Heretic (The Sanctuary Series Book 7) (32 page)

“We
are
in this together,” Vara said.

“No, we’re not,” Longwell said, staring around the table. “If you’re hiding things from us—I mean,
now
of all times—this is the moment where we should be united like never before, especially if there’s hope of a plan, because I see him—” He pointed at Cyrus. “I see him walking around now with a little more power in his step, and I see people leaving, and I think … maybe he just still believes. But now I’m thinking he’s got something to believe in, and I want to know what it is.”

“Why?” Cyrus asked quietly, looking right at the dragoon.

“Because maybe I’m worried your plan’s going to leave me in the dust,” Longwell said, more viciously than Cyrus would have ever expected from the dragoon.

“That’s unfair,” Menlos said.

“We’re all together on the gallows,” Erith said, her own words a quiet accusation. “We’re the Council. We were supposed to be united.”

“I thought we were,” Cyrus said, looking to his right to see Vara staring at the table, seemingly stunned into silence. “But now I’m not so sure. You’re all leaping to rather remarkable conclusions, given the circumstances. We have some allies, and the key to maintaining those allies is to make sure that we have regular communication with Administrator Tiernan and the Sovereign of—”

“No,” Ryin said, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, but that’s just not so. I know Mendicant has taken you places, and so has Larana. If you wanted to go see either of those people, go visit our allies, you could use any wizard you desired—”

“No, I couldn’t,” Cyrus said, a line of attack dawning upon him at last, “because Vara and I have already been ambushed by Amarath’s Raiders and nearly killed once; I have no interest in giving them further opportunities.”

Silence fell over the room, as though Cyrus had blown an immense fire spell in the middle of the table. “What?” Ryin asked, aghast. “What did you say?”

“Just before the start of the year, Vara and I went to meet with her sister,” Cyrus said, searching his Council’s faces for signs that they might have heard this before. “We picked the Mountains of Nartanis portal. Mendicant spoke the destination aloud in the foyer and dropped us off there. Almost immediately, we were set upon by a nasty little war party from the Raiders. They cut off our retreat with a cessation spell, and if not for Vara’s quick thinking and forceful attacks, we would be dead.” He paused for effect. “Someone told them we were coming.” He neatly left out the admission by Isabelle that her guild had been rife with defectors to the Raiders.
They probably did find out from her, but there’s no need to spread that around when I can simply repurpose it to quiet this crew for a little while—hopefully.

“You don’t think this is the sort of thing you should report to the Council?” Ryin asked, eyes narrowed. “For all we know, one of the people passing by when you left is a traitor.”

Mendicant was flushed a deep green. “I am so very sorry, Lord Davidon,” the goblin said, practically gasping, breaking his silence for the first time in the meeting, “I apologize—”

“It’s not your fault, Mendicant,” Cyrus said. Clearly the goblin did not consider himself a traitor.
Which is good
, Cyrus thought,
because I don’t think he’s a traitor either
.

Or maybe I just don’t want to believe anyone in Sanctuary—especially in the Council—is a traitor.

“Gods, I hate to bring out the pitchforks and tar,” Menlos said, “but do you know who was around you when you this happened? Might be nice to get an idea of who among us could be a traitor.”

“You think there are traitors among us?” Calene asked, her wide eyes large as teacup saucers. “Oh … oh, gods.”

“It is a natural assumption in times such as these,” Scuddar said in his quiet voice. “Especially after what Malpravus’s corpses said to us at the wall.”

Ryin’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. “What did the corpses say?” He turned an accusatory look at Cyrus. “And why did we not hear about it?”

“He just suggested, in his lording-it-over-us sort of way,” Cyrus said, struggling to stay as casual as possible, “that Mathyas Tarreau, who walked out with half our guild, was doing his man-of-the-people act at Malpravus’s behest.”

“That cost us half of what we had left here at Sanctuary,” Longwell said in quiet desperation. “It’s all people have been talking about since. At least half of what we’ve lost since is attributable to that, people saying they should have gone with Tarreau—”

“Yes, it comes as a real shock to me that Malpravus would do something so sneaky and malignant,” Vaste said, nodding soberly. “Oh, wait, no, it actually does not. I was thinking of someone else. Malpravus would do anything to screw us, and planting dissenters in our midst is probably one of the least vicious things he would do.”

