“What do you have to tell us?” Cyrus asked him. Nyad and Arydni shot him a prompting look that took him a moment to decipher. “...Your...uh...majesty,” he amended.
“It would be ‘your grace’, as a general rule,” the monarch said with a smile. “But since I am not here as the King, let us speak as though I were not one. You may call me Danay.”
Cyrus felt a curious lightheadedness. Danay. As in King Danay the First, he thought. “What brings you to us?”
“Things that cannot be said in a public setting.” He cast his eyes to the windows, saw they were shut, then looked to the door, which was closed, then back to Vara. “Your father is safe, only a few doors down the hall. He is not able to walk, but you may visit him at your convenience.” He took a deep breath. “I must caution you, however; his age overtakes him. My physicians assure me that he does not have long to live; a few days at most.”
Vara, already drawn and pale from her injury, seemed to grow even whiter at the King’s words. She has to tell her father that Chirenya is dead, he realized.
If the King noticed Vara’s discomfiture, he did not address it. “In a few days, when you have recovered,” he indicated her and Cyrus in turn, “the two of you will come before the court and be presented with our highest honors for your defense of Termina. Our spies have told us that between all three spans, the dark elves lost nearly half their invading army and cannot fortify their positions as they originally planned.”
His eyes glittered. “The Sovereign of Saekaj played us truly false on that, and his army and council are nearly as filled with spies as ours. His sealed orders for the attack on Termina went out with only two griffon riders, direct to his general, cutting out every member of his council and even the lower ranks of his military until the attack was in motion. We won’t be able to easily remove them from this side of the river, but if not for your efforts, we might not have been able to remove them at all; they would have had a hundred thousand yet with which to defend Termina.”
“But you will remove them, won’t you?” The question came from Arydni.
“We will try,” the King said. “We can scarce afford to suffer the losses it will take. My generals inform me that city fighting will be a much more difficult battle than meeting their armies on the open plains; our cavalry and experience counts for less in the narrow streets.” He shook his head. “The sole advantage of an army as mature as ours is experience. Close-in melee does not benefit us. With wider spaces our mounted soldiers can perform charges that would cause their infantry to wither.”
Cyrus swallowed heavily. “Can the Kingdom survive without Termina?”
King Danay looked at him with a grim amusement. “Not easily, no. Termina was the beating heart of the Kingdom’s economy, producing most of the weapons, armor and other equipment that we’ve been sending to the Human Confederation. All our shipping ran through the city, a large part of our fishing came through the port, along with most of our exports and imports.” He shook his head, deathly slow. “Without the taxes from all that, we’ll have a shortage in the treasury in the next year. Fighting a war on this footing will be difficult. We’ll be on the defensive, forced to focus on expelling the dark elves from Termina then protecting our borders, which is far from the kind of war I’d like to give them for their brazenness.”
Nyad spoke up, her voice straining. “Who will take the blame for losing Termina?”
“Now there’s an inconvenient truth of ruling,” Danay said with a nod. “Nobody predicted this. No one thought that the dark elves would be foolish enough to attack us in the middle of a war with the humans, and yet who looks the fool now? Well, if the dark elves do it’s solely because of your efforts, not ours. Also, those of that young Endrenshan, I suppose—Yemer’s son, I forget his name...”
“Odellan,” Cyrus said. “His name is Odellan.”
“I’m afraid that it’s irrelevant,” the King said with a sigh. “His name means less than nothing now. He lost 4,500 soldiers in the defense of the Northbridge. My generals view that—as would the public of the Kingdom– as an unsustainable loss. Never mind that he saved the lives of hundreds of thousands more, the fact that he lost such great numbers looks...well, it looks bad. Especially when coupled with the fall of the city.” The King threw up his arms in a gesture of resignation. “The chattering classes have already gone wild with anger. Odellan is to be expelled from the Termina Guard, stripped of his rank and exiled from the Kingdom.”
