Heretic (The Sanctuary Series Book 7)

by Robert J. Crane

  “Beg pardon?” Cyrus asked, straightening in his seat.

  “They haven’t returned at all,” Isabelle said, “in fact, they’ve withdrawn; their guildhall in Reikonos sits empty once more.” She looked at them both, her features stiff. “Goliath has disappeared.”

  71.

  The rest of their visit with Isabelle had been awkward, made so by Cyrus and Vara’s hesitant glances at each other. Cyrus, for his part, knew what was in his mind as Isabelle tried to make pleasant conversation for over an hour with little response from either.

  Goliath is still out there, he thought. They’re out there in the weeds, hiding, waiting to come back at us like the snakes they are.

  When Isabelle finally disappeared in her return spell, presumably having had enough of their terse, unsociable conversation, Cyrus stalked off to the northern balcony, Vara just behind him.

  “Dammit,” Cyrus said under his breath as Vara drew up beside him, taking position next to him at the rail.

  “My sentiments exactly,” Vara said, leaning over on the rail. “This leaves us in something of a bind.”

  “Twenty thousand troops, and their leaders filled with nothing but enmity for us,” Cyrus said, shaking his head.

  “We outnumber them now, though,” Vara said. “And apparently Malpravus hates only me.”

  “Rhane Ermoc despises me,” Cyrus said, shaking his head. “And I’m not fond of him, either.” He put his hand on Rodanthar’s hilt. “Praelior belongs to me, and I mean to have it back.” He stood there for a moment, staring over the deep green plains, summer taking hold of the lovely grasses with its wind. “I wonder why Malpravus hates only you?”

  “Perhaps he finds in you a kindred spirit,” Vara said, a smile crooking the corner of her mouth as she stared out across the Plains of Perdamun. “Regardless, it seems like they have retreated beyond the bounds of the map to their jungle hideaway.”

  “Scuddar knows where they are,” Cyrus said, looking down at the wall far below. He could see the red robes of the desert man against the grey stone barrier between Sanctuary and the plains. “He told me so on the night we were waiting for you under the Citadel,” Cyrus said in response to Vara’s curious look. “I meant to have him draw out a map as best he could remember it, but in the wake of those events—well, there’s simply been too much else on my mind.”

  “Such as?” Vara asked. They hadn’t had a proper talk in the days since everything had broken loose, having been too busy watching the wall and holding meetings of the Sanctuary Council, most of which seemed to hinge on Ryin still being upset at being uninformed about the course of their plans.

  “When I was in the ambush in Idiarna,” Cyrus said, nodding absently to the north, “that dark knight of Goliath’s—Sareea—she used the return spell.” He flashed a look at her. “I think we can expect heresy from Malpravus when next we meet as well.”

  “That’s … concerning,” Vara said. “Or at least it concerns me.”

  “It should concern anyone who worries about Goliath,” Cyrus said. “I haven’t mentioned it in Council because … well …”

  “We’ve been busy hashing over other matters and bearing the brunt of Ryin’s ire,” Vara said with a nod.

  “I was going to say, ‘Because I’m not looking forward to Vaste launching out of his seat as if he had a water spell cast out of his arse,’” Cyrus said, shaking his head. “They’re not short of spellcasters. If they’ve taught theirs as we’ve taught ours, it’ll be a fearsome battle when next we meet.”

  “Aye,” Vara said. “And here I thought you were merely worried over what Pretnam Urides had goaded you with on the night we confronted him.”

  Cyrus frowned. “You heard that?”

  “Dimly,” she said, her hand coming up to feel the side of her head where Urides had bashed in her skull. “It was all very dreamlike, as though I were in a stupor, nothing but black before my eyes.”

  “What did you catch?” Cyrus asked.

  “Some uncharitable taunting about your father and mother, and how he ultimately claimed no small amount of credit for their deeds before turning the entirety of Arkaria against Quinneria,” Vara said, looking down. “Something about a long life, as well.”

  “Yes, I wondered what he meant by that,” Cyrus said, frowning.

  “But not about the taunting?” she probed, and he noticed.

  “You think I let him—” he looked around, as if to reassure himself that Vaste was not present, “—get my goat?”

