“Now that this is done,” Alaric said, snapping right back into the plan, “I require that we keep this place secret. The gold is going to be here until we achieve our objective of control over the airship docks. That means no City Watch – and no Guy.” On this point he was quite adamant.
“You really don't like that little pustule, do you?” Vaste asked.
“I do not,” Alaric said, bringing the wagon to a stop. “I neither like nor trust him, and thus have no desire to give him a chance to purloin even one brick of gold.” Stepping off the wagon, he tied the reins to a nearby hitching post that had not been there until just now. “Take the gold within, Sanctuary,” Alaric announced to the air. Without waiting for a reply, he went in himself.
“You just give it orders like that, hmm?” Birissa asked, following in his wake. “Did you ever think about adding a 'please'? In the name of manners?”
Alaric gave her but a look, controlled his desire to roll his eyes and said, “Please, Sanctuary.” With a glance back, he confirmed – the wagon was gone, as was the gold.
“So kind,” Birissa said.
“Well, that's one thing dealt with,” Alaric said. “We will need to see that Shirri, Pamyra and Hiressam find their respective ways here.”
“I can tell them where you are,” Cyrus said. “I have to go meet McCoie and the others at the nearby granary soon.” He shifted from side to side in his armor. “Need to see what they've whipped up in the form of an army.”
“About that,” Vaste said. “I like that Alaric does not trust them with the location of our secret fortress. That is smart. Here is my concern – why are we entrusting them with our secret revolution plans, which could in fact cause the plans to be thwarted and us to be killed?”
Alaric took a deep breath. “This troubles me as well, but the fact remains that we cannot spark a revolution or win our objectives without more of everything, manpower most of all. So we will trust them in very basic amounts and prepare ourselves in case they betray us, knowing that losing a battle such as that for the dockyard but having our base still secret will allow us at least somewhere to retreat if we are betrayed.” He stopped in the middle of the foyer and looked around. “Honestly, we keep having meetings here of late. Perhaps we should just move the table out here.”
“But make it round, right?” Curatio asked with a smirk.
“Round would be better,” Alaric said carefully, not rising to the healer's bait.
“Are we sure this dockyard attack is the best next move?” Vaste asked. “Or rather, the wall, and the dockyard? Because I have–”
“Misgivings?” Curatio asked. “Or are they narcissistic worries for the peril your arse might wander into here?”
“We should all be concerned about the well-being of my arse,” Vaste said. “But no. In fact, I am worried about the chain of plans we have laid. They hinge on – well, not us. And it always worries me when our fate is not in our own hands.”
Alaric looked at him very cryptically for just a moment, then smiled. “When has our fate ever been entirely in our own hands? This is life, my friends; nature and man, eternally at war with one another to shape the world to their liking. Malpravus has made his attempt. Now we will make our own. We have only ourselves to rely on. Ourselves and our new allies – if they prove faithful.”
“Let us hope that they are faithful, then,” Curatio said, but there was an uneasiness that hung among them after he said it. Alaric said nothing, though he suspected his thoughts were quite close to those of the elf, but he kept them to himself.
Chapter 46
Curatio
He waited until the majority of the crew had left before he made his approach. Birissa and Vaste had moved into the Great Hall, presumably to eat, and Cyrus had walked out the doors to be on his way to meet with the soldiers.
Alaric caught his eye from across the Great Seal. The Ghost said nothing; nothing needed to be said between them.
“Shall I launch right into it, then?” Curatio asked.
“You might as well,” Alaric said with a small smile.
“You are ignoring the counsel of your general,” Curatio said. “And your own sense.”
“Haste is required.”
“That depends on what you mean to accomplish,” Curatio said. “If you mean to get your burgeoning army killed, by all means, act in haste in this manner.”
Alaric's smile faded. “You would prefer I act slowly and kill us in a more measured way?”
“I don't suppose I see it in quite that stark of terms.” Curatio looked over his shoulder, making sure that neither Birissa nor Vaste was sneaking up on him. He could hear them in the Great Hall, ransacking the feast laid out. One benefit of listening to trolls with Elvish hearing was that there was no mistaking their actions. “A more measured approach seems less likely to result in our deaths.”
“Under normal circumstances, I might agree with you,” Alaric said.
Curatio raised an eyebrow to that. “What are 'normal' circumstances to you?”
“How many crises have we become embroiled in in our lives?” Alaric asked.
“Countless.”
“Did it not seem to you that most of them reached a boiling point in a more leisurely manner?” Alaric asked. “The breaking of the Protanian empire took months. The Dragonlord's scheme to seize the godly weapons took the better part of a year. The goblin incursions to the plains lasted an interminable period. The Hand of Death crisis was perhaps a month or more. Even the siege and the scourge lasted over a year.”
“True enough,” Curatio said.
“These events played out in their own time, with long pauses between the developments that propelled us forward.” Alaric shook his head. “Not so in this modern world, with its gears and machinery always turning. We have been here less than a week, Curatio, and already Malpravus has his plan well in place – starve the populace, destroy us completely. Whether it is that our days of dancing around Malpravus have come to an end or merely that being confined in such a tight space as Reikonos, bound by these walls, has compressed our freedom of action, we find ourselves on a certain collision with him.”
