Master (Book 5) (7 page)

“Oh, there went my appetite,” Vaste said.

“—but I don’t think I can be of much help to you in this matter,” Mendicant finished, his grimace now faded.
He looks almost … regretful
, Cyrus decided.

“I asked all of you here for a specific reason,” Cyrus said, turning to the last member of the group, Martaina Proelius. She had said nothing thus far, preferring to stand near the door, tall and lithe, surveying the meeting with a watchful eye as though something—or someone—were about to burst through the door at any moment. Her green cloak covered her hands and arms as well as her body, and she stood stiff and still, taking it all in.
Or napping with her eyes open, for all I know.
“You are some of the smartest and most experienced people in Sanctuary—”

“Where’s Curatio?” J’anda asked, shifting in his chair and letting the wine slosh around in his goblet.

“Supremely busy,” Cyrus said.

“It seems to me that Lady Vara would be a good choice for this sort of discussion,” Mendicant said, speaking softly. “She is named for the Goddess of Life, after all, is she not?”

“Ahhh …” Cyrus felt a grimace of his own appear. “I don’t want to bother Lady Vara until we have something more … uh … substantial … to share.” He knew the eyes of the others were either upon him or averted politely, and he cleared his throat. “The question still remains—when a goddess goes missing, where does a mortal begin looking for her?”

“I don’t know,” J’anda said, rolling his eyes. “Why don’t you ask an immortal?”

“I’ll try and catch up with Curatio later tonight,” Cyrus said, holding up a hand as though he could ward the enchanter off. “But before then, I’d like to at least have some ideas.”

“You could try visiting her home,” Martaina said from her place near the door. She maintained her icy demeanor as everyone turned to look at her. “It seems the logical place to start a search.”

“The only problem being that apparently the guardians of her realm are a little touchy at the moment,” Cyrus said. “But you’re quite right, we should visit the Realm of Life, see if we can find out anything there.” He paused. “Maybe bring a little army with us to be sure we don’t get overwhelmed in case we have to stage a sudden retreat.” He looked around the small group. “Any other ideas?”

There was a pause before Vaste broke the silence. “We’re probably a little stalled in our thinking because none of us has ever had to find a god before. Usually they’re quite good about staying where you leave them.”

Cyrus saw a few smiles break around the room, taking special note of J’anda’s. The dark elf, even in his illusionary state, maintained a distinctive air about him, his dark skin looking shadowed in the light of the torches that burned from sconces on the wall.

“Fair enough,” Cyrus said. “If you come up with any other ideas, though—”

“Who would kidnap a god?” Mendicant asked, muttering under his breath.

Cyrus turned his head to focus on the goblin. “I’m sorry, Mendicant, what was that?”

“Oh,” Mendicant said, suddenly flustered. “I didn’t realize I was speaking aloud.”

“Well, you were,” Cyrus said, honing in on the green-skinned wizard, “and it sounded like a good thought. Say that again.”

The goblin sat back, long fingers with the claws on the ends fingering his blue robe. “I was just speculating—pointlessly, really—about who would have the power to kidnap a god. Not a guild, or an army, in all probability—”

“Unless they beat her to within an inch of her life the way we did to Mortus,” J’anda said. “He was begging for mercy by the end, after all.”

“No, Mendicant has a point,” Cyrus said. “Mortus was still trying to flee when he died. And for all the trouble it caused us, we were able to do what we did to him because his servants were dead first. Try and imagine fighting an army at the same time we were facing him.”

“Scary thought,” J’anda said.

“Whatever happened to her,” Cyrus said, letting his fingers drum on the metal plate protecting his thigh, “she either went willingly, or it happened so quietly and quickly that her guardians didn’t hear it. That would take … power.”

“Unless her guardians were somehow complicit in it,” J’anda said, raising the goblet to his mouth with a wide smile.

“Thank you for reminding me why I never became a constable in a city guard,” Cyrus said with a sigh.

“You really don’t have the disposition for it,” Vaste said. “You’d ask three questions and then disembowel them right there for annoying you.”

“I would not,” Cyrus said, shaking his head. “I’m not Va …” He let his voice trail off. “That’s good enough for now. Keep thinking. I’ll schedule an expedition to the Realm of Life to take a cursory look around. Until then, just keep trying to come up with other angles to think this thing through.”

