Or because he'd seen such scenes so often he was beginning to treat them as part of the landscape?
At the blacksmith's, a pair of Collenese soldiers stood out front, their spear-like wheels planted in the dirt beside them. Recognizing Dante and Blays, the troopers brought them inside. Naran lay on a straw pallet. He appeared to be asleep, but at the sound of footsteps, he popped open a bloodshot eye.
"You're looking pretty good," Dante said. "Considering that the last time I saw you, you were being buried under an avalanche of rubble."
Naran looked him up and down. "And you look as though you just finished butchering a herd of cows. They say you destroyed an Andrac as tall as a steeple."
"He had help," Blays said. "Anyway, don't tell me you've never had to destroy a steeple before. They're not as strong as they look. Mostly because they don't fight back."
"Where is Gladdic?"
Dante sighed. "Gladdic used an illusion to make his assistant look like himself. While we chased after the assistant, Gladdic slipped into the plains. He could have been disguised as anyone."
"He's escaped. Again." Embers of anger flared in Naran's eyes, but they soon faded. Worn out, he leaned back on his pallet. "Perhaps there is no avenging Captain Twill. Better to go on with our lives than to throw them away by running after a man who can't be killed."
"He is a man—and that means he's as mortal as the rest of us. Besides, at this point, it isn't just Twill that needs avenging. He slaughtered thousands of innocent Colleners. The only thing that's been saving him is the Andrac. Now that we know how to disperse them, Gladdic's walking out of here in a dead man's boots."
Naran reopened his eyes, turning them on Blays. "Do you agree with this assessment?"
"Oh sure," Blays said. "If there's one thing you can always count on Dante to get right, it's killing people."
Dante kneeled beside the pallet. "He'll have to head back to Bressel to report his failure here. We'll find him, Naran. And when we do, not only will I annihilate his body—but I'll erase the trace of his soul."
~
With his body on the brink of quitting on him, he spent the rest of the day asleep in the third floor of an empty manor. He didn't think Gladdic would send any assassins for him, demonic or otherwise, but he set undead rats to keep watch on the doors and windows. He dreamed of battling the great Andrac again. This time, as he tried to draw its nether to him, it only grew bigger, its mouth widening, the silver light inside it glaring so brightly it burned out his eyes.
He woke to darkness and singing. He walked out on the front porch. Blays was there already. The people were running through the streets waving burning bundles of wheat stalks which they appeared to be trying to flick against the buttocks of their friends.
Dante frowned. "Are they trying to set each other on fire? This is a celebration, right?"
"Looks more like a rebellion against the tyranny of pants." Blays passed him a cup of the local beer.
Dante took a hefty swallow. "Is there anything weirder than foreign traditions?"
"Yes, but I've just handed you a cup of the solution to any strangeness." Blays tipped back his own mug. "The Keeper wants to see us. Before we do that, I consider it my moral duty to make sure you don't want to kill her."
Mention of her name brought Dante's anger thudding into him like a punch. "I'll try to restrain myself. The faster we finish up here, the sooner we can get the hell away."
He expected the Keeper to be lording it up in the ruins of her shrine, but Blays led him to the carved arches of the immense underground well they'd used to swim in and out of the city. There, the shrine's surviving monks tended to the wounded and the sick, the latter of which were being carted in from every corner of the city. Their gaunt faces and sharp collarbones told the story of the treatment they'd received under Mallish captivity.
The Keeper met them, nodding stiffly, though that was more a function of her extreme old age than any disrespect. "You have rested. That is good. There is much work to be done."
Dante laughed humorlessly. "You have no idea. I've been away from my city for months. I'll stay long enough to help heal your people. After that, I'm going to find Gladdic, then return home."
"You intend to leave?"
"Unless you've managed to relocate Narashtovik onto the next butte, I have to leave."
"But you are the chosen one. Prophesied to free the Collen Basin from the shackles of our mutual enemy."
"Are you sure we read the same prophecy? You're supposed to be freed by Arawn. You've seen me bleed way too much to believe I'm a god."
"Are you sure you weren't sent by him?"
"Yes!" Dante threw up his hands. "I came here of my own accord. Do you know what noble intention brought me here? It certainly wasn't to liberate the poor people of the Collen Basin. It was to execute the son of a bitch who killed Mr. Naran's captain."
"Perhaps that was the step needed to lead you to your true cause. When the gods' minds turn, the world turns with them."
"I'm walking away, Keeper. If Arawn wants me to stay, he can ask me himself."
The old woman lifted her head. The rheuminess of her eyes made it hard to see what lurked behind them. "For a man of the gods, you don't have much faith. Yet you put much stock in politics and strife. In that case, don't stay because of a prophecy. Stay because if you go, Collen will fall."
Blays coughed. "Right now, I expect he'd count that as a positive."
"Is that so?"
"You lied to me," Dante said. "Used me as a prop. And now you expect to wear me like a puppet—and for me to smile while your hand's up my ass."
"So she's heard the rumors, then," Blays said.
The Keeper rasped with laughter. "How many times have you done the same? I have heard the stories of the Chainbreakers' War, Galand. You used everyone in reach in service of yourself."
