Under the hood, the figure next to him nodded subtly and gently pressed through the crowd. The cloak was a flowing green, and the hands that extended from beneath it were golden, skin smooth and supple. They did not shove their way roughly through the crowd but touched lightly upon shoulders, causing people to turn, to be stunned, and to step out of the way with a bow, practically falling over themselves to clear a path to the table at the center of the room.
It was a short journey, and Cyrus watched it happen, even as most of the room, unaware of this passage, dissolved into shouts and jeers, calls for war, and angry dissembling. It was only when the cloaked figure reached the center of the room that the cries finally began to dissolve.
The cowl came back, the delicate hands lifting it back to reveal dark and shining hair, crowned by a vine with flowers as its jewels, and eyes as green as spring, almost alive as the grasses of the plains, that flashed as they looked over the crowd. The figure cast a slow gaze around the entire throne room, and every single voice was quelled in an instant.
“The Goddess,” Cyrus heard someone in front of him say in awe.
“Life-Mother,” another whispered. The room rustled as prayers were murmured and countless elves knelt in the presence of their deity. Cyrus remained standing in his place at the back of the room, as did Vara, in the center, and Fortin. Cattrine and Longwell stayed seated, but every other Lord and Lady knelt before the presence of Vidara, the Goddess of Life.
51.
“War is antithetical to life,” Vidara said in a slow voice, the words dropping gently from her mouth. Cyrus was reminded of the slow bloom of a flower over the course of days, the petals separating to reveal the beauty within. “I hear calls in this chamber, among my people, for war in your own lands … and it fills me with sorrow.”
“No!” Denunciations swept through the throne room from countless bowed heads. “No war!”
That might have been the fastest an angry mob has ever turned peaceful, Cyrus thought, seeing the red-faced young man who’d first called for war now shaking his head vehemently and renouncing his position of only a moment earlier.
“I am pleased to hear you say that,” Vidara said, strolling toward the head of the table, now abandoned by Iraid in his rush to get to a knee. “For you are all my children, and the thought of you fighting … I can scarcely bear.” She slowly paced her way to Vara, giving her a careful look. “Shelas’akur.”
“All-Mother,” Vara said with a quick bow of the head.
“This is my creation,” Vidara said, running thin fingers through Vara’s hair, studying the fine blond strands. “My blessing, given out for you. Danay attempted to destroy her in a fit of pique.” The Goddess of Life’s gaze became dangerous, Cyrus thought, like a thorny vine, or a storm that darkened the sky. “I find this … unacceptable. This is a child of wonder, a prize ripped from the grip of Death, who tried his utmost to tear my people down into his abyss. To attack her, to kill her, would be sacrilege.”
“Sacrilege,” came a low, repeated mutter through the crowd.
“Your Leagues …” Vidara said more sharply, “… they have grown wild and impetuous, like a forest undergrowth that must be burned lest greater conflagrations result. They would have you do this thing in their names, but not mine. They would have you kill my blessing and kill her husband.” She gave the crowd a hard look. “I would have you not.” She surveyed the crowd imperiously, and the green eyes glowed as she swept them. “Which side would you choose?”
There was a long moment of silence, or so it seemed to Cyrus, before the crowd answered in what sounded like a thousand voices. “No!” “Of course not!” “Absolutely not!” “No …”
“I see I still have faithful here,” Vidara said, nodding slowly as she looked into the hopeful eyes of the crowd. “I was afraid after Danay that I had lost this Kingdom forever.” This pronouncement seemed to land like a barrel of Dragon’s Breath, compelling looks of shock from nearly the entirety of the crowd. “Choose your leaders more wisely next time, my children. For none of you is born greater than any other—” there was another stir among the crowd, “—from the perceived low to the thought-of high, I recognize no difference. I care not for the gold you keep in your accounts, nor the estate you maintain in the country. I care about life and your goodness to life, and if you spit from on high to a beggar who is low, then I say that you, truly, are lower than the one you spit upon.”
“But … but …” The red-faced young man seemed to sputter. “But we are … highborn.”
