Around me, the captains gathered their weapons and helmets and filed out of the tent, leaving myself, Mendoz and the Duchess General alone in the tent.
Once they were gone, I asked, “Do you really think that the soldiers in Sanfar will stay within the walls?”
She turned to me, her aquamarine eyes glinting in the light of the lanterns. “No,” she said, a wicked smile lighting her face. “But they’ll march under our banner before we reach Sevenstone—and I’ll need your help to do it.”
IV
The Duchess General’s plan was audacious; no question about it.
Most of the day later, Mendoz and I rode across the plains of Lannth. The Kalais army marched south, sweeping well away from Sanfar and adding several hours to their time. Mendoz and I went due west, directly toward the city that Martine could not spare the time and manpower to capture.
The silver dappled mare I rode had been a gift, resulting from our inadvertent capture of a horse thief when Mendoz and I had thought we were hunting fel beasts. I’d named her Isteri—a rather clever name, I thought, given that the word meant both ‘silver’ and ‘horse’ in Old Tellarian—and she’d been just an underfed filly when she’d come into my care. After two years of riding together, though, she’d filled out considerably, and we were almost like a single being. I’d never had much use for horses, but this one could have been from the blood of the Greymane lines; the ones the Arbiters used to keep for themselves, in ancient days.
She was surefooted and swift. We could have made the journey in two-thirds the time, if not having to slow our pace for the hulking draft gelding required to haul Mendoz and his gear. I might have gone alone, but the Duchess General’s plan wouldn’t have allowed it.
At last, we hove into sight of the wooden palisade walls of Sanfar. The town was situated atop a natural rock outcropping, with foreboding spears of stone standing out like the teeth of some great beast. Where there were no stones, logs had been carved to look just like them, rigged up to make the place even more formidable. It couldn’t have housed more than a few thousand people—relatively small, by Old Kingdoms standards—but the gates and upper walls would be well-defended.
The natural high ground that the outcropping provided further added to the difficulty. Martine was right; there was no way that even a sizable force could take this place without suffering serious losses. Spears and arrows from the walls could break even a Kalais shield wall before they could push a battering ram to the gates. Catapults and trebuchets would have smashed the walls to flinders, but for that, you’d need to have no limit on your time. A real siege could take months, as I’d learned in our year with the Kalais army, and they were not only boring but potentially very deadly to both sides.
We approached the city of Sanfar as twilight took over for dusk, and stars began appearing in the night sky above us. As we drew closer, we crossed from the dirt road onto cobblestones, and the sounds from our horses' steps suddenly rang out in the silence. Almost immediately after, there were eyes on the walls, peering out at us from arrow notches in the wooden palisade.
“Who goes there?” the challenging voice called out.
I took a breath, and gagged. Somewhere deep inside, the sorcerer in me quailed at the thought of all of the bolts and arrows which were surely now aimed directly at my heart. For a moment, blind panic fought its way to the forefront of my mind, and Isteri stamped and chuffled nervously. My hands began to tremble, and I very nearly kicked my horse in the flanks and turned to run.
"L—look at that, Mendoz," I stammered. My head swam as my rational mind fought desperately for control. "They've thrown us a party. We're going to play a game—first one to get riddled with arrows and bleed to death wins."
The only thing that stopped me from turning tail was the undeniable thought that we were already well within crossbow range, and those bolts could just as surely find a fleeing back as a standing one.
“If you don’t say something intelligent to them soon, they’ll shoot us both,” Mendoz muttered.
True enough, that. I forced my hands to steady, burying the urge to flee. I took another breath, letting it out slowly, and then inhaled once more.
“People of Sanfar!” I shouted, invoking a subtle sorcery with my left hand that amplified my voice beyond normal ken. “I am the Arbiter, the Wayward Crystal Warrior, who rides with Kalais! Stay your hands, for I have come to parley with the leader of the Lannthan troops stationed here.”
