Heretic (The Sanctuary Series Book 7)

by Robert J. Crane

  “Good to see you didn’t meet your end at the tender mercies of Pretnam Urides’s mercenary army,” Cyrus said, nodding to the troll corpses and the chunks of Archenous Derregnault that littered the bailey.

  “No,” Frost said, surveying the mess with a vaguely disgusted look. “We heard them coming through the streets and closed the gates. It would have been impossible to miss them, the savages—”

  “Urides sent them,” Cyrus said, cutting him off with but a word, “and he’s bound to send more when he finds out he’s failed.” Cyrus took a deep breath. “You need to come with us. Right now.”

  Frost looked at the assorted forces in his courtyard, frowning. “Well—but—I can take my guard, can’t I?”

  “No,” Cyrus said, peering at him through nearly shut eyes. “I can’t take a chance that any of them is a traitor that will turn on my people while I’m off settling this. You’ll be under my protection, hidden behind the impregnable walls of Sanctuary if you come with us. You’re on your own if not. Make a decision quickly.”

  Frost opened his mouth, but the indecision went from sputtering to rage to acceptance in a blink as the man calculated his odds and fiddled with the light furs on his back. “Yes, fine,” he spat, “I’m much better off with you than without, even that much is apparent to me. But how long will it be until—”

  “We’ll talk about it later,” Cyrus said, crossing over to him and taking hold of the man. “Council—we have a meeting when we return. Mendicant—get our people out of here. We can’t stay, lest Urides send Goliath or his own people are drawn after us like lightning to a tall tree.” The goblin nodded, and began to cast a spell. He turned to Terian. “Might want to orchestrate your own retreat.”

  “Way ahead of you there,” Terian said with a grin. “We’ll make sure the Luukessians get home as well.” He whipped a hand through the air at his troops that stood in the bailey behind him. “Come on, you lot, let’s clean up this mess.” With that, he walked back out through the shattered drawbridge, and Cyrus could see solid ice frozen over the filthy moat.

  “Come along, Governor Frost,” Cyrus said with a smirk and cast the return spell.

  “What?” Frost blinked as Cyrus grabbed him. “What are y—”

  But the rest was lost to the energies of magic, as they were swept back to the Tower of the Guildmaster in the crackling frenzy of the spell.

  65.

  Cyrus and Allyn Frost reappeared in the Tower of the Guildmaster, followed a moment later by Vara, still coated from boot to helm in vile liquids that Cyrus could no longer differentiate. There was crimson, yellow, dark blue, and many others, smearing her all the way to the exposed hanks of her hair that stuck out the sides of her helm.

  “You look like you jumped in the trash dump outside Reikonos,” Cyrus mumbled after looking her over.

  “I don’t bloody well care,” she said, smiling as she pushed her hand down on the hilt of her sword, touching it in the way he remembered grasping Praelior when he’d first gotten it. “That … was worth every bit of it.”

  “Indeed?” Allyn Frost asked her with arched eyebrows. “I am glad we could oblige you with your vengeance, whatever your disagreement with that fellow in my bailey, but I find myself somewhat worried about—”

  “Stow your worries under your hat,” Cyrus said a little nastily, causing Frost to flush and grab for the fur-covered monstrosity that hid his baldness. He clutched at it then yanked his hands away the moment he realized what he was doing, and Cyrus grinned at him. “Come along; we need to talk with our Council.”

  Cyrus led the way, down the stairs and out of the door. Just as Vara had started to shut it behind her, with Frost between the two of them, the sound of a spell just inside the door gave them pause.

  “Is that …?” Cyrus asked, frowning past Frost to look at Vara.

  “Just us,” Terian said, grabbing the door and pulling it open to reveal Kahlee standing there next to him. “I heard you say ‘council meeting,’ so of course I came running …”

  “I meant the other council,” Cyrus said, frowning, “but I suppose this involves you, too, so you might as well come.” He looked straight at the Sovereign of Saekaj. “I think the moment has come to combine our efforts.”