He nodded and smiled tightly as the meeting broke. Martaina was first out the door, without so much as a look back. Mendicant bowed to Cyrus, then J’anda, and finally Vaste, who waved him off with dismissive shake of his massive green hand. With only a nod to Odellan, the goblin skittered toward the door, claws clicking a fast pace until he was out in the hallway. Cyrus listened as the clicking slowed, the goblin’s nerves presumably subsiding.

“It is quite the conundrum,” Odellan said, pausing by the door. He carried his silver-winged helm from his days in the Termina Guard under his arm. “Having presided over more than a few investigations myself, I can honestly say I do not envy you this task.”

“That’s all right,” Cyrus said, smiling at the elf. “I’m putting you in charge of the investigation anyway.”

“I beg your pardon?” Odellan’s question was spoken with the politest air, as though he’d simply misheard a conversation at a dinner party and was asking for clarification.

“You’re running the investigation,” Cyrus said. “You’ll be asking the questions, should we find someone to ask them of.” Cyrus sat back, letting his muscles relax against the wooden back of the chair. “You’ve done this before. I never have. I’ll be right there with you, ready to ask anything that comes to my mind, but you’ll be the lead investigator on this.”

“Ah, I … ah …” Odellan’s face flushed scarlet. “This is a bit … larger than any previous investigation I might have undertaken.”

“Nonsense,” Cyrus said, clapping his gauntleted hands together. “You investigated on the occasion that the God of Death sent assassins after your citizens in Termina. This seems right up your alley.”

“I failed in that investigation,” Odellan said. “I believe you were the one who made all the determinations in that case. I merely … uncovered perhaps a fact or two of note—”

“Which is exactly what I need now,” Cyrus said, “an investigator with some experience in these matters.” He stood, nodding firmly to signal that the topic was closed. “I know this is a little out of your purview. It’s out of all of our purviews, but you’re as qualified as anyone else to ask questions. Did you ever have to deal with missing persons in Termina?”

“On a few occasions, yes,” Odellan said with greatest reluctance, as though Cyrus had taken a sharp implement out and prised the answer from his mouth by force. “But—”

“No buts,” Cyrus said and waved him toward the door. “Do what you can. I’m not expecting miracles.”

“An odd sentiment,” J’anda said, following Odellan toward the door and resting a hand on his shoulder, “given that our victim is a goddess?” He smiled and stepped into the hall, taking care to shut the door behind him.”

Cyrus watched them go and shook his head as though he could shrug off the strangeness of the task they were set upon. He turned his head and realized that one of the attendees was still very much with him, sitting on a chair and staring at him. “Vaste?” Cyrus asked. “Is there a reason you’re leering at me?” He sniffed the air, caught a whiff of the distant smell of the cooking. “You’ve not become so overwhelmed by your hunger that you’re considering eating me, I hope?”

“As disagreeable as you are outside my stomach, I can’t imagine what damage you would do within it,” Vaste replied, scowling. “No, I prefer to keep my diet strictly to things that don’t give me indigestion, thank you.”

“Very well,” Cyrus said with a smile. “What, then?”

“How are you doing?” Vaste asked, standing. The troll towered over Cyrus by several feet, and for another, it might have been intimidating.

“I feel fine,” Cyrus said, folding his arms. “Arydni said that the illness never took hold in my chest, that my breathing seems un …” he searched for a word, “… deterred, I suppose. I’m fine, that’s the gist.”

“Are you?” Vaste said, staring down at him. “Are you truly?”

“Yes,” Cyrus said, staring back. “Truly. I am not ill.”

“Are you sure?” Vaste asked, tapping his tall staff against the ground. “Because it seems to me—and admittedly I am but a humble troll and outside observer—that in the last six months you’ve somehow foresworn the woman you’ve pined over for the last four years in favor of the one whose interest you’ve been spurning all this time.” Vaste nodded, as if he were giving deep consideration to something. “That doesn’t seem like the mark of a man who’s got his wits about him.”

“There’s a little more complexity to the situation than that.” Cyrus could feel the slow thrum of blood in his veins.
Oh, how I don’t care to talk about this
.

“Is there?” Vaste asked. “Because, again, to my eyes, it looks daft. It makes those who have known you wonder if perhaps you simply need a good, solid thump to the head with a heavy stick.” He tapped his staff against the ground again, the white crystal at the top catching Cyrus’s eye. “Oh, look. I seem to be carrying a heavy stick.”