"We fought that war to free the norren!"
"And it was sheer coincidence that Narashtovik was freed as well. I won't argue what we both know to be true. But I will tell you this: if you don't help us, Mallon will return. And for our defiance, we will be destroyed."
Dante lifted an eyebrow. "Is that a promise?"
"Perhaps I should put it in language you understand. Mallon has no love for Narashtovik. There are rumors they intend to repay Samarand's invasion in kind. But they won't dare to make such a move if there is a strong, independent Collen on their doorstop. Especially if our land is indebted to yours, and is happy to threaten their flank if they dispatch an army to the north."
"So your little scheme helps us both. How considerate of you."
"The best plans turn those who are indifferent into happy allies."
"If this was all so reasonable, why didn't you ask me first?"
"I need my people to believe that this time, things will be different. That we will finally be free. If I had asked your permission to invoke the prophecy, and you had denied me, their resolve would have faltered as soon as the Mallish returned." She met his glare without flinching. "I took the route that would make sure to forge them into steel strong enough to turn aside the coming blow. Would you have done any different?"
Dante rubbed his eyes, wishing he'd had a second beer before agreeing to see the Keeper. "I need to speak with Blays."
Without waiting for her permission, he stalked away from the well. Stars twinkled overhead, dazzlingly clear in the cool desert night. Blays strolled along beside him, giving a smile and a nod to everyone he passed.
Dante stopped in the shadow of one of the rune-carved stone posts. The smell of fresh water wafted from the well. "What do you think?"
"I think if you're bothering to ask my opinion, then you've already decided to change your mind about going home."
"What she's saying makes sense. Especially the idea of establishing Collen as a buffer between us and Mallon."
"Yet you don't want to accept it. Because you're so mad at her that you're tempted to set fire to Collen yourself."
"No
t only that, but even if I were convinced it was in our interests to help, we've already been here for weeks. It feels like every time we're ready to leave, some new emergency draws us back in. Where does it end?"
Blays shrugged. "When you're out playing a game of thunders, when does that end?"
"When you run out of coins. Or everyone else does."
"Pretend for a moment you're not an utter degenerate, and in a much further leap of imagination, that you have a wife. When you're out gambling, how do you avoid running into trouble with her?"
"By setting a limit on how much I can afford to lose," Dante said. "Or on what time I need to be home by."
"So here you are, playing thunders with Collen and Mallon. Back home, your wife—that would be Narashtovik—is starting to get worried. Soon, her worry will become annoyance. How long can you afford to stay out before she uses the window to introduce your belongings to the street?"
"It's just like gambling, isn't it? You lose ten chucks, and in trying to get them back, you chase them with ten more. When those run dry, you throw out ten more. Soon enough, you've lost everything. Unless you set a limit."
Even after reaching this conclusion, his spite was such that he was still tempted to walk away into the darkness, never to set foot in the Collen Basin again. He might have done so if not for the hundreds of sick and injured people crowding around the well. Had the Keeper chosen to meet in this location because she was tending to the casualties?
Or because she knew that, seeing the citizens like this, Dante couldn't help but imagine how much worse it would be if Mallon struck back?
He'd built Narashtovik to be strong. It could last a little longer in his absence. He walked back to the Keeper, hand resting on the hilt of his sword.
"You have decided," she said.
"It's autumn already," he said. "Mallon won't have time to mount more than one attack before winter ends the campaign season. We'll help until the first lasting snow. After that, Collen's on its own."
2
After the Keeper's manipulation, agreeing to continue aiding her tasted as bitter as a fresh-plucked Gallador tea leaf. But the dose of comfort that came with making a decision was even more bracing than the effects of the lakeland's leaves. Consolidating the Collen Basin's resistance against Mallon wasn't only strategically wise, it was morally sound. If Dante could set aside his anger, in a few years, he would look back on this decision with pride.
"I am grateful for your assistance," the Keeper said. "Yet by the time the lasting snows come to Collen, the Dundens will be locked beneath a blizzard. You won't be able to cross into Gask until spring. It would be safer to remain here."
Dante rolled his eyes. "Don't even try it."
"I'm not suggesting you spend the extra time waging war on the Mallish. As you said, after the snows, the campaigning season will be over."
"We've crossed through the Woduns," Blays said. "Compared to that, getting over the Dundens is about as hard as hopping over a turd in the street."
"It was no more than a thought." The Keeper bowed at the waist, pointing the crown of her gray head at Dante. "If we succeed in prying the basin from Mallon's claws, these people will never forget you."
He scowled. She was getting too good at reading him. "We just handed the Mallish their own asses. Along with a fork and a knife and a tin of pepper. Why are you so sure they'll send a second attack?"
"They can't allow us to defy them. It would signal weakness to their other holdings. Worse, it would embolden their enemies. But mostly, they will return because we are Arawn-worshippers. Our victory defiles the body of their empire. When a wound festers, if you fail to treat it, it will claim the rest of the body as well."
"They might not be able to hit back right away. Especially if I can kill Gladdic, they might have to wait until spring to organize their forces."
"Then that gives my people six months to prepare."