“That’s ridiculous.” Cyrus felt the heat of outrage rise within him. “Odellan is a hero. He led from the front and fought through the night the same as we did to protect the lives of the citizens of Termina. He was prepared to sacrifice his life to save the people and you ought to know it.”
“I do know it. But do you assume I am all powerful in some way?” The King said it with a laugh, but there was no humor in it. “My generals and the people have spoken. All I could manage was to spare his life, which was quite a bit under the circumstances. It’s not as if those lost can be easily replaced by recruiting the next generation of youthful soldiers.”
“The grim political realities of running an empire,” Vara said with unrestrained sarcasm. “Let no act of great courage go unpunished.”
Danay shrugged. “I can do little enough about it. He’ll be given transport out of the Kingdom to a place of his choosing, and some money. I suspect, as industrious as he is, he’ll end up all right. But that’s such a gloomy subject, and so far out of my control. We have more pleasant matters to discuss—such as the honors you’re about to be given.”
“I’ll pass,” Cyrus said. “The man you should be honoring is about to be exiled; he fought with a high risk of permanent death, and the gratitude you’ve shown him galls me. I care not for your honors.” His voice was hot with contempt, raising the eyebrow of the King. “...Your grace.”
King Danay straightened back into his royal posture, and his mouth became a tight line. Nyad cringed as he moved, and his voice was as unyielding as stone. “While you remain under my protection, you will at least do me the courtesy—”
“You mean give you the political hay—” Cyrus interrupted.
“—of accepting the honors I bestow. You will do so because I have a long and far-reaching relationship with your guild—”
“—every member of which was declared persona non grata in your country just a few months ago for a series of crimes we did not commit—” Cyrus went on.
“—and because it’s good manners for a houseguest to humor his host.”
“—And that’s why we’re leaving,” Cyrus finished, a cold fury having overtaken him. “You can stick your hospitality straight up your—”
“Cyrus!” He jerked his head away from the rising tempo of his disagreement with the King at Vara’s shouted command. Though she used only his name, he heard the implied message. Shut up. You’re arguing with a King in his own palace.
He’s a hell of a King, Cyrus raged internally. Odellan was the best leader he could have hoped for in Termina; any of his stodgy generals with more experience might have hesitated to evacuate the city, waiting to see if the dark elves made an aggressive move. For his part he gets exiled, cast out of his own homeland and spit on for doing the only reasonable thing he could have in the circumstances...
“I don’t expect you to understand our politics,” the King said, gathering up in his robes. “Odellan is not the first good man to be destroyed through no fault of his own, nor will he be the last. But while you are under my roof, you will accept my honors as well.” His eyes narrowed. “It is possible you may even enjoy a few of them—titles and whatnot. We will make arrangements in the next few days. Until then, enjoy your stay.” He bowed his head, not nearly so low as he had when playing the steward, and withdrew with a flourish, the door closing behind him.
Vara waited a few seconds after he left before rounding on Cyrus, her head whipsawing around as if it had been blown by a hard wind. “He’s the King, you daft bas
tard. You don’t address the monarch like that.”
“Why?” Cyrus’s teeth grated. “Because he has a royal title to excuse the fact that he just helped run an innocent man out of town?”
“No,” she replied with heated words, “because he’s the King and it’s unseemly to do so. You’re fortunate he was so forgiving else you might have found yourself hanging from the outer wall.”
“Yeah, it would have been a real shame if I’d needed to kill a thousand members of the palace guard today,” Cyrus said under his breath.
“The palace guard contains more than just warriors,” Nyad said, her voice oddly hollow. “Because governments can only hire so many members of the Leagues, they hold back a disproportionate number to protect their most valuable holdings. Anyone who attacks the palace would be set upon by wizards, druids, enchanters and an army protected by healers.” She stared off into space as though she were still shell-shocked. “I had no idea...he looked...”
