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

Cyrus frowned. “You think I’d remember I’m your husband but forget that I’m obnoxious and pompous?”

“Well, of course,” she said, showing a glimpse of that mischievous look he’d seen in her earlier in the day. “It is hard to forget me and easy to overlook your own gaping flaws.”

“With you about, it’s not easy to forget either. I tend to receive constant reminders of both.”

She looked mildly affronted. “I think I’ve been rather good about not emphasizing either, at least until now, when gods know you need a good reminder, Cyrus Davidon.” She padded over to him and stood looking up at him in his full armor. It felt dark to him somehow, like the usual blackness of it had become looming shadow, representative of his new role in Sanctuary.
I am the darkness within this place, the curse upon it.
“I know you were going to give yourself over to them—Urides, Goliath, the Leagues.”

“It was the sensible thing to do,” Cyrus whispered.

She ran a hand over his cheek, the faint stubble rising up on his skin rough against her fingertips. “You’ve never taken the sensible course. You’ve always pushed the world in the direction you wanted, not accepting what was handed to you. Don’t be afflicted with being sensible now. Not now. To cave to expectation at this moment … it’s the worst possible time.”

“I never thought I’d hear you suggest that I should be more unreasonable,” Cyrus said with a faint smile that cracked through the darkness enshrouding him.

“Just this once, I think,” she said and tugged him down to kiss her. There was reassurance there, in the arms of his wife, and she held him like that for some time, though not nearly long enough to assuage his worries.

Cyrus stood in the throne room of the Sovereign of Saekaj, waiting patiently before the empty wooden thrones that sat at the end of a lush red carpet. Samwen Longwell, Calene Raverle, Vaste and Mendicant stood with him, the occasional cough in the darkness or the shuffling of the goblin’s claws the only things to break the silence. They had had a long ride down from the surface after a short walk from the nearest portal. Cyrus had looked out upon a bustling city built into the underground caves of Saekaj and seen beauty in the darkness as his carriage carried him rattling along to the palace.

“How long do you think he’s going to keep us waiting?” Longwell asked under his breath.

“He rules a nation now,” Cyrus said, feeling the curious absence of Praelior at his side. The scabbard sat upon his belt, but he’d selected a sturdy steel blade as a replacement from the armory, which was still in disarray after the death of Belkan. The blade rattled loosely in Avenger’s Rest, the scabbard on his belt, and he was resolved to find the new blade a better holder.
I need to find Rhane Ermoc and get Praelior back
, he thought with a touch of glumness.
Though I doubt he’s going to be waiting around for me to come back for it.
“Terian has responsibilities.”

“The Sovereign is a busy man,” came a woman’s voice out of the darkness. Cyrus tensed; the only woman he could think of who might be working as Terian’s aide was the one who’d saved him from the wrath of elven king several months back.
But that’s not Aisling’s voice
, he thought.
It’s too … low, breathy …

A woman came striding out of the dark, wearing a blue-green dress. Her hair was dyed to match, its sea green complementing her blue skin tone surprisingly well. She wore a look of amusement as she surveyed the Sanctuary party, her eyes honing in especially on Cyrus’s. They were piercing, clearly trying to get the measure of him. “So …” she said softly, “you’re Cyrus Davidon.” She paused beside the thrones, cocking her head as she studied him. “I thought you’d be taller.”

“I’m … one of the tallest humans you’ll ever meet,” Cyrus said, face screwed up in surprise. Her reaction to his height was a not a common one.

She waved him away. “I know, I know, but still … I thought you’d be taller after all the tales I’ve heard about you.”

“And here I’ve heard nothing about you …?” Cyrus said, slightly nonplussed by her candor.

“Oh, Terian hasn’t told you about me?” She placed a hand on her blue cleavage, well displayed, and

Cyrus had the impression she wasn’t above using her attributes as a distraction.

“Ah,” Cyrus said, nodding. “You’re his wife.”

She nodded, a coy smile perched on her lips. “My name is Kahlee Lepos.”

“Does that make you the Sovereigness of Saekaj Sovar?” Mendicant asked.

Kahlee Lepos’s smile turned wry. “No.”

A door banged open at the far end of the chamber, causing Cyrus to turn his back on Mrs. Lepos abruptly. The Sovereign of Saekaj Sovar himself came storming down the carpet, his axe in his hand, moving with a startling alacrity.

