“Pity and mercy go hand in hand, for it was your pity that awakened the realization that you should be merciful – and you did not let your hatred wreck any hope for us to prove our innocence.”
Alaric stepped closer and placed a hand on the warrior's shoulder. “Revenge is a dangerous obsession; and it is most dangerous because it is an obsession. Someone truly out for revenge at all costs – someone that irredeemable – would not have had their hand stayed by pity. They would have struck down the Empress, swift and true, and we would still be proclaimed innocent but the guilty would go free. All for the sake of fleeting revenge.”
Having said his peace, the Ghost turned again from Cyrus and marched up the stone steps into Sanctuary.
They left for Reikonos an hour later, teleported once more by Niamh into the city square. A frenzy of activity greeted Cyrus as he stepped away from the portal. Wagons were moving through the square and up and down streets at a much quicker pace than usual, but voices were hushed as people went about their business. Cyrus saw a cluster of dark elves around a wagon loaded to bursting, heading through the square toward city's west gate. A few more dark elven parties were behind them, all heading in the same direction.
They walked to the Citadel, finding themselves once more at the base of the gargantuan gray tower. The guards waved them through, and the elevator moved just as slowly as the last time they had been here. Upon stepping out of it at their floor, Cyrus steered G'Koal from the lift and into the corridor. She walked without much prompting, feet bound by ropes just enough to slow her should she decide to run. Her arms were severed and she had refused reattachment, saying she would prefer to carry the scars of her shame for the rest of her days.
As they stepped through the door, Cyrus involuntarily reached for his sword, squeezing the hilt for reassurance that it was still there. He glanced behind the elevator and saw the balconies that opened up with a view of the entire city spread before them. Long way down, he thought. But it might be preferable to surrendering my sword.
Entering one of the sets of double doors, they marched the Empress down the aisle before them as the Council of Twelve looked on. Pretnam Urides’s jowled face stood out, a satisfied smile resting upon his lips. “Gentlemen,” he called out as they opened the waist-high wood gate that separated the floor before the Councilors from the benches where the audience sat, “I hear you have brought us evidence of treachery by one of the guilds in our city. I am eager –” the Councilor's voice betrayed no sign of insincerity – “to see justice done.”
“Indeed,” Alaric began. “We appreciate your review of the evidence we provided you earlier; the testimony of the elven caravan leader and men, the bodies of the goblin raiders and the surviving wizard who brought them to the Plains. Were you able to coerce anything from him?”
“No, our guards have as yet been unable to loosen his tongue,” Urides admitted, jowls shaking along with his head. “But he is known to us; Carrack, officer of Goliath.” Pretnam Urides smiled. “Which is why I am so very interested to hear your evidence.”
“Behold the Empress of Enterra,” the Ghost said. “She had intimate knowledge of the planning and execution of the attacks on convoys and will tell you herself who was involved.”
Without prompting, the Empress spoke, in a low voice that did not sound female at all. “For over two years we have been allied with Goliath. Malpravus, their Guildmaster, came to us with a warning of an attack that was about to fall upon our city. With his assistance, we were able to stave off this danger to our realm in exchange for Terrenus, the Hammer of Earth.”
“I see,” Urides interrupted. “And did Malpravus express interest in other of the godly weapons?”
The Empress's dull eyes looked up at the Councilor, uncaring. “He wanted to acquire them all, yes.”
“I see, I see,” Urides said. He shifted his focus to Alaric. “This seems to back up your assertion that Goliath assisted in stealing our spear. Please continue.”
“A few months ago, he came to us again, with another proposition.” The goblin's voice was dull; she sounded like a broken thing; her voice dragged. “Over a year ago we were preparing to invade the Gnomish Dominions, but were concerned that with the Human Confederation as their chief trading partner, any attack on the gnomes would prompt a human response.”
Her eyes stared straight ahead, not acknowledging anything she saw. “We were not prepared to handle that threat; the might and numbers of the Human Confederation are known to us, and they are great.
