“And you think that will allay our suspicions?” Cyrus asked him.
Terian shrugged. “Do you need my axe again to feel safe, Davidon? Where’s the trust?”
“I must have left it on the surface,” Cyrus said dryly as the carriage took a turn and Vara bumped against him at the sudden change in direction.
The carriage came to a halt as words were exchanged between the driver and some other party ahead. Cyrus could hear the shouts but could not discern what was being said. After a minute, he heard heavy gates creaking open and the carriage began to move forward again.
“There’s a cessation field over this area,” Terian said, sniffing. “We have some magical prisoners. Using magic in this area would be a bad idea in any case. Guards tend to frown on it because, well, they think it might be an escape attempt, naturally.”
“Naturally,” Vara said without amusement. “Tell us again that you’re not leading us down to our deaths or imprisonment?”
Terian snorted. “If I wanted to do that, I’m pretty sure I could come up with an easier way to go about it.” He pushed the door open as the carriage rattled to a stop. “Assassinate you naked in your bed, perhaps. Call you to a meeting and have warriors sneak invisibly up behind you to cut off your heads before you could draw weapons.” Terian frowned. “Actually, that reminds me—we should start casting cessation spells around us before our meetings in the future. Break invisibility of whoever might be lurking nearby.”
“Clever,” Vara said, giving Cyrus a sidelong glance as she stepped out of the carriage ignoring Terian’s proffered hand. The Sovereign of Saekaj grinned and offered Cyrus a hand down as well. He ignored it as he stepped out of the carriage.
“This way,” Terian said, taking a lantern from one of the guards standing nearby just as Cyrus’s Eagle Eye spell faded and left him straining against the darkness.
Terian led them through exceedingly dark passages, the only light cast by his lantern. They passed guards in light armor who stood to attention as Terian passed. The Sovereign of Saekaj returned their salutes with nods and walked on, boots clanking against hard, tunneled stone.
“This is the mining section of the Depths,” Terian said, leading them forward. “They have a farming section as well, for mushrooms and bitterroot, but this is the place where we put those we loathe most.” He paused, seeming to think it over. “On the other hand, the dung smell in the farming area is … overpowering, at best. Maybe the miners get the better end of the deal, come to think of it.”
“Such a charming nation you lead,” Vara sniffed. “So civilized.”
“How do they punish criminals in elfland?” Terian fired back. “Make them join the unicorn mounted patrol where they’re forced to ride all around your magnificent and bounteous kingdom without a saddle?” He mimed grasping at his hindparts. “‘My overly long arse aches after a hard day’s ride upon the bare back of that ivory beast’!” He grinned at Cyrus. “That’s my impression of you if the elves capture you before the Leagues.”
“We have a prison of our own, you know,” Vara shot back a little hotly. “It is at sea, an island off the coast, and is very isolated, I am told.”
“Yes, I can imagine a temperate island of you mild-souled elves being a real hell,” Terian said. “Probably has a gaming room and everything.” He paused at a crossroads. “Ah, here we are.” He knocked upon a wooden door that Cyrus had not even seen.
The knocking resonated through the passage, much farther than the light cast by the dim lantern. Cyrus squinted, feeling as if there were things just beyond the failing light that were moving in the dark. He could hear the trickle of water and other faint sounds; footsteps in the dark, Vara’s steady breathing. The smell of musty air was ever present in this prison, and it threatened to choke him.
The door rattled open and Terian started to move in. Light filtered out from the open portal as the Sovereign stepped inside. Vara followed cautiously, and Cyrus, annoyed at being last, came in after she had cleared the door. It was shut immediately behind them by a grim-looking guard and locked with a loud click before the guard pocketed the key.
They were in an immense courtyard-like area, probably half the size of the Sanctuary foyer. Tunnels were plowed into the walls around them, mining tunnels held up by wooden supports that ranged from looking very aged to very new. They stood upon a high shelf of rock and looked down upon faces that stared up at them. He saw innumerable dark elves squinting at him, the faint light of three lanterns mounted on the walls shining down on them. Every single one of them was dirty, dirty as if they’d been scrubbed in black over every bit of their faces. There were tables laid out on the floor of the room and steps cut into the rock that descended to them.