That’s how I used to look when I held Praelior
, Cyrus thought with a sudden surge of regret that felt like a hole had opened up in his chest.
Dammit
.

“Cyrus,” Terian said, slowing his pace as he came closer, slinging the axe over his shoulder and drifting back to human speed. The Sovereign wore the battered metal armor of the Ghost of Sanctuary. He took off the helm and carried it under his arm, approaching Cyrus at a normal pace now, his pointed nose standing out in the middle of his face, undisguised relief writ across it. He placed a hand on Cyrus’s shoulder, reaching up to do so. “I’m glad to see you survived the Goliath ambush.”

“Not just Goliath,” Cyrus said, feeling stiff in his own armor.

“I heard,” Terian said, letting his hand drift back down and pacing toward his throne, stopping before he got there. His wife threaded between the gorgeous wooden seats and came up to stand behind her husband. He glanced back at her movement. “Have you met my lady wife?”

“Briefly,” Cyrus began.

“I know all your names,” Kahlee said with that same coy smile. “No need to delay your meeting for introductions.”

“Everyone knows my name,” Vaste said, nodding sagely. “Apparently it’s not often you meet a troll with such stunning good looks and excellent wit.”

“It’s very true, Vaste,” Kahlee replied impishly, “most of them struggle with even forming basic sentences in the human language.”

Vaste sighed. “Oh, you married well,” he said to Terian.

Terian smirked, then shifted his attention back to Cyrus, the gloom of the throne room hanging over them as the Sovereign’s smile faded. “I heard that squirt of wet feces Rhane Ermoc got Praelior.” He did not glance at Cyrus’s scabbard for confirmation.
He doesn’t even question it; he already knows.

“He did,” Cyrus said, feeling a very taut sensation bubbling back up inside. “I’m sure he’s dancing a merry jig right now at his triumph.”

“Well, I do hope you’re ready to feed that triumph back to him,” Terian said, “blade-first, of course.”

Cyrus started to speak, but held onto his first thought and sighed. “I would,” he said when he spoke, “but this was not a simple attack that merits quick revenge. This was a plotted assassination attempt against me that was followed by a declaration of—”

“Heresy,” Terian said, nodding. “I got the notice yesterday after you were ambushed. They wanted me to turn against you, can you believe it? It’s as though they haven’t been paying attention this last year when we allied against Danay with Emerald Fields.” He broke into a smile. “Naturally, I sent their missive back with one of my own.”

“What did you say?” Vaste asked.

“I didn’t
say
anything,” Terian replied. “I did, however, wipe my arse on a piece of parchment after a particularly wretched bowel movement and had it sealed with wax, writing, ‘For the Eyes of Pretnam Urides Only’ upon the envelope. I do hope he followed the instructions to the letter.”

“You are the soul of regal comportment, my husband,” Kahlee said.

“Oh, come on,” Terian said, still grinning, “these are the moments that make being Sovereign worth the headaches of trying to get this nation to run.” He looked at Cyrus. “Like I said before, in the Jungle of Vidara, I’m with you. What do you need from us?”

“Nothing at present,” Cyrus said, though he heard Longwell harrumph and tap his lance against the floor of the throne room. “We have enough forces to guard our walls—”

“You have very little in the way of forces left, to my understanding,” Terian said. “Cyrus … with the Luukessians helping my army garrison Emerald Fields against the elven threat, you have less than two thousand members of Sanctuary left at the guildhall. And you’re going to lose some of them now that the pronouncement has been made.”

“You know my numbers better than I do,” Cyrus said, feeling the sting of that as well.

“I don’t take the departures as personally as you do,” Terian said gently. “Though I can’t imagine it’s been easy watching thousands and thousands stream out your doors this last year.”

“Not easy at all, no,” Cyrus said, straightening up. “But that’s irrelevant. We can garrison Sanctuary itself with less than five hundred, and you know it. The Luukessians would be more than glad to send additional help should we need it—”

“As would we,” Kahlee said, apparently pre-empting her husband.

“He already knew that, wife,” Terian said.

“When someone is embattled, husband, it’s good form to offer support, because the encouragement is needed most when clearly absent from all other sources,” she said.

“This is a peculiar marriage,” Calene said in a quiet whisper.

