“If you feel betrayed now,” Vaste said, barely concealing a smirk, “imagine how you’ll feel when you find out Cyrus was the one who killed King Danay!”
Cyrus whipped his head around at the grinning troll as the chamber exploded once more.
“I should have known,” Erith said, burying her face in her hands.
“—didn’t need to do that,” J’anda said to Vaste.
“It was so fun, though!” Vaste replied to the enchanter.
“God of Winter!” Menlos said in a thundering voice.
“I knew it!” Ryin said, pointing a finger right at Cyrus. “I damned well knew—”
“You don’t know a damned thing, come off it,” Vaste wheeled on Ryin.
“I miss this,” Terian said to Kahlee with a deep sigh of regret. “Meetings like this, with all the jests and emotions flying across the table—”
“Excuse me,” Karrin Waterman said, clumped into a knot with her fellow governors. “If I might—”
Cyrus slammed a hand against the table and quieted them all, rattling Vara’s helm from the force of his blow. His own helm still sat atop his head because there were strangers in the room. “We have guests,” he said.
“Sorry to interrupt what sounds like a family quarrel,” Waterman said, the wrinkles beneath her eyes creasing as she spoke, “but I’m afraid I’m not sure exactly what’s going on here, or what’s to happen. Your, ahh, druid abducted me without giving me much in the way of context for our current … situation.”
“We’re going to kill the Council of Twelve for you,” Vaste said cheerily. “And you’re going to withdraw from the Confederation.”
Waterman pursed her lips, her face a steely mask. “And why would I do this? I mean, I can see the obvious benefit to you, but we’re a key district of the Confederation. Why would I embroil myself in your conflict?”
“Because Urides is going to kill you if you don’t dance to his tune, Karrin,” Frost said, adjusting his hat.
“He leaned on me,” Coulton said, “and threatened—well, he had no end of threats. We’re going to lose everything, Karrin.” He licked his lips. “Hang together on this or else he’ll execute us one by one, just like Bentsen, Smoot, and Hawthorne.”
Despite Frost and Coulton’s words, Karrin Waterman looked utterly unflappable. “What you’re proposing is preposterous.”
“Without Urides and his puppet council,” Coulton said, “we can do as we damned well please, for who’s to stop us?”
Waterman took her time delivering a very great sigh. “Yes, Coulton, of course, but … you fool, it can’t be done.” She looked right at Cyrus. “I’m sorry, but killing Pretnam Urides is—despite your obviously formidable reputation—well, it’s impossible, even for you.”
“Why?” Cyrus asked, putting his gauntleted hands flat on the table.
“Because Pretnam Urides is surely shut tightly up in the Citadel at the moment,” Waterman said, watching him shrewdly, “where none but an army can reach him, and while I’m certain your very good friends the dark elves and the folk of Emerald Fields are quite strong, you’ll need to fight your way through the streets of Reikonos while our army surges in after you in order to reach him.” She folded her arms in front of her. “You’d be killed in the process. Or would you?” She raised an eyebrow at him.
“What does that even mean?” Coulton asked, clearly flabbergasted. “If he has to go through all that, clearly he’ll be killed, I don’t know what you’re thinking—don’t know what I was thinking, either …”
Gods, Cyrus thought, his mouth going dry as he realized it at last. She’s right. Without Curatio …
“We can make it into the Citadel without stepping foot in Reikonos,” Mendicant said. “We’ll just use the portal that empties right into the Citadel’s basement.” He received the stares of everyone in the room. “The one that leads to the higher realms?”
“Yes, we know which one you’re talking about, Mendicant,” Cyrus said patiently, “but unfortunately, much like the portal in Saekaj, we can’t access it now that Curatio is gone. No one knows the spell.”
“We’ve got that portal working, actually,” Terian said. “The elves helped us crack it. Turns out the spells are written in the runes on the portal.”
“Still,” Vara said, “unless one of us is an expert in ancient runes and would like to go and read it themselves—after crossing through Reikonos, which I assume is under heavy guard at all gates and the portal—that’s not very helpful.”
