Master (Book 5) (48 page)

“Rumors, mostly,” Cyrus said, with a twinge of guilt. Much as he wanted to immediately share what he’d heard from J’anda, he drew the circle tight around himself, allowing no drop of knowledge to spill out of it. “Have we heard anything from the Confederation of late?”

“Nothing substantial,” Vara said, peering at him curiously. “My sister has been inconsistent with her updates of late. Have you heard anything?”

“Nothing of Endeavor,” Cyrus said, suddenly mindful of the hundreds of eyes around them. “On a different subject, might you consider … joining me for dinner tonight?”

She frowned at him. “I eat dinner with you every night.”

“Not in the Great Hall,” Cyrus said, suddenly feeling a bit like he’d always imagined the teenagers in the Society felt when preparing to ask other members of their Blood Family to the occasional formal events. “In my quarters.”

There was a batting of her lashes, but it came and left quickly, with no other sign of emotion. “I am afraid I must politely decline, Lord Davidon.” The formality of her reply made him think of the falling snow in the Realm of Life, blanketing hope with something cold and damp and lifeless.

“Of course,” Cyrus said with a nod and started toward the stairs as she made a move to do the same. They both stopped, pained, and he gestured for her to go first. She hesitated, then finally moved to do so, circling around the garrison of soldiers in the center of the room.

Cyrus, for his part, watched her go without moving to follow, considering alternative courses he might take instead. His eyes went from the lounge to the doors of the Great Hall, anything to keep from a long, uncomfortable walk up the stairs following in Vara’s close company.

“You look like a man in desperate need of somewhere to go.” Andren’s voice fell upon him from his left, and he watched the healer emerge from the front doors.

“I would honestly take a drink right now, willingly and gladly,” Cyrus said.

Andren shook his head. “Can’t.”

Cyrus peered down at the clean-shaven elf, so different in bearing than the friend he’d known for so long. “Who the hell are you?”

“I would normally be the first to offer you a drink, and gladly,” Andren said, a little too appeasingly for Cyrus’s taste. “But we can’t right now. A messenger came a few minutes ago, a herald if you will.”

“Heralding what?” Cyrus asked with a frown. “The end of all dispensaries and ale consumption in the southern plains?”

“The imminent arrival of Pretnam Urides on urgent business,” Andren said. “I’m sending word to the rest of the Council now. Says he needs to speak with us immediately.”

Cyrus waited in silence in the Council Chambers, head against the tall wooden backing of his seat, the rest of the Council silent around him. The doors to the outside balcony were propped wide, faint gusts stirring the hearth’s fire every now and again. The smell of home was moderated by the fresh breeze, and Cyrus felt a tickle of anticipation as they waited in an unnatural silence, as though on a death watch.

“Someone say something.” Ryin broke the room’s silence, the only other noise the stirring of the doors in the breeze and the crackle of the fires.

“Humans can be bled for almost five hours before they die if you do it correctly,” Vaste said.

Into the shocked silence that followed, Erith spoke. “How do you know this?”

“Terian told me,” Vaste said, looking Cyrus right in the eye. It took him only a moment to realize that the troll was watching for a response, and Cyrus did his utmost not to give it to him.
How does he know?

“Before or after he attempted to slay our Guildmaster?” Vara said, archly as ever.

“Long before,” Vaste said. “Though I imagine he’s had enough practice to have refined his technique since.”

“You always know just the thing to say.” Curatio was muted in his reply, wry as always in his observation.

The knock at the door was a welcome diversion for Cyrus, and he nearly fell over himself to speak. “Come in.”

The door was opened for Pretnam Urides, who walked in with a little less swagger than he’d had last time, Cyrus thought.
I wouldn’t have though it possible to see the man this … bloodless.
His usually chubby jowls looked thinner, and Cyrus had to concede that the head of the Council of Twelve had seen better days, weeks, months and years.

“I come to you with a proposal once more,” Urides said without preamble.

“We’ll just skip the greetings and ask how much gold is involved, then,” Vaste said.

Urides looked at Vaste with his usual disdain. “Perhaps it might be best to spell out the duty involved before discussing the money.”

“Oh, all right,” Vaste said. “I suppose a good whore does at least provide some idea of the service involved before mentioning how much it will cost.” Cyrus blanched at the comparison and found himself inadvertently looking at Vara when he recovered. She had an arched eyebrow just for him.