“Yes, well, leaving aside the obvious questions about her sad and pitiful childhood—” Vara stared down Cyrus, ignoring the mortified look Nyad shot her—“it remains that you would do well to tone down your ego; even if you could kill the entire palace guard it would be for naught because you’d then be the enemy of the elves and be hunted throughout the lands, unwelcome wherever you go.”
“Your King can’t even defend his own lands, let alone hunt anybody in someone else’s,” Cyrus scoffed. He looked to Arydni, still at Vara’s bedside, “What do you think?”
She shrugged. “The priestesses are always at odds with the monarchy. You haven’t lived until you’ve told off the King.”
“I meant about our next move.”
“Vara will heal in a few days. You’ll be better protected here than anywhere else and if you must accept some ribbons, lands and titles from the King in order to assure her safety until you can return to your guildhall, then bury your pride and dignity in a dark place for Vara’s good health.” She kept her expression neutral, but Cyrus detected the faintest hint of reproach in her words.
They’ll throw an innocent man out of their Kingdom and I’m supposed to smile and accept accolades from a government like that? He looked around to find everyone staring at him. Vara’s face was still drawn and her lips were pursed as though she were in great pain but trying to suppress it. She lost her mother, got wounded in a battle that cost us her hometown, her people are at war and she’s still being hunted by the most secretive order I’ve ever run across. Shame burned his cheeks. I don’t care for what they did to Odellan, but if I’m going to fight to the death over a matter of principle I’d have it be my death, not hers. “All right. We’ll stay.”
The days that followed dragged as slow as any Cyrus had ever lived. He carried Vara in his arms to Amiol and listened to her tell him that his wife was dead. The elder elf took it well, comforting his daughter, who was largely stoic herself. Even her face maintained a stony countenance while she broke the news to him; two silent tears were the only outward expression of her grief. Later that night, he swore he had heard a choked sob, though it might have been a noise outside. The soft, steady breathing of Arydni by the window and the gentle snores of Nyad on a nearby chair held him in place, kept him from going to her. In the morning, the news came from a palace messenger that her father had died in the night.
She took it without reaction, remaining in bed, staring, her knees pulled to her chest but with little more than a blank expression. As much as he wanted to talk to her, Arydni and Nyad were ever-present in her room. The Priestess maintained a constant watch on the paladin, taking no meals, very little liquid refreshment and less sleep than Cyrus, who had taken to resting for brief periods on the fainting couch in the corner of the room.
Nyad remained in close attendance as well. After recovering from the shock of her father’s secret, she had prattled on about the palace, its history and the life of growing up in it until Vara had broken her silence and told the wizard in no uncertain terms to either shut up or leave. She had managed almost ten minutes of silence, after which she had begun to talk about Pharesia and the history of the city.
Days passed, then a week, then two. Servants brought meals of the finest elven delicacies; fresh vegetables from every corner of the Kingdom, citrus fruits garnishing and braising the meats that they supped upon. Everything was delicate, exquisite, and portioned so small that Cyrus had taken to asking for multiple servings to be brought with every cart lest he starve to death.
“The elven people are more about well crafted foods than abundances of it,” Nyad sniffed when he mentioned it.
“Well I’m about eating what it takes to maintain my frame,” he said. “Although that does explain why you lot are so small.”
“And you’ve overfed both the fat in your belly and betwixt your ears,” Vara had replied. Two weeks after they had arrived, her color had returned and Arydni was satisfied with the healing she was experiencing. “Though I suppose that dates back to your days in the Society of Arms, where they breed the next generation of war boars by dividing you neatly down the middle and telling you to kill everyone on the opposing side.”
“That’s not quite how it works,” he said, calm. “But the training program does encourage healthy amounts of eating.”
She rolled her eyes and then rolled off the bed. She had begun walking without his assistance only a couple days earlier. The King’s Physician and the Chief Healer for the realm had both visited her at various junctures and conferred with Arydni in conversations that had involved dense elvish words that Cyrus did not know. After they had left, his companions had summed up what was said—that Vara was recovering nicely. Notice had been given that a ceremony would be held in the throne room in which Cyrus and Vara would be rewarded for their efforts, along with the other defenders of Termina.