Cyrus couldn’t help but smile. Vara was right, as usual … I didn’t think anyone would be stupid enough to say it, but there we go …
Vidara’s eyes flashed in anger, the green turning harder, darkening like storm clouds, and her gaze fixed upon the young noble who had spoken. “Is that all that matters to you, then? That when you were born it was here in a palace and when they were born it was in a field? The miracle of life is not less because it comes in a field.” The Goddess of Life seemed to draw up, increasing in height by a full head as the anger settled upon her. “Very well, then. I see now that letting you have your titles and self-importance and trusting you would not abuse them was a foolish error.” Her voice crackled like thunder. “There will be no more distinctions among my brood. Your titles no longer matter, whether you be Lord or peasant. There will be no more castes. You will live in this land—my land—as though all of you were exactly the same. The low may rise to rule and the high are not guaranteed not to fall just by birth. Am I understood?”
The silence was horror, Cyrus realized, one chubby royal a few feet away from him on all fours, mouth agape, gasps making their way out of his lips every few seconds. Another, a woman, was on her knees, back arched, eyes wide, hand in front of her mouth, staring at the Goddess of Life as though she’d just been struck.
“There will be no more Kings,” Vidara said, her voice taking on a storm-like quality as she spoke. “The people in this place will choose their leader, it will not come by right of blood. Your royalty is worth no more to me or this land than the blood of a peasant, who is your brother in my name if not your own acknowledgment.” Vidara whirled on the red-faced man in the front row, her cloak whipping behind her. “You understand this now?”
He nodded, once, his face an ashen grey. All he could do was nod furiously, over and over.
“No more royals,” Vidara said again. “No more war against my people. You will only take up arms against those who attack you, and not against guests in this land.” She took a step over to Cattrine and laid a hand upon her shoulder, stroking the chestnut hair. “For these are my people now, too, and are under my protection.” She strode around to Cora and gave her shoulder a caress as well. “No matter how far you wander, you are my children, and you should care for each other, regardless of distance. All who threaten my own risk my peril. For life may be generous or treacherous, full of joy or pain, and I assure you of this: if you defy my word, you will find yourself cast out of my grace, and you will receive the latter—as Danay did.” At this, she showed her teeth, and Cyrus had a vision of a predatory cat, ready to leap into its prey, her beautiful face turned ugly and horrible in an instant.
Silence reigned for almost a full ten seconds after this proclamation, and then Vidara settled her gaze on Cyrus, at the back of the room. “Take care of my precious gift, Cyrus Davidon.” Every head in the room turned to follow the Goddess of Life’s attention. “Let no harm come to her.”
“I’ll do what she’ll let me,” Cyrus said, and Vara cast him a look of grudging irritation. The rest of the chamber was silent, but they were all watching.
“Be in peace with yourselves, my children,” Vidara said, drawing her cloak around her, “or you will find yourselves at war with me.” And with that, Cyrus watched her vanish in the soft glow of white light, leaving a speechless chamber of equals behind her.
52.
“I never really appreciated the view from up here,” Terian said as they st
ared off the north balcony of the Tower of the Guildmaster. Cyrus stood next to him with Vara on the other side, and Kahlee next to Terian. They were all looking out over the sunlit day on the Plains, nearly a week after the convocation of the elves. No reprisal had come to Emerald Fields; the new ruling council had, in fact, dispersed the elven army back to their original posts, with widespread proclamations made of the Kingdom’s rejection of the League dictates against Sanctuary. Cyrus had seen them, written in the script of the elven language. He didn’t fully understand it all, finding their language much easier in the hearing than writing and reading, but Vara had been smiling when she’d brought it to him, and it sounded very much like the coalition against Sanctuary had lost a rather sizable ally. “I mean, our officer quarters were only one floor down,” the Sovereign of Saekaj went on, his helm tucked under his arm, “but the windows are so much smaller, I feel like it’s hard to get full enjoyment of it without this sweeping balcony.”
“Yes, it’s a shame that Alaric never invited you up here,” Vara said.
