Warlord (38 page)

“Ehrgraz,” Curatio said, “you have asked us to attack your greatest temple, and—if that powder is what I assume it is—to desecrate utterly the greatest icon of dragonkin.”

“Yes,” Ehrgraz said quietly. “I have, haven’t I?”

“Why?” Vara asked. “That is … I assume it’s a rather provocative step.”

“Probably almost as devastating to my people as killing the last born elf would be to yours,” Ehrgraz said, and while it might have come off as a threat to other ears, to Cyrus he merely sounded sad. “Because none of them
see
. So rooted in the past are we that we take no heed of the future, which the titans are shaping even now to their liking. They are moved by forces more dangerous than my people can imagine. Their will to conquer all should not be underestimated.”

“This thing you ask of us …” Cyrus said. “I’m not sure we can do this.”

“You are fully capable of it, I assure you,” Ehrgraz said. “It is left to you to decide whether what you fear from the titans will drive you as far as it has driven me.” He raised his wings and flapped them once, leaving the ground. His wings caught the light of the watch fires, the braziers illuminating the undersides, the bony extrusions that held together the flapping, light skin that helped propel him aloft looking like canvas with a torch in front of it. “I, for one, hope you come to the same conclusions about these dangers as I have, for the alternative does not bear thinking about, a titan empire that will sit astride your north.” He flapped his wings again and rose higher, out of sight in the darkness within seconds, leaving Cyrus, Vara and Curatio alone on the parapets, pondering what a dragon feared.

“This is the worst idea of any idea that has been presented in or around our halls at any point in time,” Curatio pronounced into the still night after Ehrgraz’s departure.

“Vaste should dance naked every day during dinner,” Vara said, drawing shocked looks from both Cyrus and Curatio. “Mine is worse, no?”

“It’s a near thing in my estimation,” Cyrus said.

“It is not a near thing,” Curatio said, hotter than the watch fire burning only a few feet away from them. The healer’s voice crackled in the night. “He intends for you to lead an offensive against the dragons under deceptive terms. To have you fool them into thinking that the titans have destroyed their greatest shrine.” He cocked his head. “Do you know what happened to the last person that meddled in that place?”

“How would I?” Cyrus asked.

“Because you rode him into the ground,” Curatio said, voice brimming with fury, “after Ashan’agar was exiled from their company. Dragons do not kill one another; it is their highest law. Even Ashan’agar did not commit murder on his own when he marshaled and defiled their temple. But now, Ehrgraz would have you do it and you would jump heedlessly into it without thought.”

“I haven’t said yes yet,” Cyrus said.

“You didn’t say no immediately,” Curatio said, “which is almost as bad.”

“Why are you pushing so hard on this?” Cyrus asked, his own ire rising. “Without a thought, you dismiss it? Curatio, we are desperately in the swamp on this fight with the titans.”

“And you will sink us further into the mire should you undertake this course of action.”

“When you’re already in the mire over your head,” Cyrus said, “I don’t notice much difference whether I drown by an inch or by a mile.” He stepped closer to the healer. “They are coming, Curatio. They’re coming, and we likely will not be able to stop them, not by the numbers.”

“Think about what you’re saying.” Curatio pointed a finger at him. “This is not just desperation, it is madness. It is treachery. Deceit.”

“It is necessary,” Cyrus said, not backing off.

“Is that what a paladin would say?” Curatio asked, looking over Cyrus’s shoulder. He turned his head to look, but Vara remained silent, looking somewhat stricken in the glow of the fire.

“I’m not a paladin,” Cyrus said, drawing the healer’s gaze back to him. “And this is not a noble war. It began with a cowardly attack by superior forces against a town of civilians under our protection simply to spite us.”

“And you answered it in kind,” Curatio said, and Cyrus felt as though he’d been struck. “Yes, that surprises you, I’m sure, but Kortran is not all titan warriors and arenas. They are not some monolithic evil. There is argument among them, surely, even now, but Talikartin and the death of their Emperor is a knife in their side which worshippers of Bellarum will feel obligated to avenge.” He lowered his voice. “How you win this war is as important as winning it, because what you do here, now, will affect who
you
are for all the rest of your days.”

“The only thing that matters in this war,” Cyrus said, feeling the rage trickle through him, “is winning it.”

Curatio’s head rocked back slightly. “A familiar sentiment, and an old one. But not yours originally, I think.”