  Vara smirked. “Urides presented himself to us as both friend and foe at various points in our acquaintance. And yet at the end, he made no more pretense—he had used us until we no longer suited any purpose, and then discarded us—”

  “Except that doesn’t make sense,” Cyrus said, reaching under his helm to scratch his forehead. “We weren’t a threat to Reikonos just because I could suddenly cast spells—because the rest of us could suddenly cast spells—”

  “You don’t have to be an actual threat or have ill intent for someone to assume such.”

  “I suppose,” Cyrus said, not quite mollified by that. “But he didn’t even try to use us. I mean, we didn’t leave on terribly bad terms when last he parted; he might have had need of Sanctuary once more in the future, but he called us enemies and turned loose everything on us.”

  “Danay was against us,” Vara said, ticking off her fingers one by one, “Goliath and Amarath’s Raiders were easily swayed in that direction as well, and by the time they all made their lurching declaration of hostilities against you, we were down to some two thousand active guildmates—”

  “But we still had Emerald Fields and the Luukessians in our pocket,” Cyrus said, shaking his head. “And Terian. I just can’t see it from Urides’s position why he would have opposed us, even with the wind shifting against us from the Kingdom and those other two guilds. He was the lion’s share of their force; without him, they would have had a much harder time opposing us, and it’s clear now that Urides had internal political turmoil to deal with in his own borders.” Cyrus frowned. “I just can’t understand why, as head of the Council of Twelve, he’d go out of his way to make an enemy of us.”

  “You’re choosing your words very carefully, husband,” Vara said slowly. When he looked over at her, she went on. “‘As head of the Council of Twelve.’ But you see it making sense from his other role?”

  Cyrus nodded. “Perhaps … if the directive came to the head of the Leagues. From elsewhere.”

  “You think the gods themselves turned the Leagues against us,” Vara said, “and Danay leapt on eagerly, and Urides went along, sweeping Goliath and the Raiders along in his tide.”

  “I know Bellarum wasn’t too pleased with me when last we spoke,” Cyrus said, shaking his head. “Though you’d think Vidara or Terrgenden would mention it if their friends were aligning their forces against us—”

  “I did not have much of a conversation with the All Mother when I enlisted her aid,” Vara said. “She made her communication to me through her servants. I did not even see her until she arrived with you at the convocation, and she said as little to me as she did to you, and entirely publicly.”

  “Still, you’d think she’d say something if she saw them moving against us,” Cyrus said. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe Urides just acted opportunistically, not expecting us to be able to marshal the strength to remove him from his comfortable office.”

  They stood like that for a few minutes, Vara looking down at her gauntlets, which had been cleaned carefully since the night of the battle when they had been covered entirely with ichor and gore. “So … what do we do now?”

  “I have it in my mind to question Carrack,” Cyrus said. “And we’ll need to talk to Scuddar about the base in the jungle, but …” He let out a long, slow breath. “For now? I have a hard time imagining either Cattrine or Terian being thrilled about staging our troops in an invasion of Goliath’s base where we could easily be struck down as we appear at the por
tal, even if we could get Carrack to part with the spell.”

  “Or conversely,” Vara said, “having to march from the portal north of the wreck of the Endless Bridge. Selene and Tolada implied it was a journey of months. Removing the Luukessians from Emerald Fields and the dark elves from Saekaj for a period of months seems—”

  “Foolhardy,” Cyrus said, nodding along, a bitter taste in his mouth. It’s like defeat, the flavor of ashes.

  “Or just foolish,” Vara said, staring off into the distance. “Perhaps even petty on our part.”

  “Yes,” Cyrus agreed, but there was a feeling like worms crawling about in his belly, thrashing about to tell him how wrong he was. “At the very least … we need to wait. Give it time. Gather information.”

  “The prudent course,” Vara agreed, but she shifted at her place on the railing, and he could tell that she, like himself, was not entirely convinced.

  72.

  “Welcome back to my humble abode,” Terian said, greeting Cyrus and Vara with a wide grin as they appeared in a blaze of green wizard teleportation magic in an enormous chamber filled with carriages and wagons. There was little light save for that of spells being cast, and as they appeared Cyrus caught a glimpse of a portal standing in the middle of the room behind them.