“Don’t pretend you got invited up here, either,” Terian said, a little sourly. “I know you two were the favorites, but—”
“I never got invited up here,” Cyrus said, leaning against the railing, scraping stone against his bracers. “I’ll admit it. Never really looked out my window in the officer quarters, either. It’s not really the same.”
“That’s what I’m saying,” Terian agreed, pointing toward the Waking Woods to the northeast. “I mean, look at that. You can even see the old temple from here.”
Kahlee peered into the green lands ahead. “What old temple?”
“The old temple that Yartraak and Mortus’s followers built over there,” Terian said, leaning closer to her and pointing. “It’s peeking out of the forest, just barely visible over the trees, see? It’s not far from where we used to hunt ghouls.” Cyrus followed his pointing fingers and saw the tip of a stone pyramid barely visible in the green sea of the Waking Woods.
“You and Cyrus used to hunt ghouls?” Kahlee asked. “Or you and Vara?”
“Both, at various depressing points in their lives,” Terian said with an easy grin. He withdrew his hand lazily. “So, you’re not drifting aimlessly now that you’ve managed this first success, are you? Because remember, I warned you about that.”
“I’m meeting with Governor Reynard Coulton of the Southern Reaches in one week,” Cyrus said, frowning at the light rebuke. “Haven’t heard back from Waterman yet. Cattrine was trying to get something set up with her as well, but Coulton seems to have taken my offer kindly enough.”
“Yes, hopefully there won’t be horrible death waiting for you at the meeting point,” Vara said, still staring out over the plains.
“A very real danger with all of our meetings, unfortunately,” Cyrus said as a thump came from within the Tower of the Guildmaster, causing Vara to jump at the sound.
“Nothing to panic about,” Vaste announced, stepping out of the stairwell. J’anda, Longwell and Cattrine were behind him, the dragoon easing his way up tentatively, as if uncertain if he were stepping into a place where he would be welcome. He had a curious awe in his eyes as he looked around, and Cyrus tried to remember if he’d ever invited Longwell up to the tower before. “It’s just us.”
“Plenty of cause for concern, then,” Vara said, coming off the balcony railing and looking impishly at them.
“Oh, ha ha,” Vaste said, adding in the measured applause of his ham-like hands thundering one against the other for a few claps. “You know, I think your poor sense of humor is the reason we’re down to four hundred and ninety-one guildmates.”
“Looks like we have a guest,” Terian said, staring right at Longwell.
“Samwen will be joining our confidences from here on,” Cattrine said, laying a hand on Longwell’s shoulder. “We couldn’t have pulled off the convocation success without his knowing assistance as Lord of Emerald Fields.”
“Did we also have the knowing assistance of Lord Fortin of Rockridge?” Cyrus asked, frowning. “Because—”
“No,” Cattrine said, with the hint of a smile on her lips, “Fortin is merely exceptionally good at taking simple instruction and expressing righteous indignation when his friends and allies are maligned.”
“We’re still losing people?” Cyrus ignored everything else said as the singular piece of news mentioned by Vaste struck him hard. “Even after—”
“The Human Confederation is the largest power and they are still quite upset with us, for heresy and whatnot,” J’anda said, shrugging. “And it’s not as though we have announced the sudden reduction in hostilities. People here still believe all Arkaria is against us, or near enough as not to matter. I have even heard rumors that the dwarves and gnomes have been offered inducement to join the alliance against us.”
“Where did you hear that?” Vara asked.
“Just rumors floating around,” J’anda said.
“They’re not rumors,” Terian said, shaking his head. “They’re absolutely true, but the neither the dwarves nor the gnomes are particularly motivated by the prize being offered.”
That floated around in the tower for a moment as they fell into silence. “What are they being offered?” Vara asked, sounding quite stricken.
“The Plains of Perdamun,” Terian said with just a hint of hesitation. He paused, adjusted his helm against his side with a clink, then went on. “Because if they help get rid of you, then—”
“The plains will be empty of my claim,” Cyrus said, feeling like ice water had been poured down his back. “No more Lord of Perdamun, though I’m sure they’ve vacated that title already.”
