The rest of the Siegebreakers were looking equally well-scrubbed, she noticed when she met them outside the Thultyrl’s pavilion. Even Wiggles looked like she had been washed and brushed. Sanval, of course, was beautifully turned out in a pure white linen shirt, well-fitted cloth breeches, and a different but gorgeously polished pair of boots. His hair had been combed down into a gleaming mass of black curls, but Ivy was pleased to note that one curl was still defiantly going in the opposite direction of its fellows.
Flanked by an honor guard drawn from the Forty, Ivy was led before the Thultyrl, who immediately chided her for not letting him know sooner about her plans to bring down the western wall of Tsurlagol.
She told him that they had been a bit busy that day or they would have sent him a message.
“So everything happened exactly as you planned?” questioned the Thultyrl.
“Certainly it did,” Ivy said. If her plans had swerved off course a bit, what did that matter, and who needed to know? All ended at the desired outcome.
“Lady, we are most pleased,” said the Thultyrl.
“And we are pleased that the Thultyrl is pleased,” answered Ivy. She was, too. There was enough gold stuffed in the bottom of their bags to pay for a new barn roof and maybe a bit to spare. Still, the farm could use a few more improvements. A bigger kennel for Mumchance’s dogs, thought Ivy, set very far from the house. Ivy looked back to the walls of Tsurlagol. The rubble of the western wall formed a ragged gap in the city’s defenses. She smiled as she turned to the Thultyrl.
“Sire, can I assume that the treasury of Tsurlagol will cover the rebuilding of the city’s defenses? After all, if the wall is left like that, the first wandering band of brigands or underpaid mercenaries …”
“Will dance right through the gap and set up camp in the center of the city,” said Mumchance.
“And given the treaties that we hold with the city …” added Sanval.
The Thultyrl exchanged a fleeting look with his steward Beriall. It was a glance that said “this is going to be expensive.” Ivy smiled very sweetly.
“This is what you get when you hire mercenaries,” said Beriall, who had been a bit vocally bitter about the amount of gold that Ivy had already collected from him.
“Still, they have been most effective in carrying out your wishes,” added the Pearl with an elegant roll of her shoulders that stopped just short of a shrug. She was dressed all in palest blue today, with her namesake jewels stitched into elaborate patterns on her long robe. Long metal guards of enameled silver covered her fingernails and winked in the sunlight when she gestured with one elegant hand.
“Quite so,” said the Thultyrl. “Do we understand that you are wall builders as well as wall breakers?”
“Well, it takes a larger crew, but once we bring the harvest in, we could pull more people from our farm,” stated Ivy. “We could hire from the city too. After a siege, there are always people needing work. That way you would be giving some of the wealth of Tsurlagol’s treasury back to Tsurlagol’s people. A popular thing to do, I would think.”
“Does a Thultyrl need to be popular?” asked the Thultyrl.
“You already are,” answered the Pearl. “But it would be a kindness to give some of Tsurlagol’s wealth to those who labor hardest and best with their hands.”
The Thultyrl nodded.
“Mimeri would love to travel,” suggested Gunderal. “She is so good with stone spells.”
Sanval cocked an eyebrow at Ivy, and she hissed back, “Youngest sister. She gets it from her mother’s side of the family.”
“And her mother was?”
“I’ll explain to you later.”
“I was thinking of flying buttresses on the west side,” continued Mumchance, drawing plans in the dirt with the tip of his sword.
“Ground is too flat,” said Kid, scuffing a few lines with an edge of his hoof.
“Good thinking. Dry moat,” replied Mumchance. “Maybe two. At an angle. To baffle any stonethrower from coming close to the walls.”
“Such tricks will not stop a wizard, dear sir,” said Kid.
“A couple of glyphs. Something subtle.” One old dwarf and one cloven-hoofed thief bent their heads together to contemplate the designs etched in the dirt, oblivious of the others watching them.
“Fascinating,” said the Thultyrl. “Truly fascinating. Lady, you may bring Beriall your plans; we shall leave him as steward of Tsurlagol until the city is ready to govern itself. But we think that there are other matters which must be settled first.”