  “Have we been here before?” Vara asked, wheeling around to take in the whole of the space they were in. Cyrus cast the Eagle Eye spell upon himself and then her in turn, the world brightening around him as the effect settled on his eyes and gave him vision in the dark.

  “This is what I call the Courtyard of Saekaj and Sovar,” Terian said, turning to encompass the whole chamber with a sweep of his hand. “It’s where we used to stage carriages, bringing them down from the surface pulled by horses and oxen and whatnot, then transfer them to our vek’tag-pulled conveyances.” He pointed to a carriage nearby hitched to two enormous spiders larger than any ox. “They can see in the dark, but horses, oxen, they can’t, so …”

  “So here’s where you moved your portal,” Cyrus said, turning to look at the stone oval standing in the middle of the chamber, spell-light flashing around them as more wizards and druids brought in wagons and carts from outside.

  “The one Yartraak hid in the palace for his own use, yes,” Terian said, beckoning them toward the waiting spider-drawn carriage. “And now I’ve got our wizards and druids working every hour of the day to bring in food and take out our exports, all while the army continues to dig us out of this mess.” His eyes gleamed in the dark. “I’m pleased you came today.” He opened the door to the carriage and gestured for Vara to get in first.

  “Glad we could oblige,” Cyrus said, stepping in next and seating himself next to Vara on the comfortable bench.

  “I hear your numbers have stopped shrinking,” Terian said as he fastened the door closed and braced himself against the front of the carriage on the forward bench and then clanked his gauntlet against the wood. The carriage’s wheels squeaked into motion after the sound of a whip crack split the air. The sounds of the courtyard, as Terian had called it, faded now that they were in the carriage, the windows covered over with velvety curtains.

  “Yes, we’re settled at four hundred and eighty-five members,” Vara said, not amused. “Though I suppose you knew that number already, didn’t you?”

  “I did,” Terian said with a nod. “But it’s always nice to have your information confirmed.” He glanced at Cyrus. “My question is—did you know that number?”

  “Yes,” Cyrus said, nodding, puckering his lips. “No point in not, and it’s not as though it’s moved in the last week. We seem to have recaptured at least a small sliver of our old reputation, and perhaps given a breath or two of hope to our members. Hopefully that’ll be the end of that.” Terian gave him a pitying look. “So,” Cyrus said, “I take it you’d be of the same opinion as Vara when I asked her if she thought any of our wayward former members would come wandering back?”

  Terian did not blink, but he cocked his head curiously. “What did she say?”

  “I said,” Vara spoke rather pointedly, clearly annoyed by Terian’s failure to ask her directly, “that decisions, once made, are funny things, and require one to justify them constantly. Pride, in my opinion, precludes any returns. But hopefully,” she finished, sniffing slightly at the damp underground air, “we will not lose any more soon.”

  Terian nodded slowly. “Yes, I think she’s quite right. Anyone disloyal enough to leave when they thought you a loser—” Terian grimaced at his own inelegant word choice, “—is unlikely to come back now that you’ve been proven a winner once more. Also, you’re not technically clear of the Leagues’ ire, at least not from Reikonos. Nor the dwarves or gnomes, if it comes to it, though I doubt you’ll find anyone pressing you about it. Carefully neutral, that’ll be everyone’s stance in regards to Sanctuary.”

  “Is that so?” Cyrus asked. “Why do you think that?”

  “Because pissing you off carries a high price,” Terian said with a grin as the carriage rattled along down the tunnel.

  They sat in silence for a time, until Terian spoke. “So … I take it you jackasses are still sweating about Goliath being out there?”

  “You’re not?” Cyrus asked.

  “Of course I am,” Terian snapped. “Did you see what they did to the entrance to my capital? If I could personally insert my axe into Malpravus’s rectum, be assured I would do so, and then twist the blade enough times to ensure that every meal he ate would become a bowel movement within a second of consumption.” He bristled, shifting in his seat. “Cattrine feels things have worked out more or less equitably, but I doubt her soldiers would blink before following you off to war wherever it leads, because they’re not the forgiving or forgetting types.”