"Is it too late to make demands for our help?" Blays said. "I'm going to require a steady supply of meat pies. And something to wash them down with. In fact, make that three somethings."
Dante turned to take in the darkened city. "That's a good place to get started. To win a war, you have to secure three resources. Your land. Your resources. And your allies. We need scouts in the field and troops ready to respond."
The Keeper lowered herself to a bench, massaging her knees. "Field command is the duty of the despot. And Despot Jodd is dead."
"Then we need a replacement. Cord would make a good choice. We've already proven we can work with her."
"Despots aren't crowned like Mallish kings. They are elected by the people."
"Then fake the election, if it will make you feel better. But remember that you declared me to be a god. As Arawn's avatar, I declare that Cord will be my sword."
The Keeper examined him for signs of mockery, then made a tight line of her mouth. "So be it."
She went to speak to a messenger, who hastened off through the night. Dante's stomach rumbled. To distract himself, and improve his rapidly deteriorating mood, he joined the monks in tending to the casualties, sending the nether to mend the wounds of the suffering. He'd set five people to resting easily by the time the messenger returned with Cord.
Her blond braid was a mess, her eyelids were as puffy as kneaded dough, and she was covered in any number of scratches and bandages. Even so, she walked up to them with the same tireless energy she'd displayed ever since Blays had dueled her on their arrival at Collen.
When Dante explained they were staying to help stabilize the basin, she laughed and clapped her rough hands together.
He couldn't help smiling back at her. "But we aren't here to rule you. Collen needs its own leaders. We'd like you to become the new despot."
Cord crinkled her forehead. "The despot? I can't do that!"
"We won't be here for more than a few months. Someone has to be ready to take the reins. You're one of the best soldiers in Collen. The others will respect you. I know you're up to the challenge."
"The Keeper agrees with this?"
The old woman nodded. "I do."
"Then I will lead the other soldiers. But I can't be despot. I can't run a kingdom any more than I can drink the well dry. To pretend otherwise is to disgrace myself! To let down my people!"
"Then you'll join the proud tradition of every other leader since time began," Blays said. "Present company excluded, of course."
"It doesn't have to be permanent," Dante said. "Right now, the martial side is all that matters. You won't have to bother with policy. Once the war is over, you can step down and be proud of what you've done."
Cord brayed with laughter. "I think you mistake yourself for me. If you need me, I'll command our army. But I won't command our republic."
Blays swigged another beer. Dante hadn't even seen him get it. He was starting to suspect Blays' true talents lay in the hidden art of brewermancy.
"Who cares about tradition?" Blays said. "Just invoke the god clause again. Cord can command the military while someone else handles politics. I nominate the Keeper."
"That can't be." Seated on the bench, the Keeper tugged her robe over her bony shins. "I've spent decades in the shrine. I don't know the ways of our politics. Besides, there are things I must be able to do as the Keeper that I could not do as our leader."
"You know who knows even less about Collenese politics? Me and Dante. The ex-Mallishmen who've spent the last half of our lives freezing to death in Gask. So how about you tell us who's a good choice for administrator?"
Cord nodded once. "Ked came with me. He will know. I will get him." She cupped her hands to her mouth. "Ked! Ked!"
The man detached from a knot of soldiers and jogged over to them. Dante had first met Ked while saving the man's life from a mortal wound at the hand of Mallish soldiers. This had turned out to be such a horrific insult that Ked had challenged him to a duel on the spot. Still, the man greeted them with a smile, apparently having put all enmity behind him.
<
br /> "Ked!" Cord motioned to the dark city. "Great things are afoot. These people have named me commander of the military."
Ked's eyebrows swung up his forehead. He took a knee. "Congratulations, Despot."
"Don't be a fool! If I were named despot, my first act would be to imprison those who thought I would be any good at it, as they are clearly a menace to right-thinking people everywhere."
"We need an administrator," the Keeper said. "Someone competent and respected enough to maintain control during the coming troubles."
Ked folded his arms, nodding vaguely. "I would have suggested Yorra, but they executed her. What about Twane?"
Cord shook her head. "Fell in battle. But his son would do just as well, yes?"
"Well, yes, except that they dragged him off to Bressel to be tried for heresy."
They ran through several other names, all of which had either died or gone missing. Cord set her fists on her hips. "Gregg. I saw him just today."
"That's not such a good idea. When the Mallish were here, he showed them to our weapons caches."
"He aided the invaders? But why?"
"There's only two reasons to do a thing like that," Dante said. "The Mallish offered to make him rich, or make his people dead."
Ked bobbed his head. "Either way, he's out. The people won't trust him."
They lapsed into a second silence. Blays made a thoughtful noise. "What about Boggs?"
"Boggs Twill?" Dante said. "Captain Twill's brother? He didn't exactly strike me as a born politician."
"Which is probably why the Colleners would go for him. Think about it. No one would ever question his loyalty. Not after what the Mallish did to Twill."
"Brother of a fallen hero. From a successful merchant family. Hard to imagine someone who could instantly command that much respect."
"And he already has a relationship with the Parthians, doesn't he? That ought to make it a little easier to get them aboard the victory wagon."
The Cycle of Galand Box Set Page 91