“I know the spell,” Mendicant said simply.
Silence reigned. “You … what?” Ryin asked.
“I know the spell to take us into the basement of the Citadel,” Mendicant said, nodding. “Larana does as well. We found it in a book in the library while studying.”
Cyrus frowned. “We have a library?”
Vara took a deep breath, folding her hands in front of her calmly. “I will leave that alone, for I feel I have destroyed enough men this day.”
“If Mendicant can get us into the Citadel,” Cyrus said, “you’d better be ready to destroy a few more.” He stared right at the goblin. “Do you truly know the spell?”
Mendicant licked his green, scaly lips. “I do. I’ve tried it, it works. I believe I also know the spell Curatio used to open the door to the entry hallway, though I didn’t test that one—”
Cyrus rose and clapped his hands together like thunder. “What can we expect once we’re inside?” He directed this question to Waterman, who had watched the entire exchange with steely resolve, while Frost and Coulton stood slack-jawed.
“The Citadel is staffed with a full complement of guards, including wizards, druids, healers and enchanters, trained to work in unison to halt any unexpected advance.” She stood looking at them primly. “They will not, however, be prepared for an army suddenly showing up in their midst.” She raised an eyebrow. “A larger question I would ask, though, were I you—how do you anticipate this turning out once you’ve done it?”
“Well, we’ll stand over the carcass of Urides, look down into his dead eyes, and bellow, ‘HA HA HA’ at the top of our lungs,” Vaste said. “That will probably take at least an hour. Maybe three.”
“Once you’re done,” Waterman said, not letting up from staring at Cyrus, “you’ll have killed the ruling council of Reikonos. If you’re aiming to make yourself less of an enemy of the Confederation, this is not the best way to go about it.”
“Urides and the Council of Twelve have been killing the district governors,” Cyrus said, staring right back at her.
“Allegedly,” Waterman said.
“Suppose I just let this go on, then,” Cyrus said, folding his own arms. “How long do you reckon it’ll be before he comes for you? Because he’ll be after Frost and Coulton for sure now that they’ve betrayed him.” Cyrus leaned on the table. “Do you suppose he’s going to let that last governor slip through his fingers? Or do you think he’ll just rid himself of you out of pure expediency?”
Waterman inclined her head. “You make an excellent point.”
“After the Council is dead,” Cyrus said, staring back at her evenly, “you will make clear what Urides was doing and enthusiastically proclaim your support for our very righteous removal of his assassinating arse along with the rest of the Council of Twelve.”
Waterman, wisely, did not question this. Coulton, however, did. “What if we don’t?”
“Then you’ll be assassinated by us shortly thereafter, thus unable to enjoy the favor we did for you by removing Urides,” Vaste said. Ryin seemed to turn purple at this, but the troll shrugged. “What? We killed Danay, we’re about to kill Urides and his clowns—this is the moment when you choose to get picky?”
“I might have been picky much sooner if informed all this was occurring,” Ryin said, burying his face in his hands.
“Another reason we didn’t tell you,” Vaste said.
Ryin’s wide, angry eye glared out from between his fingers, but he said
nothing.
“When will you do it?” Waterman asked.
“Right now,” Cyrus said, standing up. “We have no time to waste; Urides knows he’s been foiled, and for all we know, he’s preparing to move to his very own super secret retreat elsewhere in Arkaria.”
“You mean to invade the Citadel right now?” Erith asked, once again flushed. “Tonight? After—after all that we’ve already been through today?”
“I don’t just mean to go tonight,” Cyrus said, “I mean to go this very minute, with whatever we have left.” He looked to Vara. “Check the Tower, make sure the horizon is clear, and then rejoin us here.” He looked at Scuddar. “I take it the wall is secure?” The desert man nodded. “J’anda, Vaste, Vara, take the governors down to the dungeon and make sure they’re secure.” The enchanter nodded. Terian, Ryin, Longwell, go gather fifteen people each—people you trust,” Cyrus continued. “Rangers, warriors, spellcasters. Get me the most skilled of your people, and have them outside the Council Chambers in fifteen minutes.” He looked over the assemblage in front of him. “No one leaves, no one moves except those six people I just named … the rest of you—”
“Sit here and stare at each other until we get back,” Vaste said, standing up with the rest of them. “Let the resentments begin to fester!”