I could almost imagine the whispers that must have run through the soldiers on the walls of Sanfar at my pronouncement. An Arbiter, even one who rode with their sworn enemy, commanded a great deal of respect. Admittedly, I was appropriating the legend for my own ends, but it hardly mattered. Nearly four years since I’d met D’Arden Tal in Elenia, and I’d seen neither hide nor hair of another since. They were scarce now, but their reputation lived strong in the hearts and minds of every man, woman and child in the Old Kingdoms... which suited me nicely.
At last, a voice yelled out a response. “And if we decline your parley?”
Ah, a brave one, I thought. “The Arbiter’s right of parley cannot be refused,” I answered. Once I was in the persona, inventing new rules on the spot was one of my favorite pastimes. Just how far could the legend be stretched? “Open the gates and allow my companion and I to enter, and my word is given that no one will come to harm.”
Silence stretched out for a long moment as the sky darkened further, and the last light of the day began to slip below the western horizon.
“If you yet refuse,” I added, almost as an afterthought, “My only choice will be to conclude that you have thrown in your lot with the daemons, and no one will leave here alive.”
Mendoz snorted; I ignored him. Thankfully, the soliders on the walls wouldn’t be able to hear his quiet derision from this distance. Despite the changes which had come over me throughout our three years riding together, he’d once told me that all he could see in me was the sniveling, half-frozen sorcerer he’d fished out of the snow outside Selvaria.
It was infuriating.
There was a short ruckus on the town walls; sounds like a heated argument issued forth, and then I was almost certain that I heard a choking gurgle—the unmistakable sound of a man desperate to draw breath through a severed windpipe. Then, a different voice responded. “Very well, Arbiter. You and your companion may enter Sanfar for a parley. Then, when it is completed, you will go.”
“Agreed,” I answered, and allowed my enchantment to fade.
The wooden gates of Sanfar groaned as they began to open. I leaned forward, and Isteri took up a slow trot toward the gates.
“You're a bloody madman," Mendoz muttered as we rode into Sanfar. "If we end up playing that game you mentioned, fifteen silvers says you win before I do."
It was better to ignore him.
V
The palisade slammed shut behind us with a rattling finality. My mouth was suddenly very dry as I regarded the militia soldiers which surrounded us. The Lannthan troops had left no bannermen, no knights or heralds behind, but merely the remnants of the conscripted farmers and peasants which made up the bulk of any Old Kingdoms army. Martine’s Kalais troops had the supply lines cut off, and it was clear that the folk here were feeling the pinch. Those who were not wielding spears or pitchforks, those not armed and armored, were dressed raggedly and showed obvious signs of starvation.
It took me less than a moment of observing the crowd—the reasonably well-fed soldiers and the starving peasants, side-by-side—to see what was happening here.
“Let me guess,” I said, before I could stop myself. “The soldiers are in charge of dispersing the rations, and they insist that they need the lion’s share so that they can properly defend you? Is that it?”
A low murmur ran through the crowd, enough to tell me that I was right.
Pushing his way through the peasants came a man whose chain-and-plate armor had clearly been custom-made to accommodate his vast girth. A whi
te beard and moustache hung to the center of his chest, and great bushy eyebrows nearly masked a glitter of malevolence in his ice-blue eyes. The tabard he wore clearly marked him as a Lannthan knight, as much as the gilded hilt of the blade on his hip.
“So,” he huffed through a thick Western Kingdoms accent. “An Arbiter.” He said the word with such derision that it stung my imagined pride. “Do you come to repeat the blasphemous lies that the Kalais have leveled against our king?”
This was the key. If the people of Sanfar could be convinced of the truth, that their monarch had thrown in with the daemons...
“I speak no lies,” I said clearly. “King Talavar the Ninth has forsaken his righteous claim to the throne of Lannth by succumbing to corruption.”
“Bah,” the old knight scoffed. “I spoke with the King personally a mere month ago. There are no daemons in Sevenstone.”
“You?” Mendoz sneered from behind me. “You had a personal audience with a king? I’m surprised you were able to squeeze your fat arse into the receiving chamber.”