  “Tired of secrecy, eh?” Terian asked with a smirk as they all headed down the stairs. The sound of movement below, in the officer quarters, preceded them, and when they reached that floor Cyrus saw Menlos and Calene threading their way down the steps to the Council Chamber and followed them, reaching it a few seconds after they did.

  When he came through the doors, the hearths were lit and the room was near-full, with all but Mendicant and Scuddar in their normal places or about to take them.

  “Calene,” Cyrus said just as the ranger was about to pull out her seat, “I have need of both Reynard Coulton and Karrin Waterman, both of whom should be here in Sanctuary somewhere.”

  Calene froze, half bent to sit. “Uhrm … are they anywhere in particular, or do you need me to search the entire place, from tower to foyer?”

  “You’ll have to go a floor lower to find Coulton,” Cyrus said, “as I had one of our warriors lock him in the dungeon for safekeeping. As for Waterman …” he shrugged. “Ask Larana. I sent her to get the woman.”

  “You mean to keep us in the dungeon?” Frost asked in outrage as he stood in the middle of the chamber, between the door and the table, clearly unsure of his place in all this. He fiddled with his furs, which were lighter than the ones he’d worn when last Cyrus had seen him. Must be his summer ensemble.

  “I mean to keep you safe,” Cyrus said, dangerously enough that Frost rubbed his hands against his furs to smooth them again. “Which is more than I can say for what Pretnam Urides means to do with you.”

  “Well, I—” Frost blinked.

  “The dungeons are very comfortable,” Cyrus said, waving him off. “I stayed in them myself for months, they’re practically like our regular accommodations save for the isolation. Also, we’ll be assigning either a rock giant or a troll to watch over you, so you should feel quite secure.”

  Ryin looked up at this, still grey in the face. “You … you mean to trust the trolls? After what happened?”

  “Zarnn fought by our sides,” Vara said, unceremoniously depositing her filthy helm on the table. “He killed three of the traitor trolls himself, with his bare hands. Seemed to take personal offense to their betrayal.”

  “As do I,” Ryin said a little saltily, cradling his still-bloodied head. “Where did they come from?”

  Cyrus shook his head. “I should have realized it before, but one of them was an officer of Endeavor named Grunt. I’d met the bastard, but …”

  “But we all look alike to you, don’t we?” Vaste asked, more than a little taunting.

  “You didn’t know it was him either, numpty,” Vara shot at him.

  “It was the beard,” Vaste said with a broad shrug of the shoulders. “It was very distracting.”

  “So …” J’anda said, “… is our battle with Amarath’s Raiders at an end? Or merely a middle?”

  “I can’t say for certain,” Vara said, looking down at the miasma of gore on her armor, “but I believe that might have been the end of it. I believe their officers spearheaded the assault on Governor Shite-for-brains’s keep—”

  “My name is Frost!” Frost shouted.

  Vara dismissed him with a wave. “If we did get all of them, or even nearly, they might not be able to muster much in the way of leadership, which means—”

  “So long as someone doesn’t step in to provide it,” Cyrus finished, “that might be another course off our plate.”

  “Or another needle-quill out of our arses,” Vaste said, nodding. “I speak from experience in this matter, having once had my plump, delicious arse filled with—”

  “So then what about the matter of Reikonos?” Menlos asked, looking a little flushed still from the battle. The Northman seemed to have taken it personally, and his colo
ration showed his anger. “What do we do here? Why are they sending these bastards into their own cities, after their own governors? I mean, they’re invading their own lands!”

  “There’s some tension between Reikonos and the districts,” Cyrus said, looking at Frost. “And, to be mercilessly frank—”

  “I would prefer you be mercilessly Cyrus,” Vaste said, “but if you’re in the mood for whimsy, I suppose I can call you Frank. Though it’s such an old-fashioned name, no one has called their child that in an elf’s age—”

  “—we’ve been aiming to exploit that to our advantage,” Cyrus said, ignoring the troll. “Frost here says that the Confederation army is made up almost entirely of conscripts from his district as well as those of Governors Coulton and Waterman. If we can remove Pretnam Urides—”

  “You mean … kill?” Erith asked, wide-eyed.