“Only the humans, now,” Terian said with a tight smile, “and you’ve got an in for taking care of that problem. If you can remove them, it’s a fair fight.”
“I don’t think we can call any fight in which Goliath participates ‘fair,’” Vaste said. “Unless it’s all of them, weighed down in full armor, hands bound and with eight anvils lashed to each of their legs, fighting against the Torrid Sea from fifteen miles off the coast. I would consider that very ‘fair’ indeed, and it would in fact make my day, week, month, year and possibly lifetime.”
“As you can see, Longwell,” Cyrus said, giving Vaste a look, “we’re a very serious lot around here, just like in the other Council.”
“I’ll confess to being a bit unsurprised that you’re doing some under-the-table plotting even after your denials,” Longwell said, a guarded gaze running over the little group, “but I am a bit surprised at the scope of it. I assumed you were up to planning some great battle with our allies, some way to rain down a strategic defeat on them with a—I don’t know, a bombardment with our siege machines.”
“Well, Forrestant left months ago, along with most of his corps,” Cyrus said, “so that leaves us in a poor position to bombard anyone who’s not just standing idle outside our walls where the damned machinery is already pointed.” He shook his head, placing a hand behind him on the railing and leaning back. “No, this is just us, taking treachery to new lows in pursuit of defeating the forces arrayed against us.”
“Good,” Longwell said with a curt nod.
Cyrus raised an eyebrow. “You think that’s good?”
Longwell gave him a wary look in return. “I think it’s a fair sight better than just standing around here, waiting for these treacherous arseholes to come sweeping down on us to finish things.”
“Speaking of treacherous arseholes,” Vaste said, “what do you suppose Malpravus and Amarath’s Raiders are up to?” He looked around the small circle. “I can’t imagine after this elven defeat they’re going to just hold off on marching on our gates.”
“They’re almost entirely reliant on the human army,” Terian said, watching Vaste carefully. “Without the humans, they’d be vulnerable to us on a pure numbers basis, even with Sanctuary shrinking like a nipple in the winter air.”
J’anda frowned. “I don’t …” He shook hi
s head. “Never mind. If you could mobilize your entire army, we would perhaps be on even footing, numbers-wise. But you cannot, because of the sabotage, yes?”
“You’re right, we can’t,” Terian said with a nod, “but there are also political considerations going into deploying that human army that keep them from simply doing it. My feeling is that Pretnam Urides has been holding off because he was certain you’d continue to grow weaker, not stronger, and that he wanted you as vulnerable as possible before making his move. He did just come out of a war that ended in rather a lot of casualties for the Confederation. And he and Danay were ultimately running this show, not Malpravus. They rule countries; Malpravus rules a small army that’s dependent on those countries for supplies, lest his strength waste away and his people desert like—” Terian stopped, glancing briefly at Cyrus. “Well, you know.”
“All too well,” Cyrus said.
“Urides was waiting for Emerald Fields to get their comeuppance, and for us, the dark elves, to be removed from the field by that sneak attack, I presume,” Terian said.
“Or possibly something else still waiting to be unleashed?” J’anda asked.
“That’s a frightening thought,” Cattrine said.
“It’s a very Goliath way of doing things,” Vaste said.
“I wouldn’t count on them just sitting around passively waiting for us to keel over,” Vara said.
“Yeah, they have to be working on something,” Cyrus said. “The question is … what?”
“I don’t know,” Terian said, shaking his head. “I have no inkling of what Urides is up to, other than generally managing the Confederation and possibly the Leagues in human territory. He’s a very sneaky person, tough to surveil with any reliability. We have a few paid spies in his employ, but they’re all very much at a distance, and word is that Urides keeps even his inner circle at arm’s length. It doesn’t help that he’s a wizard, because he can come and go as he damned well pleases without having to ask anyone’s assistance or permission.” Terian smirked. “Something to keep in mind when you go to kill him.”
Heretic (The Sanctuary Series Book 7) Page 31