“No,” Cyrus said, looking around at them, “the rest of us are going to leave now, just to be sure we can get into the Citadel. I’ll send Mendicant back for you once we’re sure the spell works.” He leaned hard on the wooden table. “Make sure you choose the toughest people, the ones who won’t question, the ones who harbor no doubts …” He smiled grimly. “Because tonight we’re going to guarantee that the biggest army pointed at us right now is wiped off the board for good.” He looked over the Council. “And then we’re going to figure out how to take the fight to Goliath.”
66.
Cyrus stood in the wide-open chamber with only a handful of others. Kahlee and Terian huddled together, speaking quietly, the paladin smiling beneath the thin slit of Alaric’s old helm. He looks … happy with her, Cyrus thought. I didn’t think I’d ever see him like that, especially after Luukessia.
Cyrus turned his head and saw Menlos and Erith huddled similarly. He was starting to grow accustomed to seeing the Northman without his wolves, but the two of them were standing at a distance from the portal, examining the broad chamber of the room they stood in, which was large enough to hold an army—and had, before, when Sanctuary had come with an expedition to see the Realm of Life.
Cyrus turned to the portal, which glowed faintly, its center not empty like the ones in fields of Arkaria, but filled with gently crackling energy.
“It is a strange thing, is it not?” Scuddar asked, standing only a few feet from Cyrus, Calene nearby. Mendicant had already returned to Sanctuary to bring the rest of their force.
“What’s that?” Cyrus asked, staring into Scuddar’s yellow eyes, which were glowing almost as much as the portal. They were quite easy to transfix on.
“The portal,” Scuddar said, his eyes crinkling in amusement, though his mouth was not visible beneath the cowl, which wrapped the lower part of his face. “Magical artifacts, tying the entire land together from north of Fertiss to below the Inculta Desert, from Huern to the Emerald Coast.”
“Plus to the realms of the gods,” Calene said, inclining her head toward the portal behind them. “Can’t forget them, after all.” She lowered her voice to a mutter. “Not that they’d let you, sending avatars and assassins to kill you and your dear ones and whatnot.”
Cyrus frowned, something suddenly occurring to him. “Scuddar, you’re from the Inculta Desert—”
“That’s a bit obvious, isn’t it?” Calene asked quietly.
“—Have you ever been to the Bandit Lands south of there?” Cyrus asked, frowning and ignoring the ranger.
Scuddar’s eyebrows crept high on his head. “A very few times, hunting those bandits that came north and struck at our settlements. Our ways demand retribution, you see. Once attacked, desert men cannot stop until vengeance has been satisfied.”
“Sounds fun,” Cyrus said. “How far down there have you been?”
Scuddar’s face went almost blank. “As far as the jungle goes, and a little farther.”
Cyrus blinked. “Have you ever seen … do you know anything about a portal beyond the last one on the beach—”
“Yes,” Scuddar cut him off, staring at him unblinking. “You speak of the old city—Zanbellish, it was called.” He drew a slow breath, and Cyrus could hear it in the quiet of the chamber. “The last city of the ancients.”
“I’ll need to know everything you can tell me about it when we get back,” Cyrus said.
“Why?” Calene asked, still frowning.
“Because that’s where Goliath is hiding,” Cyrus said.
“I thought they had their old guildhall back here up and running again?” she asked. “That the Council of Twelve let them back in for going after your arse?”
Cyrus thought about it for a moment before replying. “It’s entirely possible, but they’ve got something going on at this … Zanbellish place as well. It’s where they were hiding for all these years between homes.” Cyrus squeezed his gauntlet shut and it creaked almost imperceptibly at his pressure. “I mean to find them, and give them some regrets.”
“Invading the home of a superior force,” Calene said, “well, that’s one way to do it, I suppose.”
