Warlord (16 page)

“Well, you’ve certainly done that in this case,” she said, giving him an appraising eye from head to toe. “And I don’t think I’ve ever seen your armor look so close to presentable before. It almost looks like polished onyx.”

Cyrus sniffed at the curious smell of the polish she’d used. “What is this?”

“It’s a kind of wax they sell in the Kingdom,” Vara said, turning to head for the door, her steps crisp. He fell in behind her and they moved as one without even having to think about it.
But then, it’s been that way between us for a long while, even when we fought each other we could move in battle together like no one else.
“If you fancy it, I’m sure we could get you some—give the Guildmaster of Sanctuary a new look, something a bit more in keeping with your station.”

“A year ago, you would have been the last person I’d thought would be giving me advice about improving my appearance,” Cyrus said as they circled the tower stairs past the Council Chambers, “unless it involved getting my face mashed into slurry by troll punches.”

“Not so,” Vara said, “I have always found you rather attractive. It was your frustratingly stubborn personality I would have preferred to have ground to meal.” She flashed him a smile.

“Ugh!” Vaste’s voice came from behind the partially closed Council Chamber doors, followed by a sound of retching. “Just go to bed together already!”

“We did,” Cyrus called over his shoulder as they descended. “Twice this morning, in fact!” When he turned back, he saw Vara’s cheeks flush. “Sorry. He practically cried out for it.”

“No, it’s fine, anything you throw at Vaste is perfectly acceptable in the spirit of trouncing some of the humor out of that jester,” she said, shaking her head. “I was merely thinking about a few years ago, when my mother,” she cringed slightly, “said all those things about us rutting together. She had the measure of me then, knew me better than I knew myself.”

“You’re not the only one who questions how well they know themselves, at least lately,” Cyrus said, giving the matter some thought. “Though I admit I’m a bit curious to hear you thinking about it in any depth.” He stared down at her as her head bobbed with each step. “
You’re
not having some existential crisis that I need to worry about, are you?”

“Nothing of the sort,” she said. Her expression was utterly unguarded and held just a hint of worry. “I merely … well … it is a little difficult for me sometimes to find myself adjusting to this relationship.” She held up a hand. “That sounds wrong. Wait. Let me explain. This has been a surprisingly easy transition over the last months. Things have been … well, better than I can remember, actually. Much smoother than I would have predicted, given the speed with which we have moved.”

“Well, we kind of circled each other in some form of mortal combat for about five years before getting to this point,” Cyrus said wryly, “it probably took some of the fight out of both of us.”

“You hardly seem lacking for energy,” she quipped. “But I think you know of what I speak—liaisons may happen quickly, but the fast ones always burn out the swiftest.” She paused on the staircase. “I think what I am trying to say is … this is not one of those occasions. I grow fonder of you with each passing day, Cyrus Davidon.”

“I love you, too,” Cyrus said without thinking, and then froze as he realized what he said.
Uhh
…
I hadn’t said that to her before, had I?
In fact he knew he had not, though he had pondered it and intended fully to keep it suppressed within until she spoke it aloud first.
There goes that plan.

“Did you just say …?” she looked at him in wonder.

“I believe I did,” he said, a little uncertainly.

She stared at him for a long moment then broke into a smile. “I love you, too, you clod. I wondered when you would develop the courage to say it.” And then she turned, and started back down the stairs.

“What, is your mouth suffering injury?” he asked, trailing behind her. “You could have said it first if you felt that way.”

“And risk you snubbing me? Never.” But she shot him an impish grin, and he could not help but laugh. As they drew closer to the bottom of the stairs, her pace slowed, and he moved to match her. “Do you think …” she hesitated. “Do you think it will last?”

“Having never really been in what you could call a successful relationship,” Cyrus said, feeling her tentativeness and reaching for her hand. Their gauntlets clinked. “I suppose I don’t know what it takes to ‘make it work.’ But,” he said, forcing a smile through his own hesitancy—it did not take much with her in front of him, “as I said, we’ve been circling each other for five years. By now I think you’ve seen the best and worst of me. We’ve been enemies and friends, and spent a good portion of that time somewhere in between … there’s no mystery between us now, Vara.” He cradled her smaller gauntlet in his own, wishing that neither of them were wearing the obstructive things. “If anyone knows me and could tolerate me, I suspect it would be you, since we’ve been together for a few months now and you haven’t even thrown a heavy object at my head lately—”

“I’m saving it for a choice occasion,” she said, “some particularly dunderheaded act on your part will see something metal whisked at your skull faster than you can say, ‘Dall diddly lye.’”