  “—and the Council of Twelve,” Cyrus went on, “then the three of them will call back their armies and withdraw from the Confederation, causing enough chaos that it’s unlikely they’ll be able to oppose us any longer.”

  “Leaving us with one problem to deal with,” Vara finished.

  “Goliath,” J’anda said.

  “Goliath,” Terian agreed.

  “Utter lack of intelligent troll beauties within easy traveling distance,” Vaste said, shaking his head sadly. He waited for everyone to look at him. “Also, Goliath.”

  “And how long have you been up to this?” Ryin asked, frowning, leaning on the table. His elbow ran along the wood, leaving flecks of dried blood. “Driving wedges in the Confederation? Making pacts with its governors to split it up?”

  “Months and months now,” Cyrus said, and a chorus of angry voice was raised a mere moment later. “What? Before you were worried I wasn’t doing anything—”

  “No,” Ryin said with barely concealed fury, “we were worried that you were scheming against the Council, outside the Council, which it turns out you were—”

  “Because we had traitors among us!” Cyrus said, flinging a hand out. “Unless you forgot, in the midst of that crack on the head, that it was one of them that did it to you—”

  “It did not escape my notice, no,” Ryin said, reddening further, “but that doesn’t excuse you excluding the Council because you feared traitors within the guild—”

  “There could very well be traitors in this room,” Terian said, lingering near the hearth behind Longwell’s seat, Kahlee at his side. “I have quite a few spies in your ranks—not in the Council, because I don’t need them—but spies inherited from the old Sovereign’s service—”

  “And what is he doing here?” Ryin asked, throwing a hand to gesture at Terian. “He’s not of the Council—”

  Terian rolled his eyes. “As if being one of your staunchest allies isn’t enough? Geez, Ryin, I was Elder of this guild before you’d even heard the name Sanctuary.”

  “And you left after betraying our Guildmaster,” Ryin said, stiffening in his seat. He looked at Cyrus. “I realize we need the dark elves’ help, but—I mean, really, you’re taking counsel—or should I say, Council—from him?”

  “I take it wherever I can get it, provided it’s good counsel,” Cyrus said. “For example, Aisling has also been advising us—”

  “What the perfunctory hell?” Erith asked, rising to her feet. She pointed a finger at Terian and then J’anda, in turn. “I realize that these loons needed her help for Saekaj, but you? Really?” She seemed particularly blue, a darker hue than usual, and she looked at him with her eyes wide with what appeared to be surprise and disgust. “What are you playing at, Cyrus?”

  “I can see you’re in the middle of something rather important here,” Allyn Frost said, raising a hand. “I’ll just, uh—see myself out—”

  “See yourself being dissolved in one of Pretnam Urides’s fire spells,” Cyrus shot back at him, halting Frost’s motion cold. “Stand your ass right there until I tell you when you can move.”

  Frost blinked, insulted. “You can’t talk to me like this. Why, I’m—”

  “You’re the rather amazing dumbass who flaunted his power over me when I stood before you not that long ago,” Cyrus said coldly, and the room fell silent around them. “Now your life is in my hands, and I’m giving you a little taste of it in return. Don’t fret, though, I plan to make sure you stay safe.”

  “So that’s how it is,” Frost said, pawing at his furs.

  “Damned right,” Terian said mildly. “This is the greatest warrior in Arkaria, right here, and until recently he had an army that would have turned your entire army into a mess like your bailey back at home. Hell, he still might.” Terian eyed Cyrus’s belt. “Nice hilt, by the way. Does that come with a new sword attached to it, or do the rumorers lie for once?”

  Cyrus pulled out Rodanthar. It gleamed in the firelight from the torches and hearths as he waved it in front of him. “I went to grab my sword this morning in Idiarna and this came out.” He watched it gleam before his eyes as it held the attention of all in the room. “Any idea how my father’s sword got in my scabbard?”

  “Unfortunately, I don’t,” Terian said with a shake of the head. “But I heard you used it to give my old flame Sareea hell. I do appreciate that favor—”

  “Sareea?” Kahlee asked, speaking into the quiet. “That cow?”

