The Conqueror's Shadow (20 page)

DAVRO AND SEILLOAH BOTH PICKED
with absentminded distaste at the chunks of undercooked meat their hosts had provided. Definitely reptile, Seilloah noted, probably alligator, or perhaps a large snake. She'd have literally killed for something tastier, but when one ate among ogres, one ate whatever they'd managed to hunt.

It was the first rule of their society: Chalsene provides for those
strong enough to take it. To grow or to raise one's own food, rather than to hunt it or win it in battle, was an insult to Chalsene himself. It was why the ogres remained so war-like a people, even as their numbers dwindled and their fortunes failed. And it was why Davro, whatever happened, could never let his brethren learn what he had become. It was more than a violation of tradition; it was blasphemous.

The unlikely pair started in unison, the meal forgotten, as the heavy wooden door drifted open. In the doorway stood Corvis Rebaine, the flickering fires of the community casting him as some hellish fiend. For an instant, the past seventeen years were swept away, dust on the wind of memory. Black-clad, covered in plates and spikes of gleaming bone, there remained no trace at all of the man they'd traveled with for the past days. There couldn't possibly be anything remotely human about this looming thing before them.

And then he stepped into the small (by ogre standards) hut, yanked the iron-banded skull helm from his head, and tossed it into the nearest corner with a resounding crash. “Get this monstrosity off me before I roast!”

Seilloah immediately stepped forward, only to recoil from the pungent aroma emanating from the armor, filling the hut with a palpable effluvium. Her eyes watered, and it was all she could do to keep from choking.

“By the gods, Corvis!”

He glowered up at her, his hair plastered to his forehead by sweat and encrusted dirt. “Don't you dare complain to me! It was
his
bright idea that I wear this thing for six straight days in this hell-spawned swamp!”

Davro shrugged, unapologetic.

“Your spells helped a bit,” Corvis continued. “They may even have kept me alive, as much moisture as I've lost over the past few days. But they didn't make it even remotely comfortable.”

“So I can smell,” she said, cringing. “How did you breathe in there?”

“Carefully. Would you give me a hand already?”

Between the two of them, they did indeed manage to remove Corvis's armor, though it might have gone quicker had Seilloah used both hands, rather than keeping one cupped over her mouth and nose.
Finally, though, a heap of black metal and bone lay in the corner alongside the helm.

“Watch out with those spikes,” Seilloah said, wincing as a shoulder plate dug a furrow into the wooden wall beside it. “This is a borrowed hut, remember.”

“Whatever.” With a groan, Corvis collapsed onto one of the straw-filled mattresses the ogres provided them for the night, lacking the energy even to change his underclothes.

“Two suggestions, Corvis.”

“What?”

“One, bathe. Two, burn those clothes.”

“But burn them well away from the village,” Davro added. “I didn't bring you here to poison my tribe.”

“Oh, you're a riot, Davro.”

“So I've been told. All right, what happened? We've been waiting for three hours, now.”

“Well …” Corvis sat up with another faint groan. “They've agreed to join us. They'll need time to mobilize their warriors and make preparations, but once our army's ready to march, they'll be a part of it.”

“Congratulations,” Seilloah told him.

“From me, too,” Davro said, his tone neutral.

“How did you talk them into it?” the dark-haired woman asked him.

“Oh, that's easy,” the ogre interjected. “He blackmailed them. Right?”

Corvis scowled. “Anytime you feel like giving up that particular habit, Davro, you go right ahead.”

Davro's brow furrowed in contemplation. “No,” he decided a moment later, his voice thoughtful, “I'm not going to be doing that.”

“The agreement?” Seilloah prodded gently.

“Hmm? Oh. It seems Davro was right: The armor made an impression.”

“I was right? And he
admits
it? Heavens be praised.”

“Shut up, Davro. Anyway, they were astounded that the ‘great Lord Rebaine'—their words, not mine, Davro, so stop snickering—had returned. Turns out many of the older warriors, including the chief, were part of my army all those years ago.”

“Turns out?” Davro asked. “You didn't know?”

“Come on, there were, what, over a hundred of your people in my army. I'm supposed to know them all personally?”

“Besides,” Seilloah said with a smirk, “you cyclopes all look alike to us.”

“Anyway
, it also meant a lot to them that—umm …” Corvis glanced askance at Davro, his fingers drumming against his palm.

“What?” the ogre snapped suspiciously.

“Well, seems your chieftain assumed that the reason you didn't come home all these years was that you were serving me. Your—ah, that is, your ‘undying loyalty' to me made a large difference in his decision.”

“They're helping you,” Davro growled, “because of
my
‘undying loyalty'? To
you?”

“Well, that's part of it, but—”

“And you didn't feel the need to correct him?”

“It's a useful misconception, Davro. And I could hardly tell him the real reason, could I?”

“But—”

“Besides, if you think about it, it's true in a way, right? I mean, you
are
loyal to me. Oaths and all.”

“You,” Davro spat, “are
really
pushing it.”

“You're a big guy, Davro. You can take a little pushing.”

“So the ogres just up and joined you?” Seilloah asked skeptically. “That doesn't sound right.”