He froze, trying to translate that. “‘Earthwork baby doll’?”

“Thank Vidara you’re better as a lover than you are at elvish,” she said, taking hold of his hand and dragging him down.

“I’d really rather you thank me for that than the Goddess … rather laboriously, later, maybe—”

“Again? Truly?” She gave him a look of exasperation. “Perhaps if we make it through all this day entails, I will consider it.”

“That’s a ‘no,’ isn’t it?”

“Woe betide you if I find something heavy and metal right now, Cyrus Davidon. It’s a good thing you’re wearing your helm.” She hesitated. “Does it concern you?”

“You throwing something at me?” Cyrus asked. “You’ve got some strength, but as you pointed out, I am wearing my helm—”

“Our second meeting, dolt.”

“The first worries me more,” Cyrus said, pensive. “Is that strange?”

“Very strange for a normal person,” she said, biting her lip. “But not for you, warrior mine. You are more comfortable with the things you can fight, and you flounder about with the things that you can’t.”

“I definitely can’t fight this one,” Cyrus said as they strode off the stairs and into the foyer. The morning sun was casting purple light through the massive stained glass window above the main doors, and Nyad stood waiting for them in the middle of the great seal. The guard was trebled, an enormous circle of uneasy warriors, rangers and all manner of other defenders. He saw Thad standing nearby, watching the whole scene with concern.

“Sir,” Thad said, addressing Cyrus in the same formal way he had even before he’d been the castellan of Sanctuary or an officer.

“Thad,” Cyrus said, nodding at the red-armored warrior. He spared a thought for the man going through a divorce.
I remember what that’s like, and in spite of what Andren said, it can’t be an easy thing. Still, he’s here, and doing his duty.
“As soon as we leave … close the portal to all traffic. We can walk from the one outside the gates when we return. No need to give the titans an easy in; keep it closed until further notice.”

“Aye, sir,” Thad said, relaxing only an inch. “I’ll see it’s done.”

Cyrus nodded, then turned his attention to Nyad. He felt Vara drop his hand as she drew herself up to her full height, which was still a head and a half less than his. “Are you ready?” he asked Vara, who still looked stiff in spite of their long, informal conversation on the way down.

“As ready as I can be for this,” she said, expression as neutral as he could recall seeing it outside of a battlefield. “And you?”

“If I’m not ready, I will be soon,” Cyrus said, pursing his lips. “Nyad … take us to see your father.”

The royal palace of Pharesia was a grand thing both inside and out, and full of the greenery of life that the elves seemed to love with all their hearts. Privately, Cyrus wondered how many gardeners and how much gold it took to maintain the glorious and beautiful heart of the elven kingdom, for it certainly did not look the way Reikonos did, with all its function over form, and its mismatched architecture. It did not even have a royal palace the way Pharesia did, and he could not think of a single building that the humans built anywhere in the entire Confederation that matched the grandeur, scale and expense of the larger buildings that the elves constructed.
I suppose they’re built to endure for thousands of years, by people who fully plan to inhabit them most of that while.

“Do you find this table to your liking, Lord Davidon?” the man way down at the head of the table asked. He seemed to be roughly a mile off. They were sitting in a dining room that should have been bitterly cold, given its immensity and the time of year, but in fact it was warm enough for plant life to be growing all around him. It was something like a conservatory, save for the mammoth table at the center of the room. Greenery abounded, even in the centerpieces of the table, which prevented him from looking directly at Vara. She sat immediately opposite him, delicately eating with the thinnest fork he’d ever seen.