The knight’s weatherbeaten cheeks turned so red I thought he might spontaneously combust, and I was forced to suppress a nervous titter. “You’re a fake and a mercenary liar,” he spat. “Everyone knows the Arbiters have never gotten in with spats between kings, not in a thousand years.”
The perfect opening. It felt like playing shepak with a dunce. “And if corruption lies at the very heart of a kingdom?”
His mouth flapped like a beached fish, and it was all I could do to keep the superior smirk off my face. Threat on the fat general, I thought with vicious glee.
Another rumble went through the crowd. To my eternal surprise, the knight’s face continued to redden; in fact, it went plum-purple. He yanked his sword from its sheath, holding out a battered and pitted blade as though it were a holy brand.
This time, the crowd’s rumbles were audible. “You would dare draw steel on an Arbiter?” someone yelled.
“That is no Arbiter!” the knight bellowed, and I thought he might topple over with the force of it. “This is nothing but a Kalais lie!”
You’re closer to right than wrong, I thought giddily. Calmly, I swung my leg over Isteri’s back and dropped to the ground. Sparing a moment to give her a fond pat on the neck, I stepped away from her and advanced on the knight. “The Arbiters have spoken on this matter,” I said, feeling drunk on adrenaline and power. “If you will not stand with us, you are against us.”
“Then I am against you, Kalais dog!” he shouted, blowing flecks of spittle onto the street. “I will not bow to your lies!”
I glanced over my shoulder at Mendoz. His face was grim, but his eyes were laughing silently. Too easy.
“People of Sanfar,” I said calmly. “It is clear that madness has even infected your King’s warriors. Can you stand here and deny that corruption has wormed its way into the heart of those who are sworn to protect you? Can you witness this and still claim that no evil has gripped the very heart of your realm?”
The crowd’s murmurs grew yet louder, and I could see the old knight about to burst. “Die, Kalais swine!” he shouted, lifting his blade and running toward me.
I’ve never been much of a swordsman. Mendoz had taught me a few tricks for the times when I needed them, but I would not stand a chance against a seasoned knight, even if he was aged and fat. I reached back and gripped the hilt of my false Arbiter’s sword, readying a distraction enchantment in my mind—
On the knight’s fourth step, an armored peasant carrying a rusty glaive stepped into the street. The polearm thrust forward and punctured straight through the weak links on the knight’s right side. My stomach heaved as a fountain of red blood poured from the wound, as sudden and mortal as a lightning strike.
The old knight’s face rapidly drained from purple to dead white. His sword slipped from nerveless fingers and clattered to the dusty street. His eyes met mine, still hateful, still accusing—liar, traitor they screamed—and then he crumpled in a clatter of steel and flesh, and moved no more.
The peasant who'd come to my rescue yanked his bladed polearm free from the steel and spat on the corpse. The man turned to me, a scar plain on his face and hints of them running down his arms where I could see them beneath his cured leather. “Fucking nobles,” he pronounced. “Think they own the goddamn world.”
Careful, I told myself. It was a struggle to remain impassive, but I must have succeeded because he went on. He turned to the crowd and raised the bloodied glaive over his head. “The Arbiter says the king’s thrown in with daemons! As if those lordling bastards don’t already have enough? Well I say to the gallows with them!”
“To the gallows!” the crowd thundered in response.
When I could hear again, I gestured to the man with the glaive. “And who are you?”
“Name’s Falgar, Master Arbiter,” he said, with a strange little bow. “I’m the militia chief here in Sanfar. Weren’t about to let that old git strike an Arbiter—did he think he was gonna take the rest of our souls with him?”
At last, I allowed myself to smile. “Well done, Master Falgar,” I said, despite the fact that I still wanted to retch every time my eyes fell on the spreading pool of blood and offal draining from the dead knight. “Bring every man you can find. We march on Sevenstone to put an end to the daemons that threaten your land—and when we’re done, you can sort out who’s king for yourselves.”
The cheer from the crowd was deafening.
VI
We stayed overnight in Sanfar, just long enough for me to establish Mendoz as the overseer of the newly-formed Sanfar Freemen, with nominal command given to Falgar as the militia foreman.