  “That feels like it would be a lot to ask of them,” Cyrus said cautiously, exchanging a look with Vara.

  “It is,” Terian said, staring at Cyrus through half-closed eyes. “You know where they are, then?”

  “I have a suspicion,” Cyrus said. “That place Selene told us about. The old ruin in the jungle. Scuddar said it’s called Zanbellish. He called it the last city of the ancients.”

  “Never heard of it,” Terian said with a frown.

  “I have a map,” Cyrus said. “He drew it out for me, and in good detail—the portal, the basic layout of the place. It’s a city all right, or the ruins of one at least. But it’s a six-month march into the Bandit Lands, through swamp and jungle, and without a recognizable road.” He shook his head. “Any army walking that path will have to deal with all the diseases you could imagine—”

  “And I suspect given your sordid history, you can imagine quite a few,” Vara said, drawing a baleful look from Terian.

  “—and of course, months of living on conjured rations,” Cyrus said. “It’s either that or attempt an assault through the portal, and based on what Scuddar mapped out for me,” he shook his head sadly, “it’s a perfect place to be slaughtered.”

  “I don’t like the sound of desperation on you, Davidon,” Terian said. “It sounds like giving up.”

  “The cost of vengeance in this case is going to be ludicrously high, Terian,” Cyrus said, shrugging. “I have an army of—as you pointed out—less than five hundred. You have thirty thousand, of which—how many are currently involved in digging you out of the collapse?”

  “Half or so,” Terian grudgingly admitted. “We’re digging every hour of the day presently, and making certain that our people are well rested so as not to, uh … work them to death, as the last Sovereign might have—”

  “Truly, you are a wonder of progress,” Vara said with a smirk.

  “—but that’ll be done in a few months,” Terian said. “And I’d be open to another mission.”

  “Assuming the Luukessians wanted to toss in their lot with us,” Cyrus said, going onward, “then we’d have another eight thousand … but they’re almost entirely dragoons in a land where horses are going to be of no use. Scuddar sai
d the swamps are impassible for equines. Even your spiders would have trouble,” Cyrus added, stopping Terian before he opened his mouth fully to speak. “So … we could do this, but …”

  Terian made a deep rumbling sound in his throat. “But you don’t want to.”

  “Oh, I want to,” Cyrus said. “Personally, I’d love to make a scarecrow out of Malpravus’s corpse, and give over Rhane Ermoc to the trolls so I could watch them cook him and eat him—”

  “I don’t think even the trolls eat people,” Vara said.

  “—but that’s me,” Cyrus said. “I want to go. I don’t want to drag my army along on a journey of six months through the wilds of the Bandit Lands. Scuddar guaranteed we’d lose several hundred just to incurable diseases of the swamps, to say nothing of the heat. And if you travel in the winter, you’ll see torrential, freezing rains which will inflict a different sort of toll. No beasts of burden to carry tents, which means you’re left hauling your own equipment—”

  “Sounds like a job for the Army of Sanctuary that went into Luukessia,” Terian said sourly. “Too bad the last year has seen that stripped away entirely.”

  “Isn’t it?” Vara asked as they thumped over a particularly hard bump in the road. “Indeed, I find myself wondering, if we did strike out … what exactly we would find at the end?”

  “And with Malpravus able to flit back and forth between the inhabited lands of Arkaria and that base of his,” Cyrus said, drawing to the largest sticking point he had found, the one he’d turned over in his mind again and again, “imagine the havoc he could wreak with all of us gone for months, unable to receive so much as a word of warning in our absence. He could invade Reikonos, or Saekaj, or Huern—”

  “That last one might be an improvement,” Vara muttered. “A small one, but still.”

  “He’s not known for sitting idly by,” Cyrus said, giving Vara a sidelong look. “Whatever he’s been up to this last year, he’s been driving the events in some way, large or small, and as soon as he knew we’d won the fight in Reikonos, Goliath was out of there entirely. I don’t fancy giving him a free hand to do whatever he wants in Arkaria while the bulk of us are away with our armies trying to hunt him down.”