“This enemy is not going to stop at the sea, Curatio,” Cyrus said. “They don’t have a weakness like the scourge.” He pointed at the central tower of Sanctuary. “I had to listen to Longwell today bleed his feelings out because of the loss of more of his people. He’s frightened at the position of Emerald Fields, so close to the titans.” Cyrus shifted his finger to point south. “How about the elves of Amti, living on borrowed time in their trees, forced to hide from the world because of their fear? And the elves? Your own people? You think they’ll survive the titans coming north?”

“You see a reflection of all your failures here,” Curatio said, glancing past him at Vara, “and so do I. But where you are wrong is the means you are considering. When I stood with the Guildmaster of Requiem at the twilight of the ancients, helping him defend the humans of Arkaria against that night of fire and destruction, I warned him against despair. I see in you the same seeds of fear and darkness, that desperate desire hold back a tide that you fear will consume everything you hold dear. But it will do you no good to win this fight and lose your soul, Cyrus.” He stepped closer and lowered his voice. “Being willing to do whatever it takes to win, even assassination and duplicity are perfectly acceptable considerations for an adherent of Bellarum.” He pulled back, looked Cyrus straight in the eye, and did not waver as he spoke, “But not for the Guildmaster of Sanctuary.”

“What if there is no other way, Curatio?” Cyrus asked. “Do you see another way?”

“Can you see the River Perda in the darkness over yonder?” Curatio waved his hand to the south. “No? Just because you cannot see it, does not mean it is not there.”

“What good does it do,” Cyrus asked, “what virtue is there … in being a defender of the people who fails to defend the people?”

“I do not know,” Curatio said, voice down to a whisper. He turned, slowly, tentatively. “But I know you have not failed yet.” With silent steps, he retreated into the night.

Cyrus watched him go, waiting, and when Curatio was gone, disappeared into a tower to climb down from the wall, he turned to look at Vara. “What do you say?”

She hesitated, but her true reply burst forth when she spoke. “You know, Alaric would never have—”

The rage and frustration that had bubbled in Cyrus throughout his talk with Curatio burst free like a volcano. “I’m not Alaric!” His voice echoed in the night, bouncing off the wall, making his proclamation over the plains. When it faded, he spoke again, this time whispering. “Do you wish I were?”

“No,” she answered immediately and stepped closer, placing a hand upon his shoulder in reassurance. “But I wish that he were here.”

Cyrus swallowed the brief surge of bitterness that welled up in him and let the regret take over before he spoke. “So do I,” he said, as he looked out on the dark, moonless plains. “So do I.”

“When I said I’d entertain almost any plan,” Ryin Ayend spoke into the torchlit Council Chambers early the next morn, “and included that whole bit about women and children being slaughtered … I was being rhetorical. It was a bit of hyperbole, really, to highlight how desperate this situation has become.” The druid placed his palms flat on the table, the room so quiet that Cyrus heard the flesh press against the wood. “And yet you found something almost as morally dubious, and here we go merrily down that path.”

Cyrus looked to Curatio at his left, but the healer said nothing. He rested his elbow on the arm of his chair and lay slumped with his cheek against it, dangerously close to falling over should anything disturb the balance upon which he leaned.

“I, for one,” Vaste began, causing Cyrus to cringe inside, “find that old sod about desperate measures absolutely applicable here.”

“What old sod is that?” Erith asked with a frown.

“‘Desperate measures are the most fun,’” Vaste said, “‘for when someone is desperate, you get to find out who they truly are.’”

“Must be a troll saying,” Erith said, “because I’ve never heard that.”

“Can’t be a troll saying,” Andren said, “it’s far too wise for that.”

“You know, before everything went to shit up in Gren,” Vaste said a little hotly, “we were occasionally capable of good, even great, things.”

“Far be it from me to suggest otherwise,” Odellan said, “having been to war with against your people and having seen what desperation did to them twenty years ago and more recently, last year.” He looked around. “But to the point—an attack on dragons. Are we really discussing this?”

“We’ve fought dragons before,” Andren said, waving a hand. “With less numbers, even, than we’ve got now.”

“Kalam was no picnic,” Vara said, “and we caught him napping. Meanwhile, Ashan’agar nearly killed more than a few of us when he broke loose of his imprisonment, and would have done much more damage had Cyrus not goaded him into riding up into the sky while he worked out a careful plan to deprive the bastard of his life.”

