“So I’m just not good enough to be one of you?” she asked softly.
Prandil sighed and laid the open book on his chest. “You needn’t take it personally.” He raised the book again and gave her a pointed look. “I do have things to do, you know.”
Kariana blinked at him in shock. “Now, you dismiss me like a common whore?”
Prandil folded the book briefly, feeling suddenly very tired. We'll both feel like fools for some time, I suppose. “There’s nothing common about you. That’s a compliment, you know.” He opened his book again, wanting nothing more than solitude, a moment to simply forget what had just happened. “But, yes, you are dismissed.”
“Well, I suppose I should regard it as a lesson. I’m learning all the time, you know.”
Today I buried a friend and lover, one killed by my hand. The elder of my order loathes me now. And worse, I've gone off on yet another wild tangent, convinced of foolish things, and found myself face down in the mud once again. At least I haven't been stabbed today. “Oh? And what, pray tell, have you learned from events of late?” he asked, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice.
Prandil saw a brief glint of light on steel, and then it seemed the world exploded in brilliant, multicolored shards. He was just able to appreciate what had happened, and took the joyful thought with him into the darkness as the shards settled.
I was right! You are magnificent, my dear. Absolutely magnificent!
Chapter 6
Breakfast and The Impossible
The sun was dipping low in the sky by the time Eleran caught sight of the Southlanders. The land had changed from forest to flat plains, but the air was still cold and crisp, and even though it was past time that they should have broken to make camp, they were marching on. So they’re trying to make time. Got a deadline. He counted himself fortunate to have found them before nightfall. It would have been much harder to follow their trail in the dark.
Eleran approached their small column at a more reasonable pace. His horse was tired, and it would not do to come charging up on such men at any rate. He allowed himself to slowly catch up to them, returning their nods and grins as he moved toward the front of their group.
Sandilianus, his face still mottled with bruises, flashed him a slightly predatory grin as he pulled alongside. “I was fifty-fifty as to whether you would pawn it or not.”
Eleran chuckled and offered Sandilianus a wry smile. “You know, I just got reminded why I ought to carry one of these.”
Sandilianus gestured around, to the horizon, to the world, and said in a somber voice, “A million reasons, Demon Man Dog. At least.” He brightened again and punched Eleran in the arm. “I am glad you came! We could use help setting up camp.”
Eleran snorted laughter. “I aim to please.”
They rode on until the last of the light was gone. Only then did Sandilianus call a halt to the procession. Eleran threw in with everyone else, flattening brush and pitching tents.
As Eleran put flint to steel, Sandilianus told him, “We are exposed here. Fires visible for miles. If it were any warmer, I would camp cold.”
“Only it’s not any warmer,” Eleran noted as he struck sparks into kindling. A small streamer of smoke curled from the pile, and Eleran blew it into a flame.
Sandilianus shook his head, smiling. “Aye. We risk it. I would rather die in a fight than freeze to death, anyway.”
“Me, too.”
The sparks filled the night about them as the rest of Sandilianus’s troops followed their example.
The food was plain, but it was better than wolf, and Eleran had never been the picky sort. It was at least familiar, now. The Southlanders favored a hard, brown bread with peculiar flavor as a traveling ration, supplementing it with whatever game they could round up locally.
Sandilianus squatted by the fire and offered Eleran a haunch of a roasted hare. He took a bite from his own share, then asked while still chewing, “So what convinced you to come?”
Eleran chuckled. “Took you long enough to ask.”
“Might as well talk about something before we sleep. We have time to kill.”
Eleran wiped greasy hands on his pants and swallowed. “It’s not like I had much going on for me in Nihlos.”
“We expect we are going to our death. Still want to come?”
Eleran shrugged. “I cheat at everything else. Might as well cheat death, too.”
The Elgies struck with all the grace and precision of a drunken elephant in a log rolling competition. They tried, they really did, but they were just out of their league.