Ryin set his accusatory gaze on Cyrus. “You truly have been hiding things from us.”

“Oh, I’m sure you would have found them all out,” Vaste said, mockingly, “you know … in the fullness of time.”

“These are not small things you’ve been holding back,” Longwell said, and Cyrus could see the sense of betrayal in his eyes. “You’ve … You suspect us, don’t you?”

“That’s another strong accusation,” Menlos said, starting to sound a little desperate. He turned his head to Erith. “Are all the Council meetings like this or did you save this for my first time?”

“I can recall only a very few that have gone anything like this,” Erith said.

“I don’t suspect any of you,” Cyrus said, raising his voice and quieting the chamber. “I don’t. I think Goliath is doing what they always do, sowing the seeds of discord. I don’t believe any one of you is working with them. But … that doesn’t mean I don’t have suspicions.” He shifted uneasily in his chair. “We’ve had a problem with Malpravus getting word of happenings in our Council meetings for as long as I can remember. Whether that’s because some of us just talk too loosely outside this chamber or something more sinister, I can’t say.” He looked right at Longwell. “I don’t suspect you.”

“Good,” Longwell said, sounding insulted even so.

“I don’t suspect any of you,” Cyrus said, glancing about, “and if I had some actionable plan, something I could direct our guild toward, I would include you.” He shrugged. “But we’ve got—what was the number? Five hundred and twelve souls left to our army? I don’t know what kind of plan I could orchestrate with that amount of force, and if I did have one …” He sighed. “I’d need you all, that much is certain. You, plus all the force our allies could muster. I’m a General, after all, and while battle is my forte—this sort of battle? It’s not one we can win.” He looked around the table again. “If I knew a way to shift those odds, be assured I would. But that’s not the sort of plan I’m any good at.”

“You are a ‘pointy tip of the sword’ sort of fellow,” Vaste agreed.

“You lack a certain degree of subtlety, it’s true,” Ryin said reluctantly.

“Exactly,” Cyrus said, nodding a little sadly. “If I could craft some grand battle plan that would work, don’t you imagine I’d do it?” He waited for a reply, any reply. “And if anyone sees the way to fight our way out of this, I’m more than willing to listen. But for now, all I’ve got is … well, a secret or two, but they’re tilted toward keeping things from getting worse, or attacks coming without us knowing it.” He tossed the last bit in, secretly hopeful that it would make its way back to Malpravus.
If he thinks I’ve got spies of my own, maybe it will give his bony stomach an ulcer or two of the sort he’s been sending my way.

“I just don’t see why you can’t—” Ryin started to ask, face still clouded with suspicion.

He was interrupted by a hammering at the door which stopped all conversation. “Come in,” Cyrus called, wondering who would be the messenger now.

Larana slipped into the chamber, looking as though she’d rather just drift right back out the door. “Sir,” she said, not meeting the eyes of any member of the Council, “we’ve … we’ve had word from Emerald Fields.”

Longwell stood, his chair skidding he got up so fast. “What word?” There was no disguising the bare edge of fear in his words.

“They’ve … had a skirmish with the elves,” Larana said, barely looking up, and there was a stir among the Council, “the messenger … he says that the war has begun.”

The officers of Sanctuary appeared at the portal of Emerald Fields to find themselves surrounded, at least a hundred spears pointed at them. The tips remained pointed at them even when it was clear who they were. “Move!” The order was directed at them in a brusque, unfriendly tone. “Clear the field, please.”

Cyrus moved, and Vara, Longwell, Vaste, Ryin, Menlos, and Mendicant followed behind him, through a narrow gap in the wall of Luukessian men standing guard over the portal. The faces of their former guildmates were set in grim lines, and the stink of sweat and tension was in the air. Cyrus marched his way down a well-worn path toward town, the guards at the portal already seeming to have forgotten about them.

“I think we can safely say something drastic has happened here,” Vara intoned, low and quiet. “I have never seen the guard this tense, especially considering they knew who we were.”

“This is the easiest avenue for a sneak attack,” Longwell said, the dragoon walking stiffly, carrying his lance upright at arms. “They’re right to be worried and on their guard. The portal is our greatest lane of trade, and we can’t afford to close it under anything less than the direst threat.”

