Ambassador (Conqueror of Isles Book 1)

by Stephen L. Hadley

  “That’s the tower,” Avans said, nodding to a slim, three-story structure a block away.

  It was a mostly unnecessary gesture. Sunset Tower was distinct enough that Elias could have guessed at its purpose without any knowledge at all. Unlike many of Dan Tien’s other buildings, the tower sat alone and uncrowded from any direction. Its foundation and ground floor were fashioned from stone while its upper stories were wood, reinforced with plates of iron. And, as if its martial purpose was not already clear, instead of a thatched or wooden roof, the topmost layer of the tower was flat and pockmarked with parapets and murder holes.

  The tower’s door was equally unnerving. Taller and wider than ordinary, the only break in the solid piece of reinforced wood was a fist-sized slide at eye level. And despite how often he had reviewed his plan’s particulars, the sight of the peeking hole set Elias’ heart to racing.

  Shrugging free of Kyra, he made his way to the front. Lucasta turned slightly as he joined her and acknowledged him with a nod.

  “You remember what to say?” he asked her.

  She snorted and didn’t answer. Instead, she stepped forward and rapped her knuckles hard against the iron door. She only did it once, but the sound reverberated for several seconds. And then, after several more, the peeking hole’s cover slid open.

  “I—” The elf inside stopped abruptly at the sight of them. Though the elf was backlit, Elias could see his eyes narrow as he gazed out at the group of hooded figures on his doorstep. “Ijal?”

  Taking a deep breath, Elias pulled back his hood and stepped forward. He said nothing but locked eyes with the elf and slowly turned his head to reveal his distinctly non-elven ears.

  The elf inside yelped a curse and leapt back half a step. Before he could raise any sort of alarm, however, Lucasta inched forward.

  “Jijah!” she said quickly. “Jijah. Tilse no Elias Ansiri, Sha’nijur lo Dan Tien.”

  The elf paused, eyes narrowed suspiciously, then turned and muttered something. After a second, footsteps sounded and a second elf stepped into view. He shouldered the first aside and peered out through the opened slot.

  “Sha’nijur?” he asked.

  Elias nodded. It was challenging to strike the right balance. If he came across as too skittish or too arrogant, the elves would distrust him immediately. And if that happened, they were all as good as captured. He needed to be convincing.

  Fortunately, it didn’t have to be for long.

  Grumbling under his breath, the second elf slammed the peeking hole shut. For a brief, terrifying moment, Elias thought he intended to leave them standing there. Then, with a quiet rasp of metal, several latches turned and the oversized door swung outward.

  Both elves stared at him warily, their hands resting on the hilt of their blades. Now that he’d gotten a better look at them, it was easy for Elias to spot the officer’s ornamentation on the latter.

  “Atan, Sha’nijur,” the officer said, waving him inside. He gestured at Lucasta. “Et jal.”

  Lucasta followed Elias as he stepped inside the Sunset Tower. The interior of the ground floor was rather plain. A handful of tables, chairs, and cupboards occupied one half of the room, while the other side was dominated by an unlit hearth, a pair of desks, and a broad staircase leading up. Aside from the furniture, the only decoration was a few tapestries hanging on the far wall. There were no other elves to be seen and no sign of Rhona.

  “Eret!” barked the subordinate elves, planting himself in the doorway. He eased his sword halfway from its scabbard.

  Before Elias could intervene, Kyra cursed and threw back her hood. The elf stiffened at the sight of her, then a second time as Avans followed her example and uncovered his own head.

  “Let them through!” Elias said. He moved quickly but had gone only a single step when Lucasta leapt into action. Her movements were a blur. Her knife, too, was almost impossible to spot until it split the throat of the elven officer in a flash of silver and crimson.

  The elf crumpled, gurgling and clutching at his neck. Before he’d even hit the ground, however, his partner turned and drew his sword fully. He charged at Lucasta, weapon raised, then fell as Avans tackled him from behind. The elf’s sword dropped with a clatter and slid to Elias’ feet. He scooped the weapon up and raced to Avans’ aid. But, yet again, Lucasta beat him to it.