For one thing, Sandi apparently never slept, or had superhuman senses, or something. He just wasn’t the sort of guy you could sneak up on. Eleran counted himself as pretty observant, too, but he had to admit that he had awoken not at the sound of clumsy attackers, but the sound of Sandi’s sword sliding slowly from his scabbard.
They had both bedded down next to his fire. When Eleran awoke, it had burned low, the coals glowing dim orange, ready to be re-kindled, but for now all was quiet. Sandilianus appeared to be sleeping, but his eyes were wide open, alert, his expression grim. Behind him, three man-shaped shadows were slowly approaching, skulking in the dark.
Sandilianus raised an eyebrow, and Eleran shook his head almost imperceptibly, more a movement of his eyes than head. Wait. He raised any eyebrow at the Southlander in return. Any behind me? Sandilianus blinked twice.
Ok. I can take two. Probably. If I’m lucky. His blade was close by. At least I learned that lesson.
The waiting was the hard part, but the most important. Being outnumbered was less a disadvantage if a man had the element of surprise. He watched Sandi’s eyes, saw the dark hand tighten on the grip of his own blade, then the slight nod. Eleran returned it, judging the fools behind Sandilianus were, likewise, close enough to engage.
They both burst from the ground, blades in hand, and went to work, shouting cries to wake any in the camp who were not already alert.
By the time it was over, they had lost three men, and put paid to at least thirty Elgies. The rest fled for their lives once they saw the tide turning. The Southlanders cut down any runners they could with bow and javelin, but at least twenty had escaped.
Sandilianus cursed himself as he reconstructed the scene. “They took out our sentries with bows, good ones with range.” He marked a spot in the dirt some fifty yards from the sentry position, and hammered a fist into his palm, cursing. “Where did they get the equipment or the skill?”
Eleran shrugged and bent to examine the nearest corpse. “Equipment is easy enough if you don’t mind stealing. Can’t say on the skill, though. But you’re right. I wouldn’t expect these idiots to be able to shoot straight at ten yards, much less fifty, and at night.”
Sandilianus shouted out, “Rashid! Survivors?”
Rashid paused a moment in sharpening his blade and held up three fingers, then turned back to his task.
Sandilianus walked toward the prisoners. “You grow on me, Demon Man Dog,” he called over his shoulder. “I had not seen you use a sword before. It was impressive work. You might be my type after all.”
Eleran grinned. “I got the whole 'women' thing all over me. It would poison you.”
Sandilianus chuckled. “I am not so picky as Brutus!”
“Who?”
Sandilianus paused and turned, a wistful look on his face. “Aye, you never met him. He died just before you came.” Sandilianus chuckled again and resumed walking. “He would have hated you.”
“Why would he hate me?”
“Because I think you might be a better fistsman than even he or Yazid.”
Rashid had used the term ‘survivors’ rather loosely in the case of two of the prisoners. They were still breathing, true, but it was clear that would not be the case for long, and in any event, they wouldn’t be doing any talking.
The third man, though, seemed well enough except for a nasty foot wound. He sat on the ground, bound, glaring up a
t them as they approached, but said nothing.
Sandilianus stood before him a moment, silent, and stared at him. The prisoner was a small fellow, with dark, greasy hair and a crooked nose that had likely been broken multiple times. Sandilianus casually added to that number with a swing of his fist, sending the prisoner over on his back with a cry of pain.
“Dog! You attack us in our sleep? Give me one reason I should not rip your guts from you while you breathe?”
“My Lord Elgar will reward me,” the man mumbled through bloody lips.
Sandilianus looked at Eleran. “Not bandits this time.”
Eleran shook his head in disgust. “The true believers are worse.”
Sandilianus kicked the man in his belly. He curled up in a fetal position, wheezing at the blow. “Last chance, dog. Tell me why you came, and I offer a clean death. Toy with me and I will shove steel through your guts and leave you here for the crows and ants.”