The prisoners seemed cowed, not a sign of defiance on any of the faces looking up at Cyrus. In fact, one by one, after they’d taken a short gander at the newcomers, the prisoners began to look back down at their tables and the small plates before them. They were eating, Cyrus realized. He didn’t recognize a single thing they were consuming, but the plates were full.
Two sets of eyes did not break from staring up, though, he realized at last. He honed in on each one at a time. The first belonged to a shorter prisoner, whose face was as blackened as the others, covered with the dark dust. Do they mine coal here? Cyrus wondered, almost sure of the answer. That particular prisoner had a long beard that was as dark as his face, perhaps darker, his eyes the only light spot on him.
Cyrus cast his gaze to the other prisoner staring up at him. This one … this one was a she. Her hair was also black, though he saw a glimmer of some other shade beneath the dust that caked her. Her face was a study in desperation, even beneath the filth. She was thin, waif-like, and at the sight of them, her shoulders slumped.
“I can’t believe this,” Vara said in a quiet whisper.
“Yeah, this a dirty, dirty place you have here,” Cyrus opined as he looked down at the scene before him, prisoners at dinner.
“Not that,” Vara said. “The—those two.”
Cyrus stared back down at the two prisoners who looked back up at him. “Maybe it’s just my failing human eyes, but they’re so covered in coal dust I can’t even tell who they are.”
“Cyrus Davidon,” the male prisoner said, voice scratchy, and yet somehow familiar. He stood, and Cyrus realized it was a dwarf.
“I know you,” Cyrus said, staring over the ledge at the dwarf below. He cast his gaze to the woman; she still stared at him as well, though with considerably less enthusiasm than the dwarf. She seemed frozen, stunned into immobility, her plate forgotten in front of her.
“Aye, you do,” the dwarf called up. “And I know you.” He looked down the line at each of them. “Vara. Funny to see you here.”
“It’s not so funny to see you here,” Vara said quietly. “Or you, either,” she said to the woman who sat below.
The woman rose haltingly to her feet. She looked exhausted, as though she were about to fall over from the mere effort of standing. “Hello, shelas’akur,” the woman said, and now Cyrus saw the points of her ears, nearly lost in her filthy hair.
“You’re going to need to give these two a bath and parade them into the daylight if you want me to recognize them,” Cyrus muttered to Terian. “Because right now … they might as well be two of the gods for all I can tell.”
“They’re not gods,” Terian grinned, entirely too pleased with himself. “They’re far more useful than that.”
“Maybe if you need miners,” Cyrus said, shaking his head. “But I can’t recall any need for a broken-down elven woman and a daft-sounding dwarf in my life currently—” He froze mid-sentence, as a thought came to him. “Wait …”
“Yep,” Terian said, nodding as Cyrus tumbled to the identity of first one, and then the other.
Cyrus shook his head, feeling stupid for not recognizing them sooner. “It’s really them, isn’t it?”
“Freshly captured from where they’d run, hiding out in Taymor,” Terian
pointed to the elven woman, “and Montis, respectively,” and drew his thin finger to the dwarf. “Said they’d run from Goliath, didn’t want to be part of it anymore.”
“Who could blame them?” Vara asked, staring down at the prisoners below. “I can’t imagine any reason I’d want to stay with those bandits.”
“Well, she did have a husband who I believe is still causing you quite a few problems,” Terian said with a smirk. “Apparently, her loyalty lost out on that one.”
“Hello, Tolada,” Cyrus said, calling down to the dwarf, who nodded his head in greeting. And then he swiveled his gaze to the elven woman, who looked positively broken as she stood there, staring up at him, all hope lost. “Greetings, Selene.” He felt a wicked smile split his lips. “I have … so many questions for you both.”
31.
“The thing you have to understand about Goliath and Malpravus,” Tolada said, chewing idly on what looked to be mushrooms swimming in some kind of fat, “is that everything that comes out of that necromancer’s mouth seems so damned reasonable when you’re hearing it. It’s only later, when you’re separated from the rest of the herd and you get a little time to reflect, that things start to unravel.”