“I’m afraid I can’t hear you as well as I might care to, your Grace,” Cyrus called to King Danay I, the monarch of the entire Elven Kingdom. He was seated roughly a hundred feet away, at the far end of the table. A host of bowls and plates filled with every sort of meat and dishes beyond Cyrus’s imagination covered at least ten feet of the table in front of him. Cyrus, for his part, had a similar grouping of dishes in front of him, far more weighted toward meats and cheeses than the green vegetables that he could barely see in front of Vara across the table. Her feast seemed to blend in with the centerpiece, and he dismissed it with only a thought of disgust. “My human ears might not be up to the task of having a conversation in this place.”

The King muttered something down the table which Cyrus did not hear, but it drew a scandalized look from Vara. When he looked at her questioningly, she merely blushed and said, “It is not worthy of repeating.”

“Tell me later?” he asked, genuinely curious.

“I said we might as well yell,” Danay said, as Cyrus squinted to look at the man, “for doubtless any conversation you wish to have will devolve into that sooner or later anyway.”

Cyrus looked at Vara. “That wasn’t so bad.”

“I also used several elven terms to disparage your parentage,” Danay admitted, lowering his voice only slightly. From this distance, Cyrus could not even see his face. “Rather casually, I might add.”

“I’d be more offended by that if I knew the terms, perhaps,” Cyrus said, “or if I knew my parents better. Though I’m a bit surprised you’d take aim at my father in such a way, given his service to the Elven Kingdom.”

Danay chewed loudly on something before answering. “The Hero of Dismal Swamp?” He swallowed loudly. “Who said I insulted your father?”

“I have a hard time getting upset about you insulting my mother given that you didn’t know her even half as well as I did,” Cyrus said, trying to keep a tight rein on his patience. He couldn’t see Danay’s reaction to that, but he caught a flash of something from Vara. “Can we merely talk about the south? No degenerative argument intended, I assure you.”

“And yet I suspect we will have one nonetheless,” King Danay said, “for you are already quite clear on my position in this matter.”

“Then you know what I’ve come here to ask,” Cyrus said, staring down the table at him.

“I know you’ve met with an envoy from Amti, yes,” King Danay said, picking up a goblet. “I would caution you, Lord Davidon, not only does every single one of my counterparts in every power and principality know this simple fact, they also are likely aware that you have traveled to Amti and that you are mulling action in the south. Which I would advise you against.”

“And that means a lot, coming from a man who just admitted he’s spying on my guild,” Cyrus said tightly.
Who just admitted he has spies
in
my guild.

“I admit it,” King Danay said, taking a swig. “And why would I not? Only a fool would have such an army as yours bordering him without taking into consideration that your allegiances may change. You are, after all, not one of my lords on tight rein, but an independent one—”

“Granted that by you—”

“—and by others,” Danay finished sharply. “Had I known you would come by those permissions so swiftly after I gave you our claim, I might have hesitated to give it over to you. But no matter now, you are the Lord of Perdamun. You answer to no one and are watched by everyone. And so I know that you consider action in the south. I say again: don’t be a fool. It is not a land for those of our stature. Let the titans and the dragons have it.”

“You’d pass up on the riches of Amti that easily?” Cyrus asked. “Relinquish the quartal mines without a fight?”

“I have no fight to give,” King Danay said, now steepling his hands in front of him. “You know the state of my kingdom. I cannot afford to lose soldiers, and I would lose them beyond numbering if I took my army on a march through the Gradsden Savanna to engage that particular enemy.”

“Did you know they’ve learned magic?” Vara asked quietly.

“Word had reached my ears of that, shelas’akur, yes,” Danay said, turning his attention to her. “And before you ask, I do not know the origin of their new skill, and in truth, I don’t care. The goblin is out of the cave, as it were, and we are left to deal with the reality of things—the titans are a nearly unstoppable enemy with magic on their side, and I don’t wish to fight them.”

“You may not have a choice,” Cyrus said darkly. “If they come for the pass—”

“Even now,” Danay said, cutting him off, “our engineers are burying tons of Dragon’s Breath at several strategic points throughout the Heia Pass. If they come north through that route, they will find themselves buried under rock and stone, and a threat to no one.”

“They have magic,” Cyrus said. “They don’t need to come north through the pass. What’s your plan to deal with a thousand titans teleporting into the fields outside Pharesia, or smashing through the gates of Elintany?”