“Malpravus came to us, promised us that with our help he could redirect human attentions for the next few years, giving us free reign to destroy the gnomes and claim their territory for our own. He claimed that his plan would distract the rest of the world for so long, we would be able to consolidate our power for a few years and conquer the dwarves when we were ready, adding their mountain halls to our territory.”
“And the human riverlands between you and the dwarves?” Urides had a look of indignation.
“He promised us,” the Empress continued, “that you would be so ground down by the war that he would begin that we could take them at our convenience.” She shook her head. “But we had no interest in riverlands when the mountains around Fertiss still stood, ripe for the conquest.”
“Do not think that coy words and denials will bring you any mercy!” Urides warned. “Threats to our territory are taken very seriously indeed and carry the death penalty in the Confederation.”
“I don't think she much cares at this point,” Cyrus observed.
The Councilor looked at him with an air of surprise. “No one wants to die.”
Cyrus held his tongue. She does.
“Malpravus proposed that we should provide the forces; our goblin soldiers are known for their stealth. Our attacks are the stuff of legends.” Her voice betrayed the first hint of emotion – pride. “We can disappear without a trace, leaving the afflicted party to wonder if a ghost struck from thin air and attacked them.”
“It is much easier to disappear with a wizard to aid you,” Urides snorted.
“He provided the wizard.” The Empress's voice returned to her flat, dull tone. “We provided everything else. We split the rewards with 70 percent going to Goliath and 30 percent to us, after Goliath sold the goods in the markets of Reikonos.”
“Did you hear that?” Urides remarked to the Councilor next to him, who was nodding. He leaned forward at his bench, looking down the row of Councilors to the place where their recordkeeper sat. “Trading in stolen goods. Theft. Murder. Conspiracy.” The recordkeeper nodded as she scrawled on the parchment before her.
“To make no mention of the fact that Goliath likely kept more than 70 percent,” Alaric added. “The goblins’ proceeds came from Goliath's accounting, after all.”
“Yes, yes,” Urides jowls wobbled. “Find a charge for that as well,” he said to the recordkeeper. “Unfair dealing, or perhaps larceny.”
“Do you truly care that the goblins were treated unfairly in this transaction?” the Ghost asked without emotion.
“Of course not!” Pretnam Urides snapped. “They were engaged in attacking and destroying our convoys and selling the proceeds! I want more charges for Goliath, however, so I am willing to hear her complaints, real or perceived. Is there anything else?” He peered down at the goblin Empress.
She shook her head, her eyes focused on the floor. The pity that Cyrus felt when he spared her life grew in that moment, and he realized that whatever she had been responsible for, he no longer felt anything but sorry for her.
“Very well,” came the hurried voice of Pretnam Urides. “You will be taken into custody by the guards of Reikonos and placed in jail until trial. As for Goliath...” he said, voice trailing off as three of the Lyrus guards came to lead the Empress away.
With a start Cyrus realized one of the guards was Rhane Ermoc, haughty sneer ever present as he grasped the bandaged stump of the Empress's arm and began to drag her away. She did not p
rotest, trying to keep up with the bigger human's strides. Cy watched as Ermoc gripped her around the bandage and squeezed. Blood oozed from between the fingers of his metal gauntlet but the Empress did not acknowledge any pain or cry out.
“I think for Goliath we should issue the following sanctions: their treasury shall be drained to pay damages. I want all their assets and all their members' assets seized,” Urides began. He turned to another Councilor. “I believe you already spoke to the banks; their accounts totaled north of 400 million gold pieces?” A nod met his question.
“Very good. Goliath will be forced from their guildhall and exiled from the Confederation – all members, never to be allowed within our borders again. And this time, the executions will be upheld rather than stayed,” he said with a nod at Alaric. “We have already released your people that were detained.”
“Much appreciated,” said Alaric.
“No business shall be transacted with any member of Goliath by any merchant or citizen of the Confederation, under penalty of 50 years in jail. All in favor?” He surveyed the Council of Twelve with a quick glance. “None opposed? Good. Seize their assets, eject them from the Confederation and let us be done with this. Send a messenger to inform them of the findings of this Council.”