“Yes, it was a careful plan,” Cyrus said, nodding sagely, “in fact I even started working on it a year earlier when—”

“This stinks of revising history to fit your ego,” Vaste said.

“Agreed,” Vara said tightly.

Cyrus smiled. “Can’t blame me for trying. But that dragon had a powerful ability to charm people just by looking in their eyes—”

“Yes, you Alaric’d him, it was brilliant,” Vaste said, covering a fake yawn with one hand. “Now, back to this plan of yours—”

“Ehrgraz’s,” Cyrus said.

“Fine, back to this dragon plan,” Vaste said. “How do we know it’s not a trick? We show up, we kill dragons, we deface their shrine, Ehrgraz comes in bellowing and kills us all in a blast of fire hot enough to render my succulent bones and meat completely inedible, which would be a great tragedy for all, but mostly for me.”

“That is a valid point,” Cyrus conceded. “But I don’t think he’s betraying us.”

“No one ever thinks they’re being betrayed until it happens,” Nyad said. “Case in point, there was that time you got stabbed in the back last year—”

“Hey,” Cyrus said, “nobody saw that coming.”

“I saw it coming,” Vara said.

Cyrus gave her a sour look. “Fine. Do you think Ehrgraz is betraying us?”

Vara thought it over. “I don’t think so, no. But he need not betray us for this plan of his to go horribly wrong. There is much he has not yet deigned to inform us about how it would be carried out.”

“That’s true,” Thad said with a nod. “It doesn’t take much to go wrong with a dragon fight for people to die in large numbers.”

“You don’t have to tell me that,” Cyrus said, mildly aggravated. “I’ve stood in front of them before during fights. All I want to know is if anyone has a better plan. Because now is the time—”

“Find a pile of turnips and hide in it until this whole thing blows over,” Vaste said. When he had every eye in the room upon him, he shrugged and elaborated. “Nobody likes turnips. I presume the dragons are at least sensible enough to be alike in that regard.”

“So our alternatives at present are to attack the dragons,” J’anda said, “or to hide in discarded vegetables.” His fingers clenched his staff. “I know which I pick.”

“Ooh, is it the vegetables?” Andren asked.

“No,” J’anda said, “I don’t like turnips, either.”

“Far be it from me to suggest treachery is ever the best way to deal with anything,” Nyad said, “but I share Cyrus’s concern that the titans coming north is merely a matter of time. If they conquer the Kingdom, the rest of Arkaria will surely follow shortly. Even a combined force of all armies would have great difficulty standing up to them on the march with magic at their disposal.”

“That seems personally motivated at least in some small measure,” Erith said.

“And if your Sovereignty was under threat to be overrun with—I don’t know,” Nyad said, blushing, “gnomes digging into your tunnels and invading, I think you’d be personally motivated to help them, too.”

“I know I’d be the first to volunteer to help in that case,” Vara muttered.

“This titan threat’s not going away,” Longwell said, breaking his silence. “Not without us doing something.” He shook his head. “If this gets the dragons in the fight and gives us a chance … well …” He lowered his head. “I’m sorry, but there are lives on the line here. More than a few. Probably the entirety of the north’s, in the long term.” He blinked away. “And in the short … the last survivors of Luukessia. And that’s a personal motivation for me, in case anyone wants to call it out.” He flushed.

“I’ve got an idea,” Vaste said, snapping his fingers, “we pit the scourge against the titans.” He waited, but all that greeted him was horrified silence. “Okay, fine. The dragons it is.”

“All in favor?” Cyrus asked, and he watched the hands rise one by one, as though this were too solemn an occasion to trust to a voice vote. Curatio’s was the only one not raised, though none were raised high. “And so it is,” Cyrus pronounced, and the chamber stayed silence, “we battle with dragons.”

“I wish you all the best with your bold endeavor,” J’anda said, tipping his head to Cyrus, “and I will see you in just a few short days.”

“I like how you chose ‘bold’ instead of ‘crazy,’” Cyrus said. “I’ve gotten no shortage of the latter since we started planning this, after all.”

The foyer of Sanctuary was packed, the strike army Cyrus had assembled to undertake the mission to the Dragonshrine filling it nearly from one side to the other. He figured there were somewhere on the order of a thousand people, but there seemed to be room enough to pack plenty more into the spaces if he had felt compelled to bring more.