One of those matters was a dripping trophy now prominently displayed before the Thultyrl’s chair.
“And what do you want done with that?” sniffed Beriall. One of the Forty had dug out the big orc’s body from the wreckage of the wall and hacked the head off, bringing it back as a trophy.
The Thultyrl bent forward, wincing a little from his healing wound, and stared into the dead eyes of the creature that had so disrupted his life. For the first time, the two were close enough to touch—the dead leader of the last remnant of the Black Horde, and the man who had never wanted to go to war. In profile, there was a certain grim resemblance between the two. It was, decided Ivy, the bare-toothed smile. Fottergrim’s lips were curled up over his big fangs, as if he were still snarling insults from the top of the walls, and the Thultyrl’s upper lip curled in an unconscious imitation of his foe.
“We will display it,” declared the Thultyrl, straightening up. His face relaxed into the more charming smile that he typically wore. “A reminder to those who break the peace in Procampur or Tsurlagol.”
The Pearl rustled forward. She signaled to a servant to remove the head.
“I will boil it down to the bone,” stated the Pearl, as matter of fact as if she were reciting some recipe for stewed chicken, “and have it plated in silver with eyes of crystal. I will set it on a pillar of stone with a warning inscribed to all who doubt the strength of the treaties that tie Procampur and Tsurlagol.”
“Oh very good,” said the Thultyrl. “Put it on the side of the road exactly halfway between Procampur and Tsurlagol.”
“As you wish,” she agreed.
“And,” he added, his glance sliding across Ivy and her group, “you’d best place some strong charms around it, or the next red-roof adventurer to pass it by is sure to steal it.”
“Certainly,” said the Pearl.
So it was done. The head of Fottergrim gleamed atop a pillar with a warning written below: “Fottergrim watches in vain for his rescue. So fall all who dare to assault Procampur’s allies.” Ivy passed the monument many times during her travels, and she always stopped to give the orc’s silver skull a proper salute. If she tested the Pearl’s charms against theft, she never admitted it to Sanval.
“And now there is the matter of the bugbear,” continued the Thultyrl. Sanval groaned, although not very loudly.
“I wonder how a bugbear in the service of the enemy ended up wearing a piece of Procampur armor,” said the Thultyrl.
Sanval turned bright red as the captured Osteroric was led forward by the youngest member of the Forty. The oblivious bugbear thanked Sanval for his breastplate, despite Sanval’s best efforts to wave him off.
“It stopped an arrow,” said Osteroric, displaying the dent. “That helped save my life!”
“Not exactly the use intended for an officer’s armor,” mused the Thultyrl, who pulled out a scroll from the basket beside his chair. Unrolling it, he hummed a little as he scanned its lines. “According to this section of the Grand Codex of laws,” said the Thultyrl, “aiding the enemy is against the law, losing your armor when you are an officer of Procampur’s army is against the law, failing to inform your Thultyrl about your plans is most definitely against the law, and so on and so forth.”
Ivy stepped forward. After all, somebody needed to defend Sanval. The Thultyrl was having far too good a time teasing him, and she rather considered that particular form of amusement was reserved fo
r her and her alone.
“I believe his actions were a credit to Procampur,” she began and heard the others chorus their agreement.
“Still,” said the Thultyrl with a slight smile, “his appearance when he returned to the camp was far less presentable than is considered proper for an officer of Procampur. Astoundingly so, I was told by several who saw him pass.”
“Oh, yes, he definitely needs some extra polish, sir. Can’t have an officer of Procampur that doesn’t actually shine in the sun. Look at him today, not a scrap of shiny armor on him,” said Ivy, looking Sanval up and down. “But he’s not nearly as scruffy as the mercenaries in the lower camp. Still, I can see that the loss of uniform armor to a bugbear is a grave offense. Yet, he has done us some service, and some service to Procampur; for the defeat of Archlis was very much his doing.” She gestured with her hands, a scale tipping up and then down again. “How about we pay his fines for him?” she concluded.