  “She’s with Goliath,” Terian said. “One of the few officers they have left now that you’ve killed Orion and taken Carrack.”

  “We’ll deal with them later,” Cyrus said, waving Rodanthar once more before the council. “Anyone else care to speculate how this got into my scabbard? If anyone wants to take credit, I’ll give them a warm, sloppy kiss.”

  “Well, that’s reason enough for me to disclaim any knowledge,” Vaste said. “But truly, I know nothing about it save for that it looks very pretty.”

  “It is a very nice sword,” J’anda said, eyeing Rodanthar, “and all the better looking for having saved my skin from being peeled from my body this very day.”

  “This is quite a banner day,” Menlos said, eyeing the sword. “Goliath takes one in the chin, Amarath’s Raiders get knocked more or less out of the fight, apparently, and this on top of the elves bowing out.” He shook his head. “What next?”

  “He already told you,” Vaste said, annoyed, “killing the Council of Twelve.”

  “The shite you say!” Menlos said, rising to his feet abruptly. “I thought he was kidding!”

  “I didn’t say that, exactly, but I’m not kidding,” Cyrus said as the door opened and Mendicant came in, Scuddar behind him.

  “Calene’s right behind us,” Mendicant said, taking his seat between Menlos and Ryin, “she had to stop on the stairs with one of her charges.”

  “Which one?” Cyrus asked, watching Scuddar take his seat next to Vaste, the desert man adjusting his robes as he did so.

  “Coulton, I think his name was?” Mendicant’s goblin face was screwed up in concentration. “The male one. I think. Did I miss anything?”

  “Well,” Ryin said before anyone else could speak, “Cyrus admitted he’s been conspiring with some of the governors of the Confederation’s outlying regions to overthrow the Council of Twelve without our knowledge. So you missed that.”

  “Kill them,” Erith said nervously. “He said kill them.”

  “No, you said kill them,” J’anda said. “He danced around it like one of the young men at the Peg House in Termina.” When everyone turned to stare at him, he shrugged, tossing his grey hair, unashamed. “I don’t care what anyone thinks anymore.”

  “You’ve been conspiring to kill the Council of Twelve?” Scuddar asked, his eyes squinted from where he sat.

  “I have,” Cyrus said, looking right at the man of the desert.

  Scuddar leaned back and laced his fingers together over his stomach. “Good.”

  Ryin blinked. “Good?”

  Scuddar shrugged. “The Confederation has never been particularly kind to my people, and it all flow
s from Reikonos.”

  Ryin’s eyes widened, and he turned to Mendicant. “And what do you say?”

  Mendicant looked like he’d been caught with a finger in a hard pincer. “Urhm … oh. Uh. Well … all right.”

  Calene cracked open the door and stepped in, Reynard Coulton huffing behind her and an older woman with steel grey hair following in his wake. She let them both step in and shut the door behind her.

  “And what do you think of all this?” Ryin hurled at her as Calene froze as though she’d just been hit in the face.

  “Uhh … what is that?” Calene asked.

  “We’re killing the Council of Twelve,” Ryin said. “What do you think of it?”

  Calene frowned thoughtfully. “Better them than us.” And she moved to take her seat.

  “The hell,” Ryin said, sagging against his bloody-covered hands. “Apparently no one is offended that you’re scheming rebellion.”

  “You aren’t really offended that he’s planning it,” Vaste said, goading the druid and causing him to look up with a little fire in his eyes, “you’re really just mad he didn’t trust you enough to include you.”

  Ryin opened his mouth to respond but then deflated. “Shouldn’t we all be?”

  “I don’t know,” Vaste said, eyes gleaming, “but if you feel like being tossed over a parapet by a troll is bad, you should see what happens when Goliath pins you against a wall while your back is turned. Because that’s what nearly happened today, and that’s with our plans carefully hidden to all but a few.”

  “Wait … so there was scheming going on?” Calene asked, frowning.

  “Yes, yes,” Vaste said, “pay attention. Honestly, you people are so far behind.”

  “Perhaps because we were left behind,” Ryin snapped, slapping his hand against the table. The sound reverberated in the chamber.