“No,” Curatio said, “we do not. As we have just proven, Sanctuary can be moved anywhere we so choose. We need not launch into a confrontation with Malpravus now. We could remove ourselves from the city, let things calm down–”
“It seems unlikely Malpravus means to allow them to calm down,” Alaric said, intensity rising. “Do you think that skeleton would simply start feeding people again were we to disappear for a few weeks?”
“Perhaps not, but–”
“No 'buts', Curatio,” Alaric said. “No more failures.” He wagged his finger at the elf. “I see the consequences of what we have wrought, and like Cyrus, I see what our failure to properly act has created. I mean to remove our largest failure now – Malpravus. I will not hold back.”
Curatio let a long sigh. “You are many things, my friend, but a prophet is not among them.”
Alaric bristled a little, though he tried to hide it. Curatio recognized that look. “What do you mean by that?”
“That as powerful as you are, you cannot see the future,” Curatio said snidely. “What did you think 'prophet' meant?”
Alaric hesitated. “I know the meaning of the word. I just wasn't sure what you were insinuating.”
“I didn't mean to insinuate anything. I meant to say that as much as you hope your current actions produce the result of removing Malpravus from the leadership of Reikonos, you might not be able to achieve those results.”
“Now who's trying to be a prophet?” Alaric asked.
“I have lived a very long time,” Curatio said. “And I have watched as Sanctuary – as you, and as your boy Cyrus, in your stead – have tried your best to shape this world better to your liking.” His visage darkened. “And we have failed, Alaric. I agree with you that this city is in a miserable condition. The idea that we left Malpravus with free reign over Reikonos is
nearly unconscionable and easily our greatest failure other than releasing the scourge. But–”
“Oh, there's more? Good,” Alaric said.
“But we cannot simply beat the world into the shape we want for it like it was some blade on an anvil as we grip the hammer,” Curatio said. “In real life, unlike the metaphor, both blade and anvil have a tendency to strike back. Or to even resist being struck at all.”
“Well, what would you have us do, then?” Alaric asked quietly. “In the face of this city trapped beneath the boot of this tyrant–”
“I am not certain I would advise anything different than what you are presently doing,” Curatio said, and this was the uncomfortable point, wasn't it? “But to my eye it seems you are not even contemplating the other possibilities. You seem definite in your course – 'Save the people!' – which is a very Alaric thing to do. And Malpravus will know this, as others have pointed out.”
“Shall I let the city starve, Curatio?” Alaric's voice went quiet, and now he was the one checking over his shoulder to see if Vaste and Birissa were in earshot. They were not, though they had apparently progressed from ransacking the buffet of food to...each other. And not so quietly, at that. “Let it die?” Alaric stared at him. “I see by your face that you find that option as unpalatable as I.”
“What? Oh. No, that's not why I was making that face.” Curatio tried to blot out the sound of trolls. “No, I don't advise you let the city die. But I would suggest you at least contemplate what lies down that chain of action, for it seems to me that you have focused all your attention toward a single outcome being quite definite – starvation for all. It seems to me there are many gradations of possibility down that path. Ones that may be more favorable in the long term than the dire consequences that could well spring from our current plan.”
“It is true,” Alaric said, “I see only one outcome here – starvation. For we know Malpravus has little care for the people and will happily use them as a weapon against us.” He held up a mailed fist. “You did us the greatest favor, Curatio. You made him weak–”
“For now,” Curatio said cautiously. “And only perhaps.”
“This is our moment,” Alaric said. “Our only moment. He closes his grip on this city, and we need to break it before he can finish. Yes, it requires bold, perhaps even rash, action. But sitting back gains us nothing and could lose us everything.”
“And as I have already said, moving swiftly will also perhaps lose us everything,” Curatio said, easing up to saying the last thing on his mind. “You are certain that you are not looking at this perhaps with one additional motivation you don't care to voice?”
Alaric cocked his head. Truly, the man needed his helm. He lacked any sort of subtlety to his emotions. “What do you mean?”
“It would not take someone who has been with you as long as I have to notice a more aggressive quality to your response once you found out the docks had been locked down,” Curatio said. He tried to offer a smile as a sort of olive branch to take the sting out of what he was about to say. “Might there be another reason you want to liberate the yards other than simple supply reasons...?”
Alaric cocked his head, slitting his eyes curiously. “I'm not sure I know what you mean.”
Curatio kept the smile. “I'm fairly certain you do.”
Alaric bristled. “I cannot conceive of any reason for undertaking this other than the one I have plainly stated. The city needs food. Food is its weakness. You have heard the others, the ones from this era. What other possible motive could I have than–”
“A certain ship captain who surely finds herself captive in this,” Curatio said.
“What would that have to do with anything?” Alaric sputtered.
“Oh, I don't know,” Curatio said, just a dash coyly, “but I imagine it might be animating your imagination, the thought of being of aid to her somehow. Perhaps swooping in in a cloud of mist to save her particular day, liberate her ship from the enemies you imagine swarming over it just now.”