“Yes, well,” Urides said. “Have you heard Deriviereville?”

“A town in the Riverlands,” Cyrus said. “Nice place.” He pictured it in his mind. “Not very defensible, though.”

“It is just as well that we do not plan a defense there, then,” Urides sniffed. “Deriviereville sits upon the Merone River, a key shipping lane and the first gateway to the Riverlands. Swampy roads control the approaches to the town; the only reasonable road runs under the eaves of a keep called Leaugarden some hundred miles to the southwest.”

“I have been to Leaugarden,” Curatio said. “It is eminently defensible.”

“All right,” Cyrus said, peering at the head of the Council of Twelve. “So why don’t you defend it?”

“I will need to mass the soldiers currently holding Livlosdald in order to provide that relief,” Urides said, a little nastily. “Our forces defending the road to Leaugarden are presently in retreat, harried by the full weight of the dark elven army.”

“I don’t know about the full weight,” Cyrus said, a little slyly. “I heard they’re throwing some reasonable tonnage at Reikonos.”

“Did you?” Urides said, every syllable conjured of purest ice. “Then you understand why we are unable to provide relief to the Riverlands at the moment; the bulk of our army is doing all that is possible to keep our capital from falling under some considerable onslaught.”

“When would we be able to expect relief at Leaugarden?” Cyrus asked.

“One week,” Urides said, sounding unusually subdued.

Cyrus glanced at Curatio, waiting to gauge the Elder’s reaction. He caught a nod, but a cautious one, before turning to Vara, who looked stonily neutral but nodded her head once as well. “We can do this thing,” Cyrus said, eyes on Urides’s thinning face, “but it will be costly.”

“We are willing to offer two times what we paid you last time,” Urides said. “Half up front, as before.”

“Three times as much,” Cyrus countered easily, “and three-quarters up front.”

“That is highway robbery,” Urides said with even more frost.

“Oddly, this is not the first time you’ve accused me of that,” Cyrus said evenly, “but at least this time it has the virtue of being true, after a fashion.”

Urides was unmoved. “It is an extortionate amount.”

Cyrus leaned forward. “Let us speak plainly—I have little hope of collecting the full amount. Your capital is likely to be under total siege in the immediate future, which means you’ll be cutting off all teleportation in and out in hopes of weathering the storm the dark elves are going to bring down around your ears.”

“They cannot continue to pour troops into battles at the rate they have been losing them,” Urides said, a little less firmly than Cyrus might have hoped. “Eventually they will reach their snapping point.”

“I hope for your sake—and all of Arkaria’s—that they do,” Cyrus said. “But in case that day comes after they have had a chance to sack Reikonos and take all the gold from your vaults, I want my due now.”

The Councilor’s jaw wavered as he stood there. “Your proposition is accepted, simply because I have no other choice. Seven days, this is what you promise me?”

“Seven days,” Cyrus said.

“Very well,” Urides said. “Your gold will be here within the hour.”

“That was awfully fast,” Vaste said.

“He already had it prepared,” Cyrus said, watching the Councilor carefully. “I did not bargain him up nearly so hard as he expected, all his protestations to the contrary.”

Urides paused, eyes narrowing. “A decent sort might have done it for less.”

“My decency is surprisingly restrained with people who have accused me of criminal action in the past,” Cyrus said thinly, “no matter how noble I may find their aims. Also, I have mouths to feed.”

Urides tipped his head to Cyrus ever so slightly. “Be that as it may, I will not forget this moment.”

Cyrus raised an eyebrow. “That I came to your aid in your hour of need or that I asked for payment in exchange?”

Urides’s expression cooled once more. “Perhaps both. Perhaps one more than the other, though which I decline to say.” He raised a hand and disappeared in the light of a spell, the sparkling light of which remained in Cyrus’s eyes, the shaded outline of a man standing between the seats of Odellan and Erith.

“That was certainly a quick decision,” Ryin said.

“Once you’ve taken money to be a whore once,” Vaste said, “it’s so much easier upon subsequent engagements.”

“You speak from personal experience, then,” Vara said.

“If only,” Vaste sighed longingly. “No, I’m afraid there’s just not enough demand for my services; very few can handle this much manliness even once, let alone twice.”

