft voice from near the stairs. J’anda Aimant stood resplendent in his blue robes, his true face unhidden, wrinkles, platinum hair and all. “I must speak with you.”

“Can we do it while I eat?” Cyrus asked, gesturing toward the open doors of the Great Hall. The smell wafting out was getting to him, his leg twitching with desire to carry him toward the smell of food. A peal of laughter followed the sounds of revelry within, and they called out to him.

“Absolutely,” J’anda said and gestured him on. He clasped a hand onto Cyrus’s shoulder as they walked through the entry doors.

The Great Hall still held a reasonable crowd, even at this hour. Cyrus scanned the room, which stretched far back into the distance. He wended his way between the tables, J’anda following close behind. The noise was loud enough that Cyrus did not attempt to speak as they made their way through. J’anda broke off and began his trek toward the officer table at the front of the room as Cyrus continued toward the open pass-through into the kitchen.

“Larana,” Cyrus said with as much joviality as he could muster with his stomach rumbling. The timid druid was at the window in a moment, face downcast but glancing up every now and again at him. “I know breakfast is over, but I had some … ah … guild matters to attend to.” He smiled.
No need to mention that I slept late with Aisling
. “Is there anything left?”

Larana’s tan face was nearly hidden by ringlets of tangled brown hair. He did not see any expression from her, and she turned wordlessly away to reach over to a table sitting in the center of the kitchen. She took hold of a plate with shaking hands and turned back to him, setting it upon the pass-through between them, then stepped back and lowered her head so her locks could cover her face again. He still saw her eyes peering out at him.

There was a crusty pie waiting before him, smelling of pastry and egg. Cyrus reached out and took it, feeling the warmth through his gauntlets. “Thank you,” he said with a bowed head of his own. “I can always count on you to make sure I don’t starve.” He started away from her, thought he heard her say something and turned back. She was already gone, vanished out of sight. He frowned and shrugged, moving on toward the officers’ table.

J’anda waited for him around the massive round table at the edge of the room. Cyrus sat and heard the hearty thunk of both the plate and his armor against wood. J’anda sat close by, only a chair away from him instead of in his usual place across the table. “So,” Cyrus said, pulling the fork off the table and breaking into the top of the pie. Heavenly smells of egg and melted cheese wafted up at him, causing his mouth to water.

“We have a problem,” J’anda said, and there was a great tentativeness hanging about the enchanter. Cyrus watched him as he shoveled the first spoonful of the pie into his mouth.

“We have many problems,” Cyrus said. “Of which are you speaking?” The egg was laced with cheese and ham, as well as hints of smoky bacon. Cyrus closed his eyes and savored.

“Saekaj Sovar,” J’anda said, and Cyrus’s eyes snapped open once more.

“Yes,” Cyrus said after a moment. “They are indeed a problem.”

“They are probably aiding the trolls in slaving,” J’anda said. He was being coy, Cyrus was certain, as the enchanter seemed … reserved. “Their resurgence in the war is … troubling.”

“That’s two problems,” Cyrus said, taking another bite of the pie.
This is damned distracting. Can’t we have a serious conversation some other time?

“We are at a great disadvantage,” J’anda said, holding up one of his hands. “The dark elves are our enemy. To see them win this war against the humans would mean them turning their attention to us, with ill results.”

“It would mean our destruction,” Cyrus said carefully. The bite of the pie, which had seemed so satisfying only a minute earlier, was now somehow unappealing. “And likely an eventual hegemony wherein the dark elves rule all Arkaria.”

“No one wants to see that,” J’anda said quickly, and Cyrus watched him carefully. He seldom saw the enchanter without his illusions firmly in place, and the depth of feeling that had just shone in the dark elf’s eyes was not at all like J’anda’s usual calm, cool demeanor.