  Lucasta’s hood fell back to reveal her bared teeth and wild eyes as she dropped to her knees and plunged her petite blade through the elf’s temple. His struggles ceased instantly and Avans scrambled off the elf’s back to avoid the pooling blood.

  “Get inside!” Lucasta ordered, waving her fellow trow forward. “Hurry! Shut the door!”

  They obeyed without hesitation. And, as the last two through the doorway paused to close and latch the door, Lucasta turned to look at Elias. Her face was a bizarre blend of ferocity and gano-induced calm.

  “Check upstairs,” she said. “But be careful. There may be more of them.”

  Elias nodded and offered the fallen elf’s sword to Avans. The man accepted it, then paused and chuckled as he noticed the scabbard at his waist. Handing the superfluous weapon to one of the trow, he strode past Elias and began inching his way up the stairs. Unlike the brothel’s, they didn’t creak.

  Elias joined him, as did several of the armed trow, and together, they scoured the tower’s upper stories. Initially, he was relieved to find them empty. There were more desks, a few pallets and cots, and an impressive assortment of blades, bows, and spears. But there were no elves. And, as with the ground floor, no sign of Rhona.

  Elias’ chest tightened and his stomach churned as he trudged down the staircases back to the ground floor. Kyra spotted him first. And, judging from her grimace, she’d easily guessed his report.

  “Rhona?” she asked.

  He shook his head, unable to manage the words.

  Lucasta, however, did not share his affliction.

  “No elves?” she asked, reclining against one of the room’s desks.

  Again, Elias shook his head.

  “I don’t understand,” he murmured. “I thought she’d be here. She was supposed to be here.”

  Lucasta grinned. And, once again, the gano lit her eyes in a way that lent her an almost feral aspect.

  “She may yet be,” she said. And with that, she rose from the desk and seized the nearest of the wall-hanging tapestries. Ripping it from its moorings, she wadded it up and hurled it toward the unlit hearth. It fell quite short but Lucasta did not appear to care. Grabbing the next, she pulled it down as well.

  This time, however, the tapestry came away easily. And behind it, rather than a flat expanse of stone, lay a darkened alcove. Chuckling, Lucasta leaned forward and peered down into the shadows.

  “There’s a ladder,” she announced. “But be careful. The bottom is far. They might be waiting for us.”

  Elias sighed.

  Chapter Twenty

  There was a part of Elias, the proud, guilty side, that longed to be the first one to descend. He had ultimately been the one to decide on bringing Rhona with them to Dan Tien. And so, her arrest had been his fault. It seemed only fitting that he be the one to bear the consequences of that outcome.

  But, Lucasta did not even give him the chance to volunteer.

  “Our eyes pierce the dark better,” she said. “Ahjex, you and Serra go first. Keep your swords ready; we’ll be right behind you.”

  Elias moved aside as the trow pair made for the ladder. They descended effortlessly, without bothering to use any rungs past the first few. True to her word, Lucasta didn’t wait. Lowering herself into dark alcove, she grasped the ladder and quirked a brow at him.

  “What are you waiting for?” she asked. “Come.”

  Elias followed without hesitation. Lacking the trows’ preternatural grace, he climbed far slower. Though, in his defense, his sword was mostly to blame for that. Without being able to see the bottom of the unlit hole, he grasped
the ladder tightly with sweaty palms, which made it a challenge to simultaneously keep his scabbarded blade from clattering against the rungs.

  The ladder seemed to go on for the height of two stories. And, when his boot finally struck solid ground, the unexpected impact sent a jolt through his stomach. As did the hand that grasped him suddenly.

  “Relax!” Lucasta hissed softly, before he could reach for his sword. She drew him gently away from the ladder to make room for Avans. The sound of the man’s boots settling on each of the rungs seemed to echo.

  “We need light,” Elias whispered as loudly as he dared.

  Lucasta didn’t answer him. Instead, she pulled him further into the unseen chamber, grasped his chin, and turned his face to the right.

  A razor-thin, barely perceptible glow pierced the darkness a few steps away. The sight was so disorienting that it took Elias a moment to realize he was staring at a closed door. It was not a large gap, nor was the light on the other side particularly strong. Judging by the way it flickered, it could not have been more than a candle or two.

