Ambassador (Conqueror of Isles Book 1)

by Stephen L. Hadley

  The entire scene was so utterly horrifying that Elias couldn’t tear his gaze away, much less stand aside as footsteps sounded from the stairs at his back. Kyra was the first to reach him and gasped audibly at the sight.

  “Merciful Inaban,” she whispered. “What did… how did they—?”

  “Karrsan,” Lucasta said. “Ambrosians serve a single god and he blesses them each at birth. That is why they choose a Speaker. The longer an ambrosian remains silent, the more destructive their blessing when it is finally unleashed.”

  Elias cursed under his breath and finally managed to look away. The expressions on his companions’ faces were hardly better.

  “We need to move,” he reminded them. “The rest of the elves certainly know we’re here now.”

  “There are stables,” Gilla said. Her voice was hoarse and speaking was clearly painful for her. But the sight of the elves had evidently roused something inside. “Between here and the gate. Many famos.”

  “We’ll head for the stables then,” Elias agreed. Grasping his sword, he surveyed the faces a second time and froze as a thought occurred to him. “Can… Suli do that too? In case they’ve shut the gate?”

  Lucasta laughed darkly. “Oh, I imagine so,” she said. “In fact, she’s Omeri’s daughter, so I expect—”

  Whatever her expectations were, she never got the chance to explain them. Suli lunged, her eyes flashing dangerously, and pressed a claw sternly to the matriarch’s lips. As messages went, it could hardly have been clearer.

  Lucasta, for her part, recovered quickly. “Later then,” she said, smiling as she pried the ambrosian’s claw from her mouth. “Come. Before more elves arrive.”

  Elias half expected to be cut down in a hail of arrows the second he walked out through the ruin of the garrison’s front door but was pleasantly surprised to find the streets only somewhat chaotic. The ambrosians had made short work of the elves on the other side and the few survivors were now frantically fleeing. Now and then, a few curious onlookers appeared in windows and doorways of nearby buildings, but a single glance at the slaughter and the crimson-skinned ambrosians was more than enough to drive them back inside.

  “This—” Gilla began, then coughed so dryly and pitifully that the sound of it made Elias’ eyes water. One of the trow offered her a waterskin, but she refused it with a shake and gestured the direction they should take.

  They moved quickly and with as much stealth as possible, though their efforts were hampered somewhat by Suli. The ambrosian paused frequently to glance back at her now-distant family, particularly whenever one of her kin unleashed a fresh, destructive roar. Paired with her nakedness and rather conspicuous hide, it was almost miraculous that they were neither spotted nor stopped. In any case, it was only nervousness that kept Elias from grinding his teeth as he impatiently herded Suli along.

  He smelled the stables before he spotted them. The odor of feed and animal waste grew stronger as they reached the open gate, and with good reason. Dozens of famos stood in communal pens, seemingly undisturbed by both the distant sounds of chaos and the sight of a dozen surreptitious newcomers.

  “Saddles,” Lucasta hissed, gesturing.

  Elias nodded but the trow matriarch had already started working. Elias observed her for a second, just long enough to confirm that the famos and their gear were not terribly different from the riding with which he was vaguely familiar, then scurried deeper into the stable to select a mount for himself.

  He settled on a docile, grey-skinned mare—or whatever females of her kind were called—who stood a little shorter than the rest. The female barely seemed to notice as he saddled her, though she huffed and snorted softly in what could almost have passed for derision as he struggled with the straps beneath her belly. It was not until the job was nearly complete and Elias was nervously contemplating how he was supposed to ascend that he noticed Suli.

  The ambrosian stood uneasily at the door to the famos pen, glancing warily between him and the beasts. She inhaled sharply, retreating a step as one of the bored-looking creatures turned her way.

  “What’s wrong?” Elias demanded. “Need help with the saddle?”

  Suli fidgeted, shaking her head and taking another step backward.

  Elias paused as he realized the source of the ambrosian’s concern. It took all of his self-control not to groan aloud.

  “Can you ride?” he asked.

  Suli looked at him and shook her head.