“He casts a hell of a spell is what you’re saying.” Cyrus stood next to the long table, the courtyard emptied of all the prisoners save for Selene and Tolada, the guards having ushered them down the tunnels and back to work in order to give their Sovereign and his guests their privacy. Cyrus suspected there weren’t many options for interrogation rooms in this cool, damp warren of mines.
“No spells,” Tolada said, shaking his head, Cyrus’s subtle pun soaring over the dwarf’s head. “He doesn’t need a spell, because he tells people what they want to hear, and he does it so well that it took me years to realize exactly how bad he was putting me on.” He nodded at Selene. “She left before I did, maybe she got it quicker. Malpravus … he hones in on what’s important to people and then just holds it over your head, dangles it whenever he starts to sense your loyalty might be fading … ‘Oh, don’t forget, you’re so close to getting those mystical daggers you always wanted … I heard tell of a hammer that could make you a match for Cyrus Davidon … ’” Tolada harrumphed. “Meanwhile, behind our backs, he’s arranging goblins to raid plains shipping and striking pacts with the Dragonlord and the Sovereign of Saekaj, anything to increase his power a little.”
“Or a lot, in most of those cases,” Vara said, watching the dwarf eat with mounting disgust. She eyed him uneasily, his blackened beard coated with greasy residue. “What do you know of his most recent attempts at alliances?”
“I’ve been gone for years,” Tolada said, shrugging. “He tried to make inroads with the titans again, but that’s an old story. We killed a lot of dragonkin trying to turn their heads.”
“I suppose we should count ourselves fortunate he did not have any luck in that regard,” Vara said, “else it might have made our endeavors last year in the south much more arduous.”
“Indeed,” Cyrus said, shaking his head. “Anyone else, Tolada?”
Tolada shrugged. “Malpravus kept a line of communication open with Amarath’s Raiders. He and, uh … whathisface … the pretty boy with the scar, looks a little like you,” he nodded at Cyrus.
Cyrus frowned. “Tell you me you don’t mean Archenous Derregnault.”
“Yeah, that’s him,” Tolada said, cramming a piece of blackish bread in his mouth. “You’re like the spitting image of each other,” the dwarf said, speaking around the immense, partially chewed lump of food.
Cyrus cast his eyes sideways to Vara and found her still staring across the table at Tolada, her arms still crossed, but her cheeks burning in the lamplight. He started to say something, but Terian, perhaps sensing the direction he was going, spoke first.
“Selene,” Terian said, and the elven woman looked up at him with a timidity that reminded him of Larana, “when you last saw Goliath, what were they doing?”
She stared at them in frightened silence.
“Come on, now,” Tolada said, licking his lips. “What are they going to do if you tell them? Goliath probably already wants to bloody kill you for desertion. Can’t get much worse than that.”
Selene clamped her mouth shut, her lips pressed so tightly together that they turned white.
“Is that true?” Cyrus asked, watching her. Her eyes swiveled around to look at him. “They’re out to kill you?”
“Of course they are,” Tolada said, using a dirty finger to mop up some of the slop left on his plate. “Malpravus doesn’t truck with any sort of desertion. Disloyalty he’ll tolerate to a point, especially if you’re entertaining a better deal elsewhere, but none of us could get a better deal than safety in the belly of Goliath. We were all cast-outs from Reikonos and Pharesia, after all, and even the Dwarven Alliance looked at me askance last time I visited. Guards told me to leave, that I wasn’t welcome there. Goliath is a hated name all around Arkaria. Made me wish I’d gone with Partus when he asked me to.”
“Well, Partus and his entire group are dead,” Cyrus said, watching Tolada’s eyes widen at the mention, “so I’d say you dodged an arrow on that one.”
“Aye,” Tolada said with a nod. “I’d say so.” He licked his lips again. “Well, if there’s nothing else you need me for, there’s a tunnel caved in that I need to see to excavating.” He sniffed, seeming to enjoy the air. “I should have been a miner. It’s only after all this drudging madness these last few years that I see how good they’ve got it back home. No worries about where you’re going, who you’re going to have to fight … just good earth on your hands and in your beard, and honest labor to be done.”