“That would be an acceptable solution and most comforting to have a little gold returned to us,” murmured Beriall, who clutched the long list of claims given to him by Ivy. He kept pulling it out of his sleeve and checking it again. It was the most remarkably detailed document. Beriall intended to have it placed in its own niche in the library when he got home, in the section painted red and labeled “Fraud.”
“Gold is such a common thing and most certainly not worthy of a discerning ruler like the Thultyrl,” said Ivy. She heard Sanval choke behind her at her insolence, and Beriall give a little moan of disappointment. The Thultyrl only looked amused.
Ivy held up the battered spellbook that Kid had stolen from Archlis.
“It is one of a kind,” she said. “A rare volume for one of the greatest libraries ever to be built.”
Beriall rustled forward and took the book from Ivy’s hand. He turned the pages slowly. “There are some interesting runes here,” he said slowly. “Most unusual, sire.” Pausing, he ran one plump finger down the center of the book. “And some missing pages.”
“Well, it may have been slightly damaged dropping off a wall and so on,” said Ivy.
“And what do you ask in return?” said the Thultyrl.
“Finely polished and fitted armor is fairly common in your city—the type of thing that every gentleman in Procampur usually has, am I right?”
The Thultyrl said nothing, but he looked suspicious.
“And the book is so very uncommon and thus more costly. And, really, it will have great historical significance in the years to come. Snatched from the villainous magelord, just before the walls fell on him. The sort of thing that bards write ballads about,” Ivy reasoned. “Repaying the fine losing common Procampur armor could be seen as a partial payment on such a treasure.”
“With the book being so exceptional,” murmured Mumchance, not looking up from his design for a new wall for Tsurlagol.
“And gotten with a certain amount of fighting on our part,” pointed out Zuzzara.
“And cunning,” added Kid.
“It is a tome of magical mysteries,” added Gunderal.
“Very old and truly unusual, most illustrious liege,” finished Ivy, who kept her face serene. She waited. Sometimes, silence was the best bargaining tactic.
“Not another bill,” sighed Beriall.
“We doubt that even the Siegebreakers would be so bold,” said the Thultyrl with a significant look at the group.
“Of course not, sire,” said Ivy, maintaining her poise. “We were just hoping to obtain some digging rights along with a pardon for Captain Sanval’s unfortunate loan of armor to a bugbear.”
Sanval’s eyes widened. Ivy smiled at him and laid her finger casually against her lips for a second.
“Where the wall fell?” the Thultyrl asked.
“Yes, just the west fields would be fine,” said Ivy. “We are seeking to recover lost gear, that sort of thing. But you know how it is after the end of the siege. Confusion, lawlessness, looting. We would not like to be accused of illegal looting. Just a nice short and simple legal contract, making anything that we recover legally ours. The law being so important and all.”
The Thultyrl still looked suspicious, but he nodded and beckoned a scribe to him. A few quick lines were scribbled on a piece of parchment. Hot wax was applied to the bottom of the document and sealed with the Thultyrl’s own stamp.
Ivy glanced at the oblivious Osteroric, another mercenary but one who had landed on the losing side. Sanval was also staring at the bugbear. That Procampur sensibility probably was pricking him, telling him that he had some type of debt of honor there. After all, the creature had let him escape often enough. Sanval glanced at her. She calculated the costs of feeding a bugbear and sighed. “And perhaps we could have a detail of prisoners? Like that one and any bugbear that looks like him. To help with the digging?”
“As you request,” said the Thultyrl. “But the expense of their care shall be your responsibility.”
“I assumed so.” With luck, the stupid creature would run away as soon as they found his brother, but the friendly, eager look on his furry face did not bode well. He looked a lot like Wiggles when she got a new bone.
Beriall took the scroll from the scribe and personally handed it to Ivy. “Some day,” he said to her, “I hope that you will come to Procampur and teach our young scholars about proper accounting. I think it might improve our city’s wealth in ways that we never dreamed.”