  “Seven hells,” he cursed, looking about. The others had finished with their preparations and several of the trow had already climbed atop their famos and were inching them toward the gate. “Well, there’s no time. You can ride with me.”

  The ambrosian didn’t look particularly thrilled by the proposition. Truthfully, Elias wasn’t either. He hadn’t gone riding in years and the thought of trying to relearn from the back of an elven beast was challenging enough without adding a naked, blade-toed passenger to the mix. But there wasn’t time for anything else.

  The famos’ stirrups were much higher than the ones he remembered from his youth. Fortunately, it seemed the elves were similarly handicapped and had included a stretch of knotted rope with which to ascend. Painfully aware of his own clumsiness, Elias grabbed ahold and managed to drag and shimmy his way onto the saddle. Scooting forward, he patted the space at his back.

  “Come on,” he said. “Just hold onto me.”

  For a few seconds, Suli stood there. Then, taking a deep breath, she crept forward.

  The famos squealed, side-stepping urgently in an effort to escape. Snatching up the reins, Elias tried in vain to quiet the beast. His failed efforts were not missed by the trow, several of whom looked over in alarm at the sudden noise.

  “Shit!” Elias hissed. After a moment of struggling, he managed to get the beast to turn away. His attempted subterfuge had not gone unnoticed, however, and the famos turned its elongated neck and head about in an effort to keep its eyes on Suli.

  “Easy, girl,” he murmured. Leaning forward, he patted the mare’s snout while using his forearm to hide Suli from view.

  The ambrosian bared her teeth. For just an instant, Elias thought she planned to bolt away. Or, worse, vent her frustration with a claw. But, instead, she leapt gracefully onto the narrow beam dividing the pens, corrected her balance with a flick of her tail, and bounded near-effortlessly onto the saddle. The sudden weight startled the famos and it squealed a second time.

  “Shhh,” he urged, continuing to stroke the beast’s snout. “You’re fine. You’re okay.”

  The words were as much for him as they were for the famos. Straightening carefully, Elias tensed as Suli’s arms snaked around his waist to hold him tight. Despite the adrenaline coursing through his body, the unnatural warmth of her body surprised him. He could feel the heat of it straight through both his shirt and cloak as if he was sitting with his back mere inches from a fire.

  The others were waiting for him by the time he guided his mount to the gate and even Kyra frowned impatiently. He stared back, daring her to say a word. But, naturally, she did not. And so, at a whispered word from Lucasta, they set off.

  The entire affair at the stables had taken barely five minutes, but that was plenty of time for the word to have spread. More and more elves were beginning to peer out from their dwellings, including many who lifted candles or lanterns and watched with open-mouthed curiosity as they trotted past. From the way the trow handled their famos, it was clear that many were novices. But even the most experienced among them fought to keep from racing ahead. That would have been the worst possible thing to do, of course, but the urge was unmistakable.

  Elias, too, fought to keep himself in check. The longer they lingered in Dan Tien, the greater the odds of some disaster befalling them. But then, galloping through the city streets atop stolen steeds would have practically guaranteed such an outcome.

  Alarms were just beginning to sound as they reached the gate. There was
nothing specific, of course, but even from a hundred paces off, Elias could see guards beginning to muster like bees from a struck hive.

  “Slow down but keep riding,” Lucasta ordered suddenly. “Don’t stop for anything.”

  And with that, the trow matriarch spurred her mount forward and left them behind. Pulling his hood down low, Elias did as instructed. He lingered at the rear of the column, weaving side to side to hide Suli from view as best he could.

  Even from a distance, it was easy to hear the guards’ voices as they challenged Lucasta’s approach. He couldn’t make out their exact words, but he had no difficulty with her reply.

  “What in the name of Tekali are you standing around here for?” Lucasta bellowed. Her voice was as harsh and commanding as any sergeant or bosun Elias had ever heard. “Get your cadre to the palace! The damned ambrosians have already killed Cotora! Who do you think they’ll attack next? Tereus needs reinforcements!”