At first light, when I was at last satisfied that they would both listen to Mendoz and march immediately to catch up with Martine’s army, I saddled Isteri and rode westward, along the stone Kingsway which awaited me.
Isteri and I went on together for a while in blissful silence. My mind was ruminating over the experiment that had been snuffed out when the boy had come to my tent the previous morning, and I could only assume that Isteri had thoughts of lush grazing meadows and clear pools of drinking water, or something. I was so caught up in my thoughts, in fact, that I barely noticed the patrol of armed men waiting ahead of me on the Kingsway—and it wasn’t until I drew far too close for comfort that I realized they were wearing Lannthan colors.
I gave a sharp tug on Isteri’s reins, drawing the horse up short. We nearly skidded to a halt, a few dozen yards from where five armed men—they might have been knights, or perhaps just particularly well-off militia—stood with their weapons drawn. There were spears, blades, knives and even what looked like a rather large axe of some kind, originally meant for chopping wood and now stained with blood.
For a long moment, there was near silence as we stared across a short gulf at one another—me, in my voluminous black cloak with the hilt of a fake Arbiter’s blade sticking out over one shoulder, and they, the enemy, regarding me as though I were some sort of poisonous serpent.
“Well, well, lads,” one of them said, taking a step forward. He was a youngish man, no more than thirty years, with a shaven pate and shoulders which seemed a mile across. He was the one with the axe, which he held against the back of his neck, both arms draped over it like some crude imitation of a man in the stocks. “Look at our good fortune. We come looking for deserters, and instead, the Kalais ‘Arbiter’ falls into our lap.”
My heart rate seemed to double. Sweat collected in my palms, and my breath came hard. Cowing peasants with grand words was one thing; these were hardened killers, and I was badly outmatched. D’Arden Tal had worked seeming miracles with his crystal sword, but even I wondered how well he would fare against five soldiers.
I wonder if they'll just kill me, or will they stick a rod up my arse and put on a traveling puppet show after they slaughter me? My panicked mind laughed wildly.
“Stand aside, gentlemen,” I said, trying to keep my voice level. “Your evi
ls are your own. I hunt the daemons summoned by your king.”
“Right alongside our oldest enemies,” Shoulders sneered. “How convenient.”
“The Kalais dogs have wanted our land for centuries,” another, with sinewy arms and a bad scar over one eye, spoke up. “Now they mean to take it with lies and false Arbiters.”
“You call the charges of an Arbiter lies?” I asked. “How many of you would even recognize a daemon if you were approached by one? Perhaps all of you have already been fed to your King’s greed, given over to corruption.”
Scar scoffed at this. “Bah, just more lies.”
Scream and flee? My inner self begged. I didn’t see any bows, and they weren’t riding. Isteri could fly like the wind, when driven properly.
The next words out of my mouth came before I even knew they had been in my head. “You there,” I nodded at Shoulders. “I can see the taint of corruption all around you. Gentlemen, I believe you have a daemon in your very midst.”
There was nothing there, of course—just a man, carrying an axe. I’d never seen corruption anyway, not the way the Arbiters could, although a strange prickle would run down my spine whenever a fel beast was near. It was almost as though I could sense it, and I had no such sense now. Still, even as Shoulders barked a laugh, I saw his companions eyeing him uneasily.
Yes... yes, this could still turn in my favor.
The heartbeat pounding in my ears slowed ever so slightly. My right hand dropped Isteri’s reins and reached to my back, pulling free the slender steel blade I’d commissioned two and a half years past. It slid free silently, and the enchantment I’d placed at the mouth of the scabbard cloaked the steel blade in brilliant blue light.
A collective gasp went up from the men gathered before me. One or two of them even stumbled back a step. The sun was still low in the eastern sky, at my back, and the high leaves of the surrounding forest’s canopy blocked much of the morning light. The blade lit up like a fallen star, casting a circle of cobalt radiance around me.
The Elements of Sorcery Page 16