The man offered a fierce grin. “We came to delay you! Our Lord Elgar’s plan unfolds tomorrow at sunset, and you cannot stop it!”
Sandilianus stabbed him in the eye. “We will see about that, dog.” He wiped blood from his blade and eyed Eleran as if gauging his reaction to the killing.
Eleran shrugged. Kill ‘em all would be fine with me. “I reckon we’re fucked, then. No way we can get there in time.”
Sandilianus put his hands on his hips and shook his head, staring at the ground in contemplation. “How well do you know this area we are in?”
“Pretty well,” Eleran said. He gestured about. “I used to hang out around here when I needed to lay low.”
Sandilianus looked up, hopeful. “Do you know where we can find horses?”
Eleran scratched as his jaw and shrugged. “We can't afford horses.”
Sandilianus’s grin grew wider. “We have swords. Suddenly stealing is beneath you?” He punched Eleran in the arm, hard enough to make the Nihlosian wince and rub at the injury.
“Nah,” Eleran answered, grinning himself now. “Never above a little thievery, if it's for a good cause.” He held up a hand and continued, without the grin. “Armed robbery, though, that's a little more extreme. I never got up to that sort of thing before.”
“Understood. So we will kill no one we can avoid killing. We can even ask first, explain to them why this must be done, but we can guess how that will go, eh?” He fixed Eleran with a penetrating look. “We need horses, one way or another. Are you with me?”
Eleran thought on it a moment. Do I really believe all of this? He had to admit, he did, even though he wasn’t sure of the reason. There was no series of logic he could walk down and arrive at the conclusion. He just felt it in his gut. He had seen Ahmed’s abilities. The situation was, he believed, truly dire.
He reached out a hand, and Sandilianus returned the gesture. The two sealed their pact with a forearm clasp. “I know a place not far from here.”
Chapter 7
From The Grave
Davron was, he had to admit to himself, rather pleased with the chaos of late, but this newest bit had fallen into his lap quite unexpectedly, information and possibilities that, while quite risky if exploited, had tremendous potential. As I do believe I just told Rithard, fortune favors the bold.
Davron paced about his study, hungry for inspiration, knowing the coming battle would be difficult indeed. The room was filled with weaponry, mostly swords of deceased house members. It was the custom of House Noril to retire weapons, rather than pass them on. The simple pine walls were lined with such steel teeth. Some special few were kept a bit more carefully. Davron had kept his father’s weapon next to his desk in a large, pristine display case of glass, oiled wood, and polished brass, at least until it had gone missing. He was partial to gazing at the weapon while he thought on other matters of import, imagining he could still hear his father’s stern, cold, logical words of advice. Hopefully father is pleased enough that I'll produce an heir at long last, and forgive the matter of the sword for the moment.
Davron clasped his hands behind his back and stared into the great fireplace that was the main centerpiece of his study. Polus should have been here already, and he was hardly the sort of man to be anything but punctual. Probably not used to midnight emergency summons, though.
Another fifteen minutes passed before Polus arrived, chagrin and annoyance etched on his face. “Forgive me, Davron. It's a cold night, and I was in a warm bed.” Polus looked at Davron with concern, then a sour look crossed his face. “You look very smug for an 'emergency'.”
“Oh, it was no exaggeration. The Meites are out of the city, yes?”
Polus removed his coat and tossed it over a chair, then took a seat and sighed. “Save for Prandil, yes. At least the ones we know about.”
Davron grunted. “So, all out of the city, then.”
“I just explained—”
“Prandil is dead.”
Polus stared back at him, eyes first wide, then narrowing. “I take it, from the urgency of your summons, that he did not die of natural causes?”
Davron hesitated, his jaw working as he tried to decide just how to put things.
Polus waited for an answer, his face growing more alarmed by the moment as none was forthcoming. “Mei! Don’t tell me you’ve killed him!”
Davron grinned. “Oh, no. The honor is not mine.”