“Vaste, she scorned me,” Cyrus said, his voice low and quiet. “Before I left for Luukessia, she turned away my advances.”

“Yes, and upon your return, she practically flung herself at you,” Vaste said.

“She …
talked
to me … in the Council Chambers,” Cyrus said. “I wouldn’t say she ‘flung herself’ at me.”

“Did she attempt to stab you in any way during the conversation?”

“What? No.”

“Well, for Vara, that’s practically like flinging herself at you.”

“She didn’t want me, okay?” Cyrus said, feeling the first flash of irritation. “She made it clear before I left. I’m sorry she changed her mind while I was gone. Things changed in the year and more I was in Luukessia. I got … entangled.”

“Yes,” Vaste said, “that’s a good way to put it. I noticed, though, that you didn’t seem to have great difficulty disentangling yourself from the Baroness Cattrine when the time came for her to leave for the Emerald Fields.”

Cyrus let his head slump. “There’s more to that situation as well. It’s not as simple as you’re painting it—”

“Oh, yes,” Vaste said, “I’m sure that fiery, energetic sexual escapades with a lithe, dexterous dark elven thief are incredibly nuanced and possessed of much depth. You probably have conversations in which you discuss the great elven literary masters of the day and the sordid details of dwarven politics.” He focused his gaze on Cyrus. “No? It’s just sex, then?”

Cyrus held up a hand, as though he could forestall the troll. “I … look, I’m incredibly busy trying to be the General of this guild and steer our expeditions and incursions—”

“I’m having a hard time trying to figure out which of you is using the other more, you or Aisling,” Vaste said, and Cyrus felt the silence draw in after the words were spoken.

“I’m not …” he cleared his throat, which suddenly felt oppressively tight, like something within it was choking him, “I’m not
using
her.”

“Are you in love with her?” Vaste asked, his piercing onyx eyes boring relentlessly into Cyrus’s.

“I’m not … not in love with her,” Cyrus said. “I didn’t know love was a requirement before—”

“Some civilized cultures think it helpful,” Vaste replied. “Not the trolls, obviously. My people will gladly throw down with any random partner in any place, and feelings are not a concern at all. In fact, the more loathsome the partner, sometimes the better the—”

“I could stand to go without hearing the intricacies of troll sex, thanks,” Cyrus said, squinting his eyes as though he could blot out the words.

“You’re using the girl,” Vaste said. “She’s allowing it for her own reasons. Perhaps it’s because you make her scream the way you do, or perhaps she feels something for the first time in years. I don’t know. I don’t care. Your furtive glances when we’re in Council betray your actual feelings—the same way they have for the last four years.”

“I screwed it up, Vaste,” Cyrus said quietly, and the troll stayed silent as he watched Cyrus. “The night I came back from Luukessia, Aisling came to my quarters. I was tired and frustrated, and … I grabbed hold of her as she passed, not even fully realizing who she was. I was just … yearning for something. Alaric had … I just wanted to feel
something
. And a knock came at my door later that woke me up, and when I went to get it, Vara was standing there. And she saw …” Cyrus gestured behind him, as though the scene were recreated there for the troll to see.

“Oh, dear,” Vaste said, forming a perfect O with his lips from astonishment. “Yes. Okay. I see the problem now.”

“Yes, I see the problem too,” Cyrus said. “It doesn’t matter if Aisling is using me—though I can’t imagine what for. There is no chance with Vara now.”

“You don’t know that,” the troll said quickly.

“I think I know it,” Cyrus said.

“You won’t know unless you try,” Vaste said quietly.

“There’s nothing to try,” Cyrus said. “She won’t even talk to me about anything other than guild matters. Won’t even look at me except to acknowledge a direct statement or question. She’s done with me, Vaste. Whatever was between us is now gone. Totally and irrevocably.”

“I’m still holding this stick, you know,” Vaste said, waving the staff slightly, “and I’m beginning to think you might still need an abrupt whack delivered to the back of your head. You’ve been so busy running these last few months—”

“I’m not running,” Cyrus said, and this time it came out as a snarl. “I’m not running from anything or anybody, all right? I’m handling guild business. I’m scheduling and executing expeditions, incursions and battles to help us handle the responsibilities we have before us. It’s a lot of work. I’m not running,” he said again, more emphatically this time. “I learned my lesson about running last year. I have more than enough to face at present. It’s that the fight …” he paused, letting his voice lower, “… is over.”