Cyrus let out a laugh, a short, sharp bark that was unintended but caught the attention of the Council. He covered his mouth. “Sorry,” he said with chagrin.
“Davidon, I believe it is... have you something to add?” Urides glared down at him, clearly unused to being challenged or interrupted.
“I was just... curious,” Cyrus said, “about how you planned to remove Goliath from the city.”
“With the greatest ease,” Urides said with cool assurance. He turned to the clerk at the opposite end of the bench from the Recordkeeper. “Send for the Guildmasters of Endeavor, Amarath's Raiders and Burnt Offerings. Tell them I am invoking their Homestead clause in order to remove an undesirable element from within the city.” A smile lit Pretnam Urides’s fat face that Cyrus suspected came from the Councilor savoring the exercise of his power.
“My apologies, Councilor,” Alaric said with a bow of his head. “You will not find the Guildmaster of Goliath at his hall presently to deliver the message. He is waiting for us at a meeting in the Coliseum.”
“I see.” Urides’s eyes lit up. “Could I impose on you to deliver our message?” The Councilor seemed to relish the thought of Alaric twisting the knife on Goliath; his eyes glowed with excitement.
“It would be no imposition,” the Ghost admitted, keeping his expression neutral. “If there is nothing else?” After a moment's pause, he began to leave.
“There is one last, small matter,” Urides admitted. “Some further service you might be honored to perform for the Confederation.”
Alaric turned back, wary. “And that is?”
“Our armies are withdrawing from the southern plains,” Urides said with a certain stiffness.
“An excellent decision, Councilor, if you mean to avert war,” Alaric said with a slight bow.
Pretnam Urides smiled. “There is no averting war now. The dark elves attacked our Sophisan Infantry regiment last night not far from your guildhall. War is declared, sirs, and armies are already on the march. No, the service we require of you is quite different,” he said, ignoring the stunned reactions on both their faces. “Our forces are moving to positions of great strategic importance elsewhere so that we may win this war quickly, and make the dark elves regret their aggressiveness.
“I require... a steward,” Urides said. “A force that can keep a close eye on the trade routes of the southern plains and keep them open against raiders and others that may decide to halt the flow of necessary commerce at an hour when it would be costly to us to strip forces from our other efforts. Be assured –” the Councilman's smile returned – “when the war is concluded, we shall return our garrisons to the plains, likely by the end of the year – but until then, someone will need to guard the peace.”
Alaric stared, unblinking, at the Council of Twelve, drawing his eye across them all in a slow, long look that took each of them in. Whatever might have passed through his head, only a few words came out of his mouth. “As ever, Sanctuary will steward the southern Plains of Perdamun to the best of our ability.”
“Excellent.” Urides rubbed his hands together. “I am pleased we can count on your assistance.” He looked toward the back of the chamber. “You are dismissed, then. By all means, send us updates on your progress and stewardship. We look forward to reading them,” he said without enthusiasm. “Next matter...”
Cyrus led the way out of the chambers. Alaric was muted, and as they passed through the double doors into the room containing the elevator, Cyrus was surprised to see Rhane Ermoc standing beside one of the balconies, same malevolent smile on his lips. Upon seeing the two of them exit the Council chambers, Ermoc called out, “Your Empress tried to escape, but we stopped her.”
Cyrus looked around, sensing something unpleasant. “Where is she?”
Rhane Ermoc's smile grew wider and more mocking as he stuck his thumb over his shoulder toward the balcony. “She fell. Accidentally,” the guard said with a laugh. “At least she didn't escape.”
Cyrus's jaw clenched and he felt Alaric grip the back of his armor, restraining him. Cyrus's hand clutched the hilt of Praelior, ready to draw. Ermoc looked at him in mild amusement. “That's right, Garaunt. Restrain your dog of war or I'll teach him a lesson in respect.”