“I am flattered,” said Ivy. “I am just a simple mercenary who knows how to make three and three add to six.”
“Or even seven and eight.” Beriall felt the bill tucked safely in his sleeve. It was an astonishing document, most worthy of preservation.
“You have our invitation to come to Procampur some day,” said the Thultyrl, signaling forward the next group of petitioners. “Perhaps when you are done with your digging.” And, for the first and last time in front of Ivy, he dropped the royal “we” and added in the eager tones of a young man who liked hunting as much as law-writing, “I would be interested in hearing more about your adventures underground.”
“You are both generous and kind, sire,” said Ivy. Then she gave the Thultyrl the most elaborate court bow that her bard mother had taught her, hand on heart in a sincere gesture of respect. When she straightened up, she saw that even Sanval looked impressed. She didn’t know why he should stand there blinking like that. It wasn’t as if she’d been raised by orcs in the wilderness; she had told him that she knew how to behave when she had to. Restraining the urge to whistle some startling and scandalous tune just to see if she could make the Procampurs’ ears turn red, Ivy gracefully drew back and let the next group of petitioners claim the Thultyrl’s attention.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Outside the Thultyrl’s pavilion, Ivy paused. The others hurried ahead to collect their shovels, sweeping Sanval away with them as they pulled him along in a swirl of amiable bickering stronger than any iron chain. Mumchance and Zuzzara were already arguing with Gunderal and Kid about the best way to dig down to the crypt full of jewels. Ivy just hoped they didn’t say the words “Moaning Diamond” or “buckets of gems” too loudly or too often. She didn’t want anyone else to get the idea that there was still treasure to be found in the ruins of Tsurlagol. Of course, she did have the only royal permit, signed by the Thultyrl himself, to dig and retain anything that she might find in the fields outside Tsurlagol’s western wall.
Ivy watched them go, lit by that little aura of affection that always surrounded them in her view—even silly, fluffy Wiggles happily dancing around their ankles and doing her yippy best to trip them up and send them tumbling down the hill. She reflected with relief that she had gotten away with everything that she wanted. Truly amazing, she decided, and she wondered if she should waste any more coin on a temple tribute. After all, the gods and goddesses had plenty of worshippers and priests and temples stuffed with gifts, and it seemed silly to distract them from truly needy prayers with her minor concerns.
/> From where she stood, the broken wall of Tsurlagol was clearly visible, as were the swirls of Procampur’s army and mixed mercenaries going down the harbor road, out into the wooded hills, and back to Procampur. There would be days of running down what was left of Fottergrim’s horde, messages going out to all the little kingdoms in the Vast that another orc threat had been destroyed, and even more messages to dwarf enclaves and human cities that there was once again building work to be done in Tsurlagol.
The sun glinted on the pretty little lake that had spread out from the destruction of the western wall. In less than a day, the water level had already dropped considerably. Gunderal had speculated that the river was returning to its old course, now that her spell was fading away and no longer pulling it into the underground ruins. Ivy hoped that she was right. It would be easier to find the Moaning Diamond and that treasure-filled crypt if they were not underwater.
The Pearl rustled up to her. “You did very well,” she said, startling Ivy out of her contemplation of treasure hunting beneath Tsurlagol.
“We took some chances and got lucky.”
“Chance is less random than you believe.”
“It is odd, you know, that the Thultyrl did not start healing until today,” said Ivy, trying to fill the silence, glancing at the Pearl. “There must have been some poison in that wound to keep him so weak. Or maybe it was a spell. I wonder if Fottergrim had Archlis send some curse against the Thultyrl.”
The Pearl’s face was without expression—a proper face for a Procampur lady—as she watched the hubbub on the plain below. “The Thultyrl was supposed to die in his twenty-sixth year, after a great duel with Fottergrim at the base of that wall. Dead so young and with so much left unaccomplished. What do I care if Gruumsh wanted to raise another warlord to unite the orcs? My Thultyrl will build a great library. His codex will serve as a model for other cities and their lawmakers.”
Crypt of the Moaning Diamond Page 28
