Master (Book 5) (23 page)

“Do not dare send any such message,” Curatio said, looking grim. “I am doing a rather exhaustive amount of research at present, trying to find notations about any similar phenomenon to what we saw in the Realm of Life that I might have observed during the War of the Gods when deities were killed.”

“I take it by your response that you’ve had no luck thus far?” Cyrus asked.

“Little to none, yes,” Curatio said, frustration apparent in his scowl. “I have a rather exhaustive list of journal entries from those days, but the problem is that none of the ones I keenly remember seem to match what is happening in the Realm of Life at the moment.”

Vaste spoke. “Did I miss something, or did you just admit to penning a firsthand account of what happened when some of the gods died?”

Curatio stared at the troll, unblinking. “Mortus was not the first god I witnessed die, if that’s what you are asking.”

The silence persisted at the table until Vaste spoke again. “How many of them did you watch die?”

Curatio’s answer felt like it was an age in coming. “More than I care to count.”

Cyrus started to ask a follow-up question to that, but a knock sounded at the door. “Go away,” Vaste said loudly, “we’re in the middle of a rather important line of inquiry here!”

The door cracked and Thad Proelius’s head peeked in. “I apologize for the disturbance, but you have an urgent emissary from the … uh … the Human Confederation.”

“Tell them we’ll be with them in a bit,” Vaste said, waving his hand in dismissal at the Castellan of Sanctuary. “We’re busy at the moment.”

“I’m afraid this can’t wait,” Thad said, and Cyrus turned around in his seat to look at the warrior. His face was red as a cabbage leaf from the reaches of Greeuwton, and his breaths came in gasps, as though he’d just run up the stairs. “The envoy is—”

“Some prim, prissy little officer of the human army, I’m sure,” Vaste said, waving a hand again at Thad. “Look, we’re in the midst of an important discussion which—”

“Which can wait, I presume?” The high voice came from behind Thad as the door to the Council Chambers squeaked open, revealing a figure behind the red-armored warrior.

Thad moved aside as though the man had poured scalding water upon him, leaving the new arrival framed in the door. He was portly, though much of his bulk was hidden under brown robes. The staff he had used to push open the door was resting in his grasp now, crowned by a crystal at the top that indicated it was not just a walking staff.
He carries power with him
, Cyrus thought, recognizing the figure for who he was.

“Pretnam Urides,” Curatio said, rising to his feet and bowing his head. “Welcome to Sanctuary.”

“May I enter?” Pretnam Urides asked with a little flourish, a wave of his staff.

“By all means,” Curatio said with but a moment of hesitation.

The head of the Human Confederation’s ruling council entered the chambers, trailing behind him a smell that reminded Cyrus of gold. It overtook the sweet smell of the hearth as he walked behind Cyrus, staff hitting the ground with each step. His cloak rustled, and when he reached the head of the table, he stood next to Alaric’s old chair. He stared at it, though he seemed to hesitate in its presence and made no move to sit.

Vara, in the seat next to where he stood, fidgeted slightly, easing herself subtly away from the head of the Council of Twelve. She noticed Cyrus looking and blanched, as though she had been caught doing something embarrassing.

“What brings you down to the Plains of Perdamun?” Curatio asked without preamble. The healer was still standing, facing Urides with only Alaric’s old seat between them. “I trust this is not a social visit.”

“Hardly,” Urides said with a stern look around the table. His eyes lingered on Cyrus for a moment longer than any of the others before traversing onward. “I have a purpose in hand, and it is the hiring of Sanctuary’s army for immediate deployment.”

There was a quiet silence. Vaste spoke first. “You think you can just walk in here and throw gold at us to get us to do your will?” He paused. “It’s like you know us or something.”

“What task did you have in mind?” Cyrus asked as Urides stared at Vaste with a half-scowl, as though not sure what to make of the troll. With greatest reluctance, he turned back to Cyrus.

“The keep of Livlosdald in the Northlands,” Urides said. He waited to see if any of them would react. “Have any of you heard of it?”

“I’ve passed it,” Cyrus said. “A few years ago, in a trek through the North.”