“Brilliant,” Cyrus breathed. “Won’t a public ceremony draw the attention of the dark elves to the fact that we breached our neutrality and declared ourselves their enemies?”
“I think that the tens of thousands of dead bodies we left might have done it for us,” Nyad said. “It’s not as though we could keep secret what was done there; the surviving members of the Termina Guard that we saved told their family members and friends, some of the Termina survivors saw us taking up defensive positions—”
Vara interrupted her, frowning at him. “It’s not as though there are countless warriors that dress entirely in black armor walking the paths of Arkaria. That dark elven colonel identified you the moment he set foot on the bridge. There is no hiding our involvement.”
“I had hoped,” Cyrus said, “that we might be able to defend the survivors and retreat without word getting out. At least not anything that could be conclusively proven.”
“Conclusively proven?” Vara’s laugh drew his attention to where she stood by the balcony, staring out onto an empty courtyard filled with swaying trees. “The Sovereign declared a death mark on our entire guild with much less evidence and for much less of a crime. Still, I suspect he’s rather occupied at the moment, making war on the two largest powers in Arkaria. Perhaps we’ll go unnoticed for a time.”
“Perhaps,” came a voice from behind them. “And perhaps not.”
Standing in the doorway was Alaric Garaunt.
Chapter 39
“Alaric,” Cyrus said, jumping to his feet. “You’re here,” he said. The words sounded lame in his ears. The old knight stood before him with arms crossed, like a disapproving father, and a twinge of shame interspersed with more than a little fear washed through Cyrus’s innards at the sight of his Guildmaster.
“I am,” the Ghost said. “I’ve come along with our guildmates for the ceremony—and to speak with the two of you.” He nodded at Cyrus and Vara. “It has been some time and much has transpired...since last we spoke. Cyrus...I would have words with you, alone.” He turned from them and walked out the door, with nary a look back to see if he followed.
With an uneasy feeling, Cyrus trai
led after him, through the main living space and into a bedroom on the other side of the suite. “I’m sorry,” Cyrus said as he shut the door. “There were a million people in Termina and I couldn’t allow them to be slaughtered by the dark elves; you know they wouldn’t have had much remorse about making a pyre of the city with all the residents in it.”
The cool eye of the Ghost looked through his helmet at Cyrus, sending a chill through the warrior. Alaric reached up and removed his helm, revealing his gray-streaked hair and eyepatch. Of late, the Guildmaster had grown a beard, short but full, matching his hair in color but perfectly uniform in length. If nothing else, it helped to further cloak the already impassive paladin’s emotions.
The smell of the room swept over Cyrus; the rich aroma of citrus wafted in on the breeze, so much warmer than the one he felt in Termina, a hard chinook that could cut through him. This one was pleasant, carried a trace of warmth even in the thin chill of the midday. Light made its way in, stretching across the floor in small, angular shafts, conforming to the open arrangement of the balcony doors and windows. The room was decorated in rich reds and dark wood paneling, different from the lighter colors of the room they had stayed in. Maybe I should send Arydni and Nyad over here, he thought, then mentally slapped himself for it.
Outside, the noise of crickets and distant voices far below the balcony could be heard, a faint murmur that underlay the silence within the room. Cyrus tasted an almost coppery flavor in his mouth, the anticipation of bloodletting upon him, as if the Ghost was going to strike him for what he had done.
Alaric’s eye did not betray his emotional state, leaving Cyrus in turmoil until the Ghost spoke. “I am aware. I find no fault with your actions in Termina; had I been there, I would have done the same. If not for the fact that you were so very far from a portal, I would have attempted to move our army into place to reinforce you. If not for you, things would be going much worse for the elves than they are.”
The Sanctuary Series: Volume 03 - Champion Page 31