  It was the boldest bluff Elias had ever heard. And yet, for all its unbelievable audacity, it worked. Hands shaking on the reins, Elias watched as dozens of elves took off at a dead sprint, leaving scarcely a half-dozen behind to guard the gate. Lucasta whirled her mount around, and for a brief span, looked as though she was preparing to follow them. Instead, she turned back around as Elias and the others approached.

  “Seal the gate once we’re through,” she barked. “Then pass the word to the other gates. Until you hear from Tereus himself, I don’t want so much as a sparrow in or out of this city!”

  Elias held his breath. He was near enough to the first of the remaining guards that he could have reached down to touch him. Fortunately, the elf was focused on Lucasta. The way he gripped his spear, however—

  The elf turned. He spotted Suli. His eyes widened.

  “Eret!” the elf yelped, voice cracking. It was hard to tell with elves, but he could have passed for sixteen in Islesmark.

  “Move!” Lucasta roared.

  Elias didn’t hesitate. He dug his heels into the famos’ flank and it leapt forward, dashing past the startled elf before he could even think of leveling his spear. All around him, his companions and the trow did likewise. One of the elves fell, squawking as he was barreled over and crunching as he was trampled. The others cried out in surprise and anger, readying weapons as they shouted urgently for their departing comrades to return.

  Countless minutes blurred together as Elias’ world became a haze of speed, exertion, and frantic motion. He felt the wind on his face, roaring so loudly that he could barely hear the shouts at his back. Suli’s scalding-hot arms grasped him powerfully, her taloned feet clutching at his calves for stability. He didn’t try to steer his mount, instead trusting the others to lead them away from the gate.

  And then, eventually, he looked back. The first thing he noticed was Dan Tien and the astonishing distance they’d covered. The next was Lucasta. The trow was the only one not ahead of him, though she’d done an admirable job of keeping pace. Leaning low over the neck of her mount, she answered his glance with a grimace.

  And then, closing her eyes, she slumped to the side and fell from the saddle.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Suli was actually the first to reach Lucasta’s side. She leapt to the ground before Elias had even brought his famos to a halt. And, by the time he joined her, the ambrosian’s face had grown dark, still, and deeply troubled.

  He saw the reason at once.

  A heavy wooden shaft protruded from Lucasta’s back, just inside the blade of her left shoulder. Its fletching was damp with blood, as were her back and clothes all the way to mid-thigh. There was no sign of any other wounds, but it took only the sound of a single wet, wheezing breath for him to realize that the trow matriarch was dying.

  “Gilla!” he shouted.

  It was an unnecessary summons. The others had noticed him by now and Gilla was racing toward him. Her expression was hard and furious. But one glance at her mother lying crumpled in the dirt and Gilla’s hands were shaking in panic before she’d even dismounted.

  “Kasse!” Gilla’s cry was half-whimper, half-moan as she dropped to her knees at her mother’s side. Fingers trembling, she pulled her close and examined the wound. Her breath hitched at Lucasta’s groan of pain. Then, gritting her teeth in anguish, she ripped the arrow free in a smooth but indelicate motion.

  This time, Lucasta screamed, flecking the ground with frothy blood.

  “Gilla, no!” Elias yelped. “What are you—?”

  “Al no echar!” Gilla snarled. Planting a hand on the bleeding hole in her mother’s back, she pressed her lips to Lucasta’s. The kiss was as merciless as it was tender. “Al no echar!” she repeated, muffled.

  For a time, the healing seemed to work. Lucasta’s involuntary thrashing stilled. Her breathing slowed and steadied, despite its watery quality. And her eyes even fluttered open.

  “Gilla,” Lucasta mouthed. She smiled weakly as her daughter pulled back. Her hand twitched and rose a few inches as if reaching for her Gilla’s face. Then, slowly, the hand sank down as the trow exhaled a final, gurgling breath.

  To her credit, Gilla did not give up easily. Snarling a curse, she pressed her lips back to Lucasta’s and growled out the same endless refrain of sorcerous incantations. She must have repeated herself three dozen times before she faltered.

  “No… no echar, Kasse!”