“Very few can handle the smell, I rather suspect—”

“We’ll need scouts on the ground at Leaugarden,” Cyrus said, interrupting the banter between the paladin and the healer. “Nyad. Take Forrestant with you, have him assess the field.” Cyrus turned his gaze to Odellan. “Any idea if his new machines are in working order yet?”

Odellan’s pained expression was obvious between the twin, flowing golden rivers of hair that framed his face. “Not all of them, no. But some.”

“Get him to Leaugarden,” Cyrus said to Nyad. “Once you’ve done that, teleport to Emerald Fields and have them send a messenger to Fortin that we’ll be needing his assistance in glorious battle.”

“Will it truly be glorious?” Nyad asked, skepticism obvious by the thin line of her lips.

“Gloriously brief if you don’t get done what I’ve asked,” Cyrus said, and she gave him a wary nod before disappearing out the door. “Longwell?” He caught the gaze of the dragoon. “We will most assuredly need the cavalry for this.”

“I shall prepare them,” Longwell said, a look of rough satisfaction lighting his face.

“I will make ready with the army,” Odellan said, “unless you have further orders?”

“I don’t remember Leaugarden,” Cyrus said, shaking his head. “I’m not sure I’ve passed through there.”

“You’re unlikely to forget it after this,” Curatio said with a faint smile, “as it should be a rather well-known battlefield following this victory.”

“I find it interesting that you assume we will win before we have so much as set the first foot upon the field,” Vara said.

“I always assume we will win,” Curatio said, drawing his robes about him as he stood. “I plan for defeat but try not to let it become much more than a weak suggestion.” He gave Cyrus a nod. “I will assemble the healers and prepare them to do their duty.” He breezed out the door with the aid of his robes, the white fabric catching the wind from the doors behind them. Andren, Erith, Vaste and Mendicant followed in his wake, with Longwell and Odellan out the door just after.

“Will I be left in charge of Sanctuary’s defense in your absence?” Thad asked, rising from his place at the table.

“You’re the duly-appointed castellan, Thad,” Cyrus said with a smile. “You’re always in charge of Sanctuary’s defense. I think it would be wise to leave you here to do what you do better than anyone else, though, yes.”

“As you will,” Thad said, scooping up his helm and saluting. Cyrus returned it from a seated position and watched the red-armored warrior retreat from the room.

Cyrus did not look at Vara, instead turning to Ryin, who remained seated. “Any words of gloom or warning you’d care to sprinkle upon the occasion like water upon a flame?”

The druid’s expression was dour, a flat, pensive gaze fixed on the empty air at the center of the round table. “I hope Curatio is right and that we win. I hope you are wrong and that Reikonos does not fall.” He gathered his own robes about him and stood, looking glummer than Cyrus had ever seen him. “All else, I reserve my judgment on.”

“That is … a decidedly more … quiet … opinion than you usually render,” Cyrus said.

Ryin blinked at him. “I was raised in Reikonos as well, you know. I have no interest in seeing it overrun with dark elves. I may be here to provide a contrarian opinion, but what am I to say in this moment? If we do not do this thing at Leaugarden, the Confederation’s food supplies will be cut off, Reikonos will starve and fall, and we will become the next convenient target of the Sovereign of Saekaj.” He shrugged. “All roads lead to our facing the dark elves at this point; there is no more waiting it out and hoping for the best.” He swept his robes behind him and the air felt curiously still. “The best we can hope for is to be the block upon which the Sovereign stumbles.” He disappeared out the door.

“And what do you say, Lady Vara?” Cyrus asked, still watching the door as it closed behind Ryin Ayend.

“I say you should do what you do best,” Vara said, standing and striding toward the door. “Pretend the Sovereign is a certain dark elven slattern, bend him over the nearest handy object, and fuck his unshapely arse into submission.”

She did not look back, and left the door to the Council Chambers wide open as she left Cyrus in the silence, nothing but a gust of wind to stir him out of his stupor.

Dark clouds hung over the field of Leaugarden, a hummock high on a swampy plain that dipped into the water at regular intervals. It looked a little like it had been transported out of the ground near Gren and plopped into the eastern Riverlands of Arkaria, the beating heart of the Human Confederation’s farms and fields. From where he sat atop Windrider, the horse whinnying at the activity all around them, Cyrus could see one of the countless streams that crossed the land. It was a wet place, especially now, the skies threatening to turn loose a deluge at any moment. Cyrus could feel the droplets every now and again, first signs of what was surely coming.