Polus gave Davron an exasperated look and nearly shouted, “Will you just get on with it? Who?”
Davron drug it out a moment longer, the chess match still fresh in his mind, before finally spilling his secret. “It was Tasinalta.”
Polus seemed stunned for a moment, his face quivering as if it didn't know what sort of expression to form. At last, he covered his eyes with his palm and shook his head. “Mei! You're not joking! Who knows?”
Davron shrugged. “As far as I know, you, Tasinalta, and me. It’s unlikely to be discovered until morning. She claims to have left him in his bed.”
Polus’s hand fell from his face and he looked up in shock. “She did it herself?”
Davron was fairly certain he could not conceal a grudging admiration of the empress over this, and so he did not bother to try. “Stabbed him in the eye, or so she says.”
Polus threw up his hands in surrender, shaking his head in amazement. “But why?”
Davron sucked at his teeth a moment. “Seems Prandil fucked her and kicked her out, and she didn’t take kindly to it.”
Polus’s reaction was delayed as he processed everything. He stared back in deep thought for several moments, then burst into loud, raucous laughter. “Oh, Great Tasinal and Amrath, that is rich! He’s still there now?”
“Unless his slaves disturb him in the night, he should be.”
“Then we have until sunup to work out our response, I suppose. There is no point in calling the counsel together. We don’t have a quorum.”
Davron gave Polus a thin smile. “Now, there, Polus, is where you and I differ. You think like a policeman. I think like a warrior.”
Polus leaned back in his chair and drummed his fingers on the arm. “Very well, then, Davron the Wise. Educate me. What am I missing?”
“I will, soon. But first, I would ask you this. What is your opinion of the Meites on the council?”
Polus’s expression grew serious. “I think they have the right ideas, but they are reckless. That’s half the reason I can’t really say I am sorry about Prandil.”
“And the other half, I suppose, being that he was an asshole and deserved it.”
“Well, there is that as well. So where are you going with this? What’s your point?”
“Only this: the Meites are fine warriors, but poor leaders. Tasinal recognized that, at long last.”
Polus gave him a sour look. “I’m still waiting for the punch line.”
Davron would have rather heard Polus speak the words first, to be certain of their alliance before exposing his strategy. Was his old friend truly unclear on what he was suggesting, or was he
feigning ignorance? How to edge him in the right direction, without sounding like an anarchistic madman? “Our current crop seems to lack his insight.”
The lines on Polus’s face deepened to trenches as he absorbed the comment. Will he call me brother or traitor, now? Polus considered for several seconds, his face still pinched, weighing his loyalties and desires. Slowly, he began to nod, and his face relaxed. “And you’ve some stratagem to use this fiasco to remedy that situation. Will it work?”
“Depends on how the votes go. But it will be legal, and involve no bloodshed.”
Polus grunted, unconvinced. “Assuming they choose for it to remain bloodless.”
Davron shrugged and spread his hands. “There are risks in any war. But we know they have a strong dedication to tradition, at least as it concerns non-Meites. They have to, or they will tear each other apart, and Nihlos with them. I think they will abide by whatever the council rules.”
“A council without a quorum. We can’t rule a henhouse at the moment. They’re dropping like flies.”
Davron gave him a secretive smile. “Depending on how you and I choose right now, that might change.”
“I don’t see how. Quorum can only change in the case of catastrophic losses. We need one third dead or incapacitated to invoke that.” His eyebrows rose as he considered his own words, counting in his head, then fell as he glowered at Davron in annoyance. “I count only two: Prandil and Narelki.”
“I count three. House Veril has yet to replace Sadrina.”
“Oh, yes, of course,” Polus said. “Veril never does anything useful. They are easy enough to miss. I hear they are trying to make some sort of statement with that.”
Davron chuckled softly. “I hear it’s far simpler: no one wants the job.”
“Even so, it’s only three.”
Davron smiled knowingly. “The fourth, my friend, is why I called you here.”
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