  “Should we—” he began.

  “Go,” Lucasta said.

  Elias would have needed far more than a few feet of narrow candlelight to see the trow leap into action, but he certainly heard them. Ahjex and Serra leapt toward the closed door in a flurry of heavy footsteps. In an instant, they’d shouldered it open.

  Despite his short exposure to the near-total darkness, Elias was almost blinded by the sudden brightness. Even so, it didn’t stop him from moving. Grasping the hilt of his sword, he charged after Lucasta and barreled into the now-open room.

  It was the smell that hit him first. The air reeked so strongly of blood and waste and bile that it was only adrenaline that kept him from heaving. And, at a glance, it was easy to see why. The room was small, perhaps twice the size of the cabin he’d shared with Kyra and Rhona aboard the Dark Dawn, and the single, sputtering candle on the wall near the door struggled to light the entire space. But, even poorly lit, it was impossible to miss the grime and decay that coated every inch. The floor had been loosely scattered with straw, but the stone beneath it was so tacky that Elias’ boots came away with dozens of wilted pieces glued to the soles. The alternative, however, was far worse. The far edge of the room was piled thick with filthy and soiled garments, many of which still contained the bodies of their original wearers. A swarm of flies buzzed and crawled atop the mass.

  “Merciful Inaban,” Elias whispered, too horrified to realize he’d just prayed, after a fashion.

  Then he saw Rhona.

  He could, perhaps, be forgiven for not noticing her sooner. The Gwydas knelt in the corner of the room, half-hidden by the door and as far from the decaying corpses as her chains would allow. Her wrists were shackled and affixed a small, thigh-high pedestal too short for her to stand comfortably. She’d been stripped of her boots and cloak. And although she still wore the semi-translucent robe of her office, the garment had been torn and abused in so many places that the tattered remains could hardly be considered clothing any longer.

  Elias was at her side in an instant. Dropping to his knees, he reached out to cup her face. She flinched slightly at his touch and turned to face him with uncomprehending eyes.

  “Rhona?” he prompted. “It’s me. Are you okay?”

  She blinked once and the cloudiness slowly drained from her eyes. In its wake came a flood of filthy tears.

  “Elias?” she whispered hoarsely. Exhaling a shaky breath, Rhona slouched and buried her face against his shoulder. “Thank Tekali. I fear you leave me.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he assured her. Cradling her head against his shoulder, he studied her shackles. “Let’s get you out of here. Is there a key for these somewhere?”

  Rhona pulled back slightly. Eyes tightly shut, she nodded toward the stack of bodies. “The wall, I think.”

  Elias was loath to leave her side and, mercifully, he wasn’t forced to do so. Seemingly unbothered by both the filth and the corpses, Lucasta strode to the far side of the room and retrieved the ring of keys from its hook. She returned swiftly, her jaw locked and trembling, and stooped to unlock Rhona’s shackles. Then, the instant the elf was free, she turned and hurled the keys into the mound of dead.

  “Let us leave,” Lucasta growled. “And quickly.”

  Elias nodded, carefully helping Rhona to her feet. He glanced around for the elf’s cloak and boots but there was no sign of either.

  “Can you climb?” he asked.

  Rhona hesitated, swallowed, and then nodded shakily.

  “Yes,” she whispered. “I think so.”

  She was correct. And though Elias had to help guide her through the mostly intact darkness to the base of the ladder, Rhona seemed to recover her strength after only a few steps. She ascended swiftly, if a bit unsteadily, and Elias followed after her. In some ways, his dark-impaired vision was a relief; it kept him from having to avert his gaze to preserve Rhona’s dignity.

  “Rhona!”

  He heard Kyra while the top of the ladder was still a few rungs above his head. And by the time he reached the top, she had drawn Rhona into a tight, relieved embrace. Avans, on the other hand, knelt before the alcove with his hand outstretched. Accepting it, Elias allowed himself to be hauled back into the Sunset Tower proper.

  “Any more elves?” Avans asked quietly.