“You said it,” Terian agreed. “In any case … yes, Cyrus, we would willingly reinforce the Sanctuary guildhall if it comes to that. Say the word, I’ll send my best. The civilian council that runs things with me here has already given their approval to aid you as our ally, so … whatever you need.”

“Thank you, Terian,” Cyrus said, looking away from the paladin’s gaze. “I should have known you’d—your loyalty is much appreciated in this hour.”

“Forget all that maudlin sentimentality,” Terian said. “When are you going after these bastards?”

Cyrus looked up to find the Sovereign regarding him carefully. “Terian, Goliath and Amarath’s Raiders are the vanguard of our enemies at the moment. The Human Confederation and the Elven Kingdom are both standing clearly, if not quite as enthusiastically, behind them, with their immense—compared to ours—armies. And as you just pointed out … we have about two thousand guild members, if you don’t count the Luukessians, and I don’t—”

“Ahem,” Longwell said behind him.

“—because of their primary commitment to their new homeland at the moment,” Cyrus said, casting a look over his shoulder at the dragoon. “With the tension between them and the elves right now, that force is going to have to stay in place for the time being. Those troops are useless to us. Even if King Danay didn’t want to involve himself in this little conflict brewing, his mere existence means that we’ve got a hand tied behind our back. The Luukessians are pinned in place.”

“So unpin them,” Terian said, a glint in his eyes.

“Perhaps you’re not listening,” Cyrus said, feeling as though the Sovereign might have missed a step. “Leaving aside the elves for a moment—Goliath is against us. Amarath’s Raiders is against us. Two guilds which competed with Sanctuary in size before we lost half our number in the last two years. The Human Confederation sits in their shadow—”

Terian yawned. “And behind them, presumably, in lessening orders of enthusiasm for making war upon you and Sanctuary are the dwarves and the gnomes. I’m aware of the political state of Arkaria most acutely, my friend. I spend most days considering it for endless hours, thanks to my advisors and their incessant desire to chatter about such things. Here’s what I also know—the Human Confederation has roughly one hundred thousand troops under muster at the moment, the Elven Kingdom roughly fifty thousand—”

“Like a herd of naked dwarves bursting out of your quarters unannounced, I personally find that worrisome,” Vaste said.

“Does … does that happen to you often?” Calene asked.

“They already have us outnumbered some fifteen to one, even if we counted the Luukessians,” Cyrus said, ignoring Vaste.

“Goliath also has some twenty thousand or more, though it’s hard to count because they’re housing most of their forces in the Bandit Lands,” Terian went on, as if reading from a list, “and Amarath’s Raiders has a company of some five thousand, a much higher than usual mix of spellcasters mingled in there, possibly as many as a thousand of their number.”

“So it’s one hundred and seventy five thousand to ten thousand,” Vaste said. “Oh, good. That hope I was feeling at your proclamation of support got quashed all by itself.”

“It’s not that bad,” Terian said, “we’ve got about twenty thousand troops at our command in the Sovereignty, though admittedly many are very young or very old. The war went a little hard on us, after all—”

“Thirty thousand to—” Vaste stopped. “You know, I’m just going to say six-to-one.”

“Easy odds,” Terian said with a grin. “If you wanted to fight them straight up … though I wouldn’t exactly recommend it.”

Cyrus’s head felt as though it were spinning. “Then what do you recommend? Because all I’m hearing now is talk of armies and comparisons with staggering numbers of troops at a level I can’t even conceive of battling against.”

“Cyrus,” Terian said in disappointment, “you took ten thousand charging Luukessians against a hundred thousand dark elves at the Battle of Sanctuary, and you wiped them out utterly.”

“We caught them with their backs to us on a charge,” Cyrus said. “It wasn’t a fair fight—”

Terian clapped his gauntlets together. “Exactly!”

“You’re suggesting we start an unfair fight?” Calene Raverle asked in utter bewilderment. “Oy, between the herds of roving naked dwarves and all the war and defeat, I feel a bit dizzy …”

“You’ll get used to it,” Vaste said.

“Damned right I’m saying you should start an unfair fight,” Terian said. “We set the terms of these engagements and knock them back in pitched battles where they don’t even realize they’re battles until they’re counting their dead with regret.”

“I don’t think Malpravus feels regret over the dead,” Vaste said. “More like fond longing. Glee, even.”