  Elias started to reach for her, only to freeze when Suli grabbed him by the wrist. The ambrosian’s face was unreadable but she shook her head in clear disapproval. Scowling, he pulled free. Crouching, he reached for Gilla’s shoulder.

  This time, it was the trow’s quiet sob that stopped him short. Gilla’s shoulders trembled once, then a second time. They did not stop. Face hidden against her mother’s, Gilla began to wail.

  Elias didn’t know what to do. He wanted to comfort her but couldn’t bring himself to touch her, much less speak aloud. And then, before he had the chance to do either, the others were there. Kyra and Rhona pulled him to his feet and led him gently but insistently away. Avans was there too, patting him gingerly on the back as though he was the one who suffered. The trow were all around Gilla by now, some embracing her, some tending to Lucasta’s body, and others trying in vain to lead the grieving trow away from her mother.

  “We need to move on,” Avans muttered softly.

  Elias glared at him, incensed by both the suggestion and the knowledge that he was absolutely correct. They were no more than ten minutes of heavy galloping from Dan Tien, near enough to spot the glow of lanterns on the far side of the gate. At any minute, they might be pursued.

  But, how in the seven hells could he possibly propose such a thing?

  He exhaled slowly and nodded.

  “You’re right,” he admitted. “Get ready. I’ll talk to her.”

  Avans plainly didn’t envy him. Grimacing, he turned away and spoke to Kyra and Rhona in a quiet voice. Elias stepped past them, making his way to the spot where Gilla stood, weeping audibly into a trow’s shoulder.

  “Gilla,” he called. He had to repeat himself twice more before he was heard.

  Slowly, Gilla straightened and turned to look at him. Tears flowed freely from her eyes and her dark face was haunted. The sight brought on an onslaught of memories and Elias had to swallow several times before his throat relaxed enough to speak.

  “It’s dangerous here,” he said. “We need to find your sister.”

  Guilt, rage, anguish, and defiance flashed across Gilla’s face in quick succession. She didn’t speak. She glanced at Dan Tien, at her mother’s body, at Elias. And then, still shuddering with unacknowledged sobs, she nodded.

  They mounted their famos in silence. No one dared protest when Gilla insisted on bringing Lucasta with them. Rather, they lifted the matriarch’s body in transparent reverence and waited patiently as Gilla gently secured her to the previously occupied saddle. Then, in continued silence, they departed.

  Grad
ually, as the night deepened and their distance from Dan Tien increased, Elias’ fear and adrenaline faded. In some ways, he almost preferred them to the guilt which took their place.

  It was Suli who’d startled the guards. And he’d been the one to insist she ride with him. He could have hidden her with his cloak—it was dark. Perhaps the guards wouldn’t have noticed his non-elven ears. He could have rejected Omeri’s offer more convincingly. Or, he could have accepted but freed Suli to rejoin her family. Why hadn’t he done that? He’d dragged the ambrosian away from her family and for what? On the off-chance they needed her to break down the gate?

  He’d been a fool. And now, thanks to his shortsightedness, Lucasta was dead.

  What was he even doing here? He was supposed to be an ambassador, not a revolutionary.

  He was supposed to be better than this. After Catherine, he ought—

  “Elias.”

  Rhona’s voice was soft and gentle. He turned, slowing his mount until the Gwydas rode beside him and offering a weak, unconvincing smile.

  “Rhona,” he said. “You okay? Not hurt?”

  She answered him with nothing more than a small shake of her head. Then, staring deeply into his eyes, she steered her mount closer.

  “Is not your fault,” she murmured.

  Throat tight, he tried and failed to smile. “I know,” he lied. “I know that, but—”

  “No. No ‘but.’ Is not your fault.”

  Elias shrugged and didn’t bother arguing. He turned his gaze back to the road ahead. Even staring ahead, he could feel Rhona’s eyes on him for a long time. When they finally vanished, he thought that was the end of it. But, once again, he was proven wrong.

  “You also, ambrosian,” Rhona said. “Is not your fault.”

  He stiffened and turned but Rhona was no longer looking at him.