Alaric's cheeks had gone surprisingly red. “You misjudge my motives. I mean to save the city.”
Curatio kept an eye on him. “I never accused you of not caring about Reikonos. I just wondered if there might be another factor at play in your decision making.”
“I assure you, I am moving in urgency because I see an urgent need,” Alaric said, but his flush had not subsided. “I hear your concern, and I agree. I would prefer to move slower. But we cannot.” He slammed a fist into his open palm. “Malpravus has done his worst here. Corralling all the grain in some secret location—”
“Which perhaps we could find, were we of a mind to...?”
Alaric shook his head. “It's not enough. You heard the others. Reikonos requires daily resupply in order to merely survive. The grain he hoards is enough for a day, perhaps two or three if rationed. And if it comes down to it, perhaps that's the tack we take if we fail to claim the docks. But we will not win this with a starving people pushed to the brink of weakness. If it's to be a revolution, it needs to be with a strong folk behind us, united in their fervor for removing this so called 'Lord Protector' who is neither lordly nor protective.”
“Strong folk are seldom united,” Curatio said quietly. “And well-fed and comfortable ones are less likely to participate in your revolution, for they lack the motive.”
“Well, it's going to take some time to get the docks going again even if we do manage to take them,” Alaric said. “Ships filled with grain will not be showing up the same day as we re-open them. So they'll have at least a taste of deprivation. Perhaps that will be enough to galvanize them into action.”
“Perhaps,” Curatio said, falling quiet. “I won't be of as much help to you now as I might with more time to recover.”
“Is that why you are concerned?” Alaric asked.
“No,” Curatio said. “But it is a concern. With our backs to the wall, I will have much less to draw on than usual.”
“In this place of restrained magic, we all have much less to draw on than usual,” Alaric said. “But I have faith in you.”
“I would have more faith in us if we had our full complement,” Curatio said. Here he lowered his voice further. “What of Vara?”
Alaric frowned, lips puckering in concentration. “She will return. Her anger is...considerable. I believe our general was right, that her own guilt here outweighs her fury at Cyrus.”
Curatio nodded. “Do you suppose she's all right?”
Alaric nodded. “If she were captured, Malpravus would have it shouted from every tower in the city. No, she's fine. Though I am hard pressed to know where she's gone. I looked – briefly, with no luck.”
“I see,” Curatio said, trying to bury the last of his reservations. This was the plan. They were moving forward whether he wanted it or not. “I would feel better knowing she were with us. Or at least that she was safe.”
Alaric smiled, every so slightly. “You only say that because if she were here, you think she could talk me out of this foolishness.”
It was Curatio's turn to smile. “You said it, not me.”
Chapter 47
Cyrus
Where is Vara?
Will she return?
The question bounced in his mind as he rode quietly through the streets of Reikonos. There was a strange edge to the people of the city, and Cyrus kept his head down as he went. Longing eyes followed his horse, and he realized before long that people were truly eyeing the horse with actual hunger; he'd forgotten that a horse could be a meal, albeit an unpleasant one in his experience.
But starving people will eat whatever they can get their hands on, Cyrus thought. And while they were not quite starving in Reikonos just yet, it was becoming clear that there was certainly some privation going around already.
A dull roar came from the direction of the markets. Cyrus rode the long way around them, not wanting to see how the grain vendors were faring on this day.
Besides, he was on his wa
y to the nearby granary. Number 18, it was. A placard inside proclaimed it so, just as it did for every other granary in the city, their respective numbers their key identifiers. No other name, just numbers.
He reached the outer gate of the granary to find McCoie standing there with another guard, the man's deeply cleft chin pointed at him as Cyrus rode up. The doors were bound tightly shut; granaries were not public institutions, and it seemed unlikely most people even knew what or where they were. Grain went from here to the traders, then to the people. Thus there were no angry mobs outside the granary walls – yet.
“My lord,” McCoie swept into a bow. The guard with the cleft chin followed, making Cyrus cringe at the true believers. McCoie was first back to his feet and opened the door as Cyrus rode in.
An assemblage of soldiers waited inside. They all looked up as he entered, several hundred eyes finding him in the watery afternoon sun. Some were excited, some probing, all questioning.
He had an idea about how to make an impression on them, and he did it by closing his eyes and telling Windrider to begone–
Cyrus landed on his feet, expecting the sudden fall. A gasp went up from the soldiers.
“Your horse, my lord,” McCoie said. He was not the only one to verbalize his surprise, merely the closest and thus most audible to Cyrus.
“Yeah, I'll bring him back when I have need,” Cyrus said. “You men – how fare your families?”
There was a moment of silence, then a torrent, an outpouring of words.
“–haven't been able to buy grain in two days–”
“–no bread–”
“–thought we were different, we're the City Watch–”
Cyrus waved his hand to command attention, and sure enough, they stopped after a moment. “The Lord Protector is not who you think he is.” Might as well get it out there. Why not spread the truth by rumor? To Cyrus, it seemed a very Malpravus thing to do, which somewhat delighted him.
“Who is he, my lord?” one of the soldiers asked.
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