“And while that would end in your not-at-all-tragic and well-deserved death, I think perhaps you should realize that I am only assisting my comrade in remembering that some fleas are simply too insignificant to scratch.” The Ghost smiled. “I used your dog metaphor because I felt that if anyone could understand a comparison to worthless, bloodsucking insects, it would be you.”
“What's that supposed to mean?” The guard captain's face had turned into a scowl not shared by his compatriots, who were trying (in vain) not to snicker.
Alaric guided Cyrus back to the elevator. “Take it to mean what you will. Good day, Rhane Ermoc. I hope you see the front line of the war soon. I suspect they will need your guidance and martial prowess, honed to a fine edge by killing armless goblins half your size.” The Ghost cast a final look at the guard as the elevator began to lower, and released his hold on Cyrus's backplate. “You must get a better hold on yourself, my friend.”
“What he did,” Cyrus spat in rage. “That was unnecessary.”
“I do not disagree,” Alaric replied.
A moment of silence passed between them as the elevator crept downward. “She should have died in battle,” Cyrus said.
“That would have been what she wanted,” Alaric cautioned. “She schemed the murder and dishonor of our guild.”
“I'm aware,” the warrior said, tense. “But you know that Malpravus fed the imperial ambitions of the goblins until they couldn't see anything but the possibilities. And he took advantage of them. He stole their most powerful weapon while feeding them a falsehood about some ridiculous prophecy –”
“That, as you pointed out, came true.”
“But –”
“There is no but,” Alaric said. “She made her own choices, as did her husband, as did her people. If you don't believe that, look no further than Mendicant, who chose to go in the opposite direction of the Goblin Imperium. She and her husband ruled the non-soldiers of that empire with an iron fist, by the way of the warrior. Do not mourn for their destruction, and be glad of the mercy you found for her.”
“Why?” Cyrus said, a bitter tinge in his voice. “She's just as dead as if I had killed her myself.”
“Not the point,” the knight replied. “It's not the effect on her that mattered when it came to the mercy you showed. She would have been happier dead. The importance of what you did for her was the effect the mercy had on you.” Cyrus's quizzical look was met by a knowing smile. “You and I have talked about purpose many times. Becom
ing a harder man, a killer who would destroy lives without mercy or provocation, is a hard path on the soul and sensibilities. You are a warrior. Your mercy kept you from becoming a murderer. Death is an awesome power. Make certain you have reason to wield it when you do, or be slow to employ its means.”
They passed the rest of the ride in silence as Cyrus contemplated the words Alaric had spoken. They returned to the square, where Niamh waited with Windrider as well as Alaric's mount and one for herself. The journey to the Coliseum took longer than usual. The streets of Reikonos were filled with travelers, mostly dark elves leaving the city laden with horses, wagons or even packs on their backs.
They exited the city's eastern gate and Cyrus's gaze fell on an enormous circular building that was almost as tall as Sanctuary, and could nearly fit the Citadel lying on its side, within the walls. They entered through the square archway, finding their allies waiting in the dirt floor, where the spectacle of combats took place. Cyrus wondered when last the Coliseum had seen use for gladiatorial sport; for as long as he could recall it had been used largely for public events.
Malpravus stood waiting to one side, with Tolada and the helmeted Orion flanking him at each arm. Orion's helm protected and covered his face totally, with only small slits for his eyes. Tolada had a bored look on his face and was fingering the handle of his warhammer.
To the other side stood Cass and Elisabeth. Cass's arms were crossed and a look of disgust was evident on his face. He shifted to a slight smile and nod at Cyrus when the party from Sanctuary entered. Elisabeth also graced him with a faint smile, but the look in her eyes was cooler somehow than in their previous meetings; he assumed the memory of his attack on Orion was fresh in her mind.
Malpravus spoke first. “As you have summoned us here, Alaric, I can only assume you either have a death wish or you have managed to free yourself from the troubles encumbering you these last months. Tell me, have you decided to embrace wisdom and pay what they have asked?”
The Sanctuary Series: Volume 02 - Avenger Page 34