“It guards the town of Etriehndell,” Urides said and adjusted his wire-rimmed spectacles. “The dark elves are moving upon it now, and we have little in the way of defense in the area. We would have your army interdict the dark elven force moving up to take the keep. Without aid, it will fall by the morrow.”

“How much would you be offering us to guard this keep for you?” Longwell asked.

Urides stared at the dragoon. “I’m not offering you a single piece of gold for merely guarding the town. You could form a little line around it, weather a charge or perhaps two, declare yourselves outmatched and withdraw with my money. No, I’m not offering you anything to merely guard the town. I will pay you fifteen million gold pieces should you hold the dark elven armies off the keep until we can get our reinforcements in place.”

“First of all,” Cyrus said, “thirty million. Second of all, you’ll need to set a time and day when your reinforcements will be relieving us, or else I’m not committing to the battle.”

Urides watched him shrewdly. “And why is that, may I ask?”

Cyrus sat back in his chair. “Because you could delay reinforcements until we broke and were killed and declare our obligation unfulfilled, then sweep in afterward with your reinforcements and win the battle hands down after we had weakened your opposition.”

Urides nearly smiled. “Quite right. Twenty two million gold pieces, and you shall hold until noon on the day after tomorrow.”

“Wait,” Vaste said. “How many dark elves would we be facing?”

“Some fifty thousand,” Urides said as though it were naught but a pesky detail. “Do we have a deal?”

“Yes,” Cyrus said.

“That was a quick vote of the Council,” Vaste said sourly. “Why, I’ve never seen us come to an accord so swiftly.”

“All opposed?” Cyrus asked, not taking his eyes off Urides. He waited for a count of five. “The ayes have it.”

“Excellent,” Urides said, with a quick bow of his head. “As I think we understand each other, I will have half the gold transferred to you immediately, with the other half held back in case you should fail.” He leaned forward. “And if you should fail, I don’t think I need to warn you that we’ll be wanting—”

“Your gold back, yes,” Cyrus said. “It was implied.”

“I mean not to leave any room for misunderstanding,” Urides said, narrowing his eyes. “I will have it sent as a sign of good faith. Do not disappoint me.” He straightened and gave the chair to his left one last perfunctory look. It stood taller than he by several heads. “Garish.” He looked around the table once more. “Now, if you’ll excuse me—” He tapped his staff once against the ground, and it began to glow with the light of a return spell. With a flash he disappeared.

There was a long pause, and then several voices began to speak at once.

“I think we should have talked that over before agreeing—” Vaste said.

“Fifty thousand against our fifteen?” Ryin asked.

“Long odds,” Nyad said, a hint of nervous flutter in her voice.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Erith said, sotto voce.

“My men are ready for a fight,” Longwell said with a hard edge to his voice. “More than ready if it means helping our people in the Emerald Fields with the proceeds from this.”

“What is your plan, General?” Curatio asked, his voice coming last and overpowering them all.

“I’m going by memory,” Cyrus said, ignoring all that had been said save for Curatio’s question, “but if I recall correctly, Livlosdald is at the mouth of a forested valley, with the town of Etriehndell about a mile or two north down the valley. We won’t need to worry about getting flanked because the valley will make army movements around us impossible—unless they were to have sent an advance force to the next nearest portal north. That’s unlikely because it’s several days ride from Livlosdald, but I’ll send a scout anyway—Nyad, if you could, please. Check on that for us.”

“Now?” The wizard stood, looking a little dazed.

“No time like the present,” Cyrus said. “You should be able to teleport to … I think it’s called Verklomrade.”

“It is,” Curatio said, staring at him.

“Check with the guard contingent around the portal to make sure they’re still there, no dark elves passed through recently, then come back,” Cyrus said. He waited a beat, and when Nyad did not move—“Haste is rather important.”

“Oh.” She held up a hand, and it shook as she cast a spell that teleported her away with a flash of green magic.

“We’ll move the army directly to the Etriehndell portal,” Cyrus said, tapping a finger on the table as he thought out loud. “Everything we have, save for a contingent of five hundred to keep the Emerald Fields under guard and another five hundred for the wall here. Before we leave, we seal the foyer portal and close the gates.”

“Gods, your mind moves fast to war and all the possibilities,” Vaste said.

“This is what a General does,” Longwell said, voice radiating a kind of quiet awe.