  Elias shook his head, unable to find the words to describe the horrors below. He moved aside as Lucasta climbed free of the alcove. Then, reluctant though he was to interrupt Kyra’s comforting, he strode forward and grasped Rhona’s shoulder. She flinched at his touch but turned to look at him.

  “We need to know where Gilla is being held,” he explained. “The trow have an idea, but we need to be certain before we get there. Can you look for us?”

  Rhona grimaced but nodded and reluctantly pulled free of Kyra’s arms. “Where?” she asked, a bit hoarsely.

  “It’s, ah… what was it called?” he said.

  “The South-Central Garrison,” Kyra supplied.

  For just an instant, Rhona’s brow furrowed apprehensively. Then, with a small nod, she glanced around the windowless room.

  “I need to look out,” she said. “The roof is best. Or a window. Fewer walls between gives better sight.”

  “That’s fine,” Elias said. He offered Rhona his arm but she merely patted it, smiled weakly, and headed for the stairs on her own. Avans chuckled at the slight, earning him a scowl from Kyra, but Elias simply followed the elf.

  Rhona did not stop until she’d reached the tower’s topmost floor. By the time Elias reached her, she had planted herself before one of the narrow, convex window slits. Arms outstretched and resting on either side of it, she bowed her head.

  “Tekali, Sun-Mother,” she whispered. “Hear my words and know my blood.”

  Now that he was accustomed to such things, the translatory quality of Rhona’s prayer no longer struck Elias as odd. In fact, he almost imagined he could sense a certain buzz to the air around him like the unusual weight of air before a storm. Even without encroaching on Rhona’s space, he felt it emanating from her bare back like an unseen bonfire.

  He knew to the very second when the prayer gave way to the blessing. The tension in the air thrummed and snapped, dissipating instantly as Rhona inhaled sharply. For a time, nothing happened. And it was only when his lungs began to burn that Elias realized he was holding his breath.

  Rhona sighed and allowed her arms to fall. She turned sluggishly and Elias stepped forward to catch her if she fell. To his surprise, she did not even stagger, even as her breast heaved with quiet panting.

  “Well?” he asked, when he could bear the silence no longer. “What did you see?”

  “Gilla is in a garrison.”

  “The South-Central one?”

  “Inside a garrison,” Rhona repeated, a bit testily. Her mouth twisted into a grimacing smile. “I never see the South-Central
one. It is a garrison. Gilla wears chains in a dark room. There are lanterns, no windows. And, I see Cotora there—and many elves.”

  Elias started to speak, but the words stuck in his throat. His expression must have been enough to make the question clear.

  “More than ten,” Rhona explained. “I do not see all. Dozens more is possible—or only those I see.”

  “Fucking great,” he muttered. Remembering himself, Elias sighed and forced a limp smile. “Sorry. Thank you, Rhona. You’ve been very helpful.”

  Rhona snorted. “Not very helpful,” she said, shrugging. “I see, only. Gilla, Cotora, and many elves—yes, I am very helpful. To rescue is very, very easy now.”

  She wasn’t wrong, but Rhona’s sarcasm gave a bit of life to his halfhearted grin. Shrugging as well, he jerked his head toward the stairs.

  “At least we know what to expect,” he said. “Let’s go tell the others. Maybe they can come up with a plan that doesn’t involve being killed by Cotora.”

  ***

  It wasn’t a good plan at all. With each and every step that carried him closer to the South-Central garrison, Elias became more and more convinced of that fact. And yet, no matter how fervently he pondered the situation, no better solution presented itself.

  “—eh’katten lo…” he whispered to himself, struggling to duplicate the pronunciation he’d hastily practiced.

  He had to keep his voice down to avoid being overheard. It wasn’t Rhona or Lucasta he was worried about; both the Gwydas and the matriarch knew what a longshot this was. But if any of the trow happened to notice the quaver in his words, they might realize the absurd recklessness of the plan. That they’d voluntarily come this far was incidental. Fighting Cotora while almost certainly outnumbered—again—was enough to terrify even the bravest of warriors. And the hooded trow trailing behind him were hardly even that.

  They’d left the courageous ones far to the south, resting beneath a thin layer of dirt.