“Well—not
quite
that simply …”

“Oh, gods,” Davro muttered, “here it comes.”

“The chief sort of assumed that I was coming out of obscurity to retake the kingdom,” Corvis told them. “Let Audriss soften them up, and then come in and take everything while everyone's weak and recovering.”

“And?” Seilloah asked.

Corvis exhaled slowly. “I sort of promised the ogres a quarter share of all conquered territories.”

Seilloah and Davro stared at him as though he'd sprouted an antelope. Davro's mouth worked soundlessly, and Seilloah's own jaw was hanging substantially closer to the floor.

“You did
what?”
she finally squeaked.

“I promised them—”

“I
heard
what you promised them! How could you
do
that?”

“With remarkable ease, actually.”

“Do you have any idea,” Davro asked him, “what they'll do to you when they find out you lied to them?”

“I didn't lie to them. I fully intend to give them one-fourth of all the lands I conquer.”

“But you're not conquering anything!”

“Then it shouldn't take too long to divvy it up, should it?”

“We're dead,” Davro told them succinctly.

“Look,” Corvis said, his voice sharp, “it's not as though they're getting nothing from this. Over the course of the war, I'm quite certain there'll be plenty of opportunities for looting and plunder, so they're not going home empty-handed. I'll just—I don't know, I'll make it look good. We won't have enough men to go on once Audriss is defeated. Or I'll mysteriously vanish. Or make them think I'm dead.”

“I'll help with that one,” Davro said darkly. “I'll make it
real
convincing.”

“In any case, we'll deal with it. What matters is, we've got the ogres on our side, and they count for a great deal. And they'll come out ahead, even without conquering Imphallion, so everyone winds up happy.”

“Why not?” Seilloah asked, her tone thoughtful.

“Huh?” Davro inquired.

“I agree,” Corvis said. “Huh?”

“Why not conquer Imphallion?” A pause. “I see it's my turn to be stared at.”

“Seilloah, what the hell are you talking about?”

“Corvis, if this works, Audriss will be dead, or at least defeated. A good-sized chunk of Imphallion will be without leadership. Most of the armies are going to be scattered, if not decimated outright. Plan this properly, you can step in and assume control with a minimum of additional conflict.”

“Seilloah's got a point,” Davro conceded. “Not so sure I like the idea of you being in charge anymore, but from a purely tactical standpoint,
it's the perfect opportunity. Better than you had twenty years ago, certainly.”

Corvis shook his head. “Look, that's not what I want anymore. I …”

Seilloah's expression tightened. “Corvis, pretend we're meeting for the first time, so many years ago. Tell me why I'm supposed to help a man with bones on his armor conquer the kingdom.”

Corvis's back straightened, and as he spoke, his voice grew strong. “Because we live in a world gone stagnant. The so-called regent is a puppet figure, some pseudo-king the Guilds allow to occupy the throne because Imphallion is still
officially
a monarchy. The regent himself can't do a damn thing without the Guilds' say-so, and they never say so unless it's good for business. They're merchants, not leaders, and they have no business governing. Imphallion hasn't accomplished anything for more generations than I can count, and a kingdom that isn't growing is dying.”

Abruptly, Corvis opened his eyes, and he actually blushed beneath the disbelieving eyes of his companions.

“Yeah,” Davro said snidely. “Well, it's clear you don't believe
that
anymore. I'm convinced.”

“Corvis,” Seilloah told him, “you have a family now. Ultimately, you're doing this for them. I know that. But why does it have to be one or the other? Think of the kind of life you could make for them if you were king! Think of how much safer they'd be if Imphallion had a strong leader again! Of the sort of world you could build for your children in a kingdom in ascension, rather than decline.”

“I—I don't know. I'll think about it.”

Seilloah's eyes narrowed in a look that Corvis recognized from days of old, and he knew he'd not heard the end of this. Apparently having decided that she'd said enough
for now
, however, her next move was away from her companions and toward her mattress. “Just be sure to bathe before you go to sleep. I refuse to wake up to that awful stench.”

Corvis glanced over at Davro, who merely shrugged.

“Don't give me that,” Corvis demanded. “I've never in my life known you to lack an opinion on anything!”

Davro smiled flatly. “Oh, I've got my opinions. But you, Rebaine, don't want to hear them.”

“Oh? Why, pray tell?”

“Because no matter what I say, it's not going to be the answer you want.”

“How can you possibly know that?”

“Because this question only has two answers, Rebaine. And you hate both of them.” And he, too, stomped to the other side of the hut, flopped down, and went to sleep.

Corvis, exhausted as he was, lay awake and watched the ceiling for a long, long time.

“WHERE TO NOW?”
Seilloah asked as she placed a foot upon the lizard's knee and swung herself up. Corvis—mercifully free of his armor—was already seated on Rascal's back, eager for another day's travel into cooler climes. After that swamp, even the blazing heat of summer in other lands seemed a relief.

“I've been thinking about that since we left Davro's village,” Corvis said softly.

Davro, his mood pensive ever since his brief family reunion, glanced down sharply. “My
people's
village. I live on a sheep farm. And I'd like to get back there before I die of old age, so squelch the damn preliminaries and answer the question!”