Cyrus saw the town of Emerald Fields ahead in the distance, brimming with activity, bustling on the streets lined with wooden buildings. The clean lines and newly constructed dwellings gave the entire area a very different feel even from Termina.
Emerald Fields is not a part of the Elven Kingdom
, Cyrus thought,
not at all
.
They’re no more a part of Danay’s ancient and traditional land than I am.

Cyrus plunged ahead with his party toward the center of town, keeping his eyes sharply peeled for familiar faces. “We need to get to Cattrine’s office, see if she’s even there.”

“What do you imagine we’ll be able to do?” Vara asked softly, walking beside him, their motion kicking up dust on the dirty roads.

“Not a thing,” Cyrus said, keeping his eyes fixed on the town ahead, “but we need to hear what’s happened directly from her—and then we need to figure out what’s next.”

They walked through the turbulent streets, people yelling, running about. Still, it was hardly a panic, and nothing compared to the night over a year before when they’d turned out to defend this place against the titans rampaging through its streets while the citizens fled before them in fear. This was a near-calm by comparison, the occasional loud yells balanced by anxious whispering among the denizens, as though death had come to pay them a visit and some were fearless while others were merely stunned.

Cyrus made his way through the streets as carefully as he could; most of the citizens moved when they saw him, the crowds parting so that he could push his way through. He passed countless settlement buildings before he finally caught sight of Cattrine ahead, speaking with a knot of soldiers who wore the steel armor of the Luukessian dragoons. She had a drawn look on her face and was paying very close attention to what they were telling her.

Cyrus stopped, suddenly, lingering just down the street from where she stood. He made a small motion, taking a slow walk across her field of view. She acknowledged him with a flick of her eyes, shading herself with a hand from the sun-drenched day, and gave him a subtle nod toward her office. Cyrus returned the gesture and walked down the side of one of the wooden buildings to the base of a staircase that ran up to a second floor. He started to climb, his officers following behind him.

They waited in the Administrator’s office in strained silence for ten minutes, then fifteen, then half an hour. The quiet nearly defied belief in Cyrus’s view; Ryin and Longwell were, after all, present, but both waited in the stewed silence, clearly unwilling to retread their earlier quarrel in the Council. Instead they all stood, simply waiting, until the door creaked open and Cattrine Tiernan made her way inside, her eyes alight with an indignation that the usually placid Administrator displayed only rarely.

“Well, they’ve gone and done it,” she said without preamble. “A group of elves from the detachment that’s been prowling our northern border crossed over last night and got into a scrape with our cavalrymen. Naturally, our enemy was unprepared, and our alarm rang out quickly, so the elves were run down inside fifteen minutes, all thirty of them.”

“You didn’t lose any people, then?” Cyrus asked.

“Not a one,” Cattrine said with a tight smile. “But I think we all know that this is not the end, but a beginning. Danay will claim we’ve entered a state of insurrection, and he’ll have to answer our fire with his own. And so it will begin.”

“How long do you reckon?” Ryin asked, crestfallen.

“Not long at all,” Cattrine said, any trace of humor vanishing as the lines of her face went slack. “I’m sure they’ve already heard in Pharesia. He’ll be marshaling his forces in minutes. Terian just sent me a notice saying that he was preparing to send us more dark elven soldiers.” She smiled tightly, humorlessly. “This is how it begins, you see. They’ll tie us up and—”

The door slammed open, and in came a breathless Dahveed Thalless, the healer’s white robes trailing behind him, the druid Bowe in his wake, his long queue of hair whipping behind him. “We have a problem,” Dahveed said, his blue skin particularly flushed, as though the heat were getting to him.

“Other than war?” Cattrine asked.

“No, it is still war,” Dahveed said, trying to recapture himself as he stood, panting slightly. Bowe’s eyes were even more narrowed than usual as he stood behind the healer. Cyrus watched the druid.
He seems … angry?
“We were preparing a troop movement out of Sovar in reaction to this attack when something … happened,” Dahveed said, an interplay of emotions rioting across his face. One moment he seemed angry, the next, weary, until he finally settled somewhere between them. “Someone … brought a shipment of Dragon’s Breath into the main tunnel into Saekaj and Sovar … and somewhere, about a hundred feet from the surface … they lit it.”