“The force they’ll meet us with is going to be predominantly foot soldiers of some kind or another,” Cyrus said, pushing back his chair and causing it to screech against the stone floor as he stood. “There will be spell casters, though, and cavalry. We have the advantage in that department, but they’ll—”

“I think I’ve heard enough,” Vaste said and stood. “I trust you’ll be blathering like this for some time yet?”

Cyrus blinked at him. “There are strategic and tactical concerns to work through—”

“You’ll handle those just fine whether I’m present or not,” Vaste said, and started toward the door. “I’ll tell your squire Odellan to get ready for a volley of orders while I start haranguing the healers into getting ready.”

“I’ll go organize the druids and wizards,” Ryin said as he stood slowly, almost reluctantly. “Since it would seem we’re once again locked into a course that will carry us into battle for the sake of gold.” He held up his hands, palm out. “Not that I am complaining or suggesting we do otherwise, merely giving voice to that which all of us are thinking.”

“Yes, well, you could have let the rest of us think it for ourselves,” Vaste said as he opened the door. “Presumptive bastard.”

“I’ll marshal the dragoons,” Longwell said, standing with a little more spring in his step than Cyrus had seen when he’d entered the chamber. “Should I assume you’ll need us on horseback?”

“Definitely,” Cyrus said. “The mobility of your cavalry is one of our greatest advantages. Also, Samwen?” He waited for the dragoon to look back at him before speaking again. “Track down our man Forrestant. We’ll need his division to start preparing immediately. Have them find a wizard and get to the battlefield with a scouting party to start making preparations.”

“Can do. I’ll get to work, then,” Longwell said and thumped the table with a jolt of enthusiasm before he exited behind Ryin.

“I’ll get out of the way, too,” Erith said, standing slowly.

“Matters to attend to?” Curatio said with a wan smile.

“No.” Erith paused at the door. “All this talk of strategy and tactics bores me.” She shut the door behind her.

“I should like to do a bit more research before we leave,” Curatio said from his place at the table. “I trust you have all this well in hand?”

“Sure,” Cyrus said, half in thought and half watching who was left in the room with him.

“Very good,” Curatio said, and walked toward the door. “I’ll leave you to it, then.” He disappeared through the door with nary a sound.

Cyrus stared, thoughts of the impending battle gone from his mind momentarily. Vara sat across the table from him, staring down at the pitted surface of the wood. “And you?” Cyrus asked. “Do you need to … rally the knights or engage in some preparation?”

She shook her head slowly, still staring down at the table. “It’s going to be like this from now on, isn’t it?” She looked up at him, her eyes full and tired. “Going from fight to fight, taking gold in exchange, for as long as we’ve got the Luukessians to support.”

“They won’t need our help forever,” Cyrus said. “We just need to get them up and running, self-sufficient—”

“And until the day they are, we’ll be whoring ourselves out for gold.” Vara shook her head slowly. “This was not how it was supposed to be.”

“You said yourself there was no other way.”

“There must be some other way,” Vara said. “Some other way than casually falling into line with the plans of Pretnam Urides within minutes of his arrival. He throws shiny metals in our direction and we instantly debase ourselves before him? Without even a hint of discussion before deciding?”

“The purse was rich,” Cyrus said. “More than we’d get from Purgatory in these days.”

“Purgatory,” Vara said. “There was a time when it was paying us sixty million gold pieces per trip. You cannot tell me that even in current conditions we cannot get—”

“Two hundred and fifty thousand gold pieces,” Cyrus said, and his gauntleted fingers rubbed at his brow. “Last trip. We offered the spoils to our contacts in Fertiss, Huern, Reikonos, Pharesia—even Enterra, for the love of the gods! There are no buyers. Other guilds have begun to regularly best the trials, and the market is flooded. Soon we’ll be fortunate indeed to get a hundred thousand gold for a trip.” He raised his hands. “This is it. Mercenary work pays in this time of war.”

“And we are mercenaries.” Her voice dripped with reproach.

“We have consequences to pay for,” Cyrus said, and he could feel a pain in his chest. “I am sorry for them, but they are there. We owe these people for what we unleashed. They grow closer to self-sufficiency by the day. Another year, perhaps two, and I think we’ll be free of—”