Cyrus frowned at him. “You can … clear a cave-in?”
“Of course,” Tolada said, getting up off the bench onto his stubby legs. “Or at least a good miner can.” He grinned at Cyrus, white teeth gleaming beneath his black beard. “I wouldn’t recommend you try, you’d just get buried.” He laughed at his own joke and waddled off down a tunnel without looking back, humming some tune as he went.
“That is the happiest prisoner I’ve ever seen down here,” Terian mused as Tolada disappeared into the dark. “Remind me to cut rations or something.”
“Oh, you’re a bloody wonderful holy warrior,” Vara said.
“Well, I’m also a Sovereign of a nation of—let’s just say it—angry, bitter, vengeful elves.” He smirked. “It’s in our very nature, the darkness, and while I’m trying my best to be better, I take my role as ruler here very seriously, including the crime and punishment segment of my duties.”
“What did Goliath’s members do to deserve this internment?” Vara asked stiffly, looking at the silent Selene, whose eyes were now back upon the table.
“Didn’t you know?” Terian spoke acidly. “Malpravus tried to take over Saekaj Sovar. After the Sovereign left, he took over the army of the undead and attempted to invade us so he could seize power. Almost succeeded, too. Goliath is an enemy of the state here, as are all its past and present members.” He glared at Selene. “I doubt she was around for that, but I can’t be sure, and she won’t talk. I’ll let Tolada go if he wants to, once Goliath is finished, but her … she’s going to be in here forever unless she cooperates, because we lost a lot of lives in my nation thanks to Goliath’s efforts.”
“I wasn’t around for that,” Selene said quietly, her eyes unmoving. “I wasn’t around for any of the war. I wasn’t even in Taymor for long before your people dragged me away. I was just trying to get back to the Kingdom.”
“Where you could … serve out a prison sentence there?” Terian asked.
“I don’t think they would have caught me,” she mumbled. Her tone was muted. “The Kingdom isn’t looking for former Goliath members, they’re more focused on the officers. I could have made it.”
“I’m more than happy to arrange transport for you,” Terian said, leaning back a little. “But if you can’t even answer a question or two, I think you
might be here for quite some time.” He grinned at her. “How’s the food?”
She looked up at him with desperate loathing. “Terrible.”
“Good,” Terian said, nodding with satisfaction. “Maybe I won’t cut rations after all. I think Tolada’s just a weirdo, probably the exception to the rule that gets a strange charge out of being here, like Grinnd—”
“What can you tell us about what Goliath is up to?” Vara asked, causing Selene to stare down at the table once more. “Why did you leave?”
“Why wouldn’t I leave?” Selene asked, speaking like her mouth was full of food even though Cyrus hadn’t seen her put so much as a speck in since his arrival. “Dragging myself through the Bandit Lands with them was not exactly the life I sought when Orion and I joined them.”
“What were you expecting?” Cyrus asked with no small amount of amusement. “You and Orion made a failed pact with the Dragonlord, and then he helped scheme to dishonor Sanctuary—your former guild, I might add, you traitorous—” Cyrus stopped himself before appending a judgmental title, and took a moment to breathe and get control of himself. “What did you think was going to happen?”
“I thought we were going to best you,” Selene said, looking up at him with hatred in her eyes. “I thought we were going to get what we wanted when we let the Dragonlord free. But we didn’t. You saw to that. You left Orion so ripped apart, his face—” She shuddered. “I couldn’t even look at him after that. He expected me to share a bed with him, looking like—like a monster.” She shook her head, and dust fell from her hair, puffing in the dim light. “I didn’t even know about the plan with the goblins. We barely spoke by then. When you and your friends forced us into exile, Malpravus led us into the Bandit Lands.” She looked at him with loathing. “Do you even know what it’s like down there? A hundred of our people died in an old temple when the Avatar of the God of Death rose up and killed us.”
Cyrus felt unbridled amusement break across his face. “Did he now? That was … fortuitous.”
Heretic (The Sanctuary Series Book 7) Page 19