“It’s the only way we’ve ever done it,” Cyrus said as the light of the portal flared as a teleportation spell flashed, and his small army appeared. “All right …” he said, looking them over. They were all here, now, and Vara nodded at him from the front rank. “… Let’s go do this.”
67.
“It’s so good to be here again with you lot,” Terian said as they stood upon the balcony before the blank wall that would lead into the atrium of the Citadel. The stones themselves glowed with a faint blue light, without a single torch to provide its own. “Wish I could have brought my other friends, too—”
“I must say I’m amazed you have any friends at all,” Vara said lightly.
“Is everyone ready?” Cyrus asked, Mendicant beside him next to the wall. They were only waiting now for his word, and the goblin would open the doors into the atrium so that they could enter the Citadel proper. Cyrus had been through before on several occasions. “There will be guards behind this wall, so prepare yourselves.”
“Last time there weren’t,” Vaste chirped.
“Last time Goliath had killed their way to the top before we got here,” Cyrus said. “I don’t anticipate that this time.”
“You should be prepared for all possibilities,” Vaste said.
“I am,” Cyrus said, “which reminds me, should we be rushed by a herd of goats when this door opens, I’ll expect you to use your unique expertise to deal with it.”
“Hey!” Vaste said, and threw a thumb behind him. “That sounds like a job for Zarnn.”
Cyrus looked back and saw Zarnn frowning. “Zarnn not like goats. Smell funny, make squealing noises whenever trolls walk past.”
“There’s a good reason for that,” Vaste mumbled.
Cyrus cast an eye over his force. There were only about fifty of them, but he knew almost all of them. Every officer was present, plus Terian and his wife. Zarnn was there, as was Larana, lurking quietly near the front of the small army. Cyrus gave her a nod and she blushed, looking down at her feet immediately. A moment later, her eyes came back up once more, checking to see if he was still looking. Cyrus glanced away intentionally. “Ready, Mendicant?”
“Ready,” the goblin whispered, as though they could be heard through the solid wall. “Are you?”
“Open the door,” Cyrus said, clutching Rodanthar in one hand and leaving the other up, palm out. “Let’s find out.”
Runes flashed along the wall in an ovoid pattern that reminded Cyrus of a portal, and the wall opened. Two guards were waiting
in armor, halberds before them. They did not even turn at the noiseless opening of the wall behind them. Cyrus shrugged and cast a bolt of lightning that lanced from his palm to strike one, then the other, crackling through the air as it killed them both. They clanked to the ground, smoking beneath their armor.
“I’m ready!” Vaste called quietly, clearly going for humor but trying not to be too loud about it. “Where are all of our vicious, horrible enemies? Where’s the army to stand in opposition to us?”
Cyrus cast an eye toward the entrance to the Citadel. The double doors were shut and barred with a long beam of heavy steel. He strode across the atrium and stared at the doors. “Is it possible they put their entire guard force outside? In the streets between here and the portal?”
“Why wouldn’t they?” Terian asked. “It’s not as though they have any idea there’s a back door to this place.” He swept an arm in a wide circle. “They’ve probably got archers on every rooftop, too, in case we try an assault from the air, maybe even guards with Falcon’s Essence patrolling the skies.” His grin broadened. “This is going to come as quite the shock, I imagine.”
“It already did, at least to some of them,” Vara said, stepping over the smoking corpses of the guards Cyrus had struck with lightning. She brushed past both of them en route to the stairs that ringed the circular building. “Come on, you loafers. Let’s be about this business and get it done.”
Cyrus fell in behind her and they started up the steps. They climbed floor after floor, passing doors that opened into office areas, complete with desks, chairs. The torches and hearths were dimmed for the night, coals lighting the rooms. Cyrus stuck his head into every one as they passed, not wanting to be caught unawares if one was hiding a guard force that could flank them after they passed, but there was nothing but silence in each of them.
“Clearly no one here works late,” Ryin said, pacing along behind Cyrus a few steps. “Appalling work ethic.”
“Or more likely,” Vara said, “they cleared the entire Citadel in order to place the guard and guarantee security for the council.”
Heretic (The Sanctuary Series Book 7) Page 40