“There was no sign of Count Grey or his pressgangs?” Leo demanded. “You couldn’t have missed him?”
“I don’t see how,” Lucius said, a hint of indignation creeping into his words. “And I can’t see why he’d bother to remain. As I said, the north was practically abandoned. I doubt we saw more than a dozen men of fighting age the entire time we were there.”
“Shit!” Leo hissed, fighting the urge to curse in a louder voice. Still grasping Lucius’ shoulder, he practically dragged the elf back toward the camp.
“Leo, what is going on? Why are you upset?”
“Because they haven’t seen him either!” Leo snarled, jabbing an accusatory finger in the counts’ direction. “They claim Grey was the first one to march south. They planned to join forces with him. And I’ve had scouts patrolling these hills for days with no sign of the bastard! So, if he’s not here and he’s not hiding in the north, I’ll give you three guesses where he is.”
“Kaba,” Lucius whispered.
“You can say that again.” Sighing deeply, Leo fought to recover a measure of calm. Panicking over an unknown possibility, however likely, would do him no good. “Find Buchold and the others. Get us ready to march as soon as possible. I don’t care what it takes, I want us on the road to Ansiri today. If Grey has truly taken the city, each hour we give him to prepare will cost lives.”
As terrifying as the prospects were, Leo had regained a semblance of self-control by the time he reached Bordeau. The count sat atop a stained, musty-looking blanket and idly drummed his fingers against the iron manacles that secured his wrists. He observed the activity taking place around him with a calm disinterest but smiled wickedly at the sight of Leo and climbed to his feet with some difficulty.
“So you survived,” the count said, sighing. “Pity. I was hoping one of your slave bitches would come to tell me you’d been run through.”
Leo ignored the man. Instead, he glanced at the pair of elves standing guard over him. Though both feigned the passive deafness of household guards, both stood barely a spear’s length from the count.
“Give us space,” Leo instructed. Under different circumstances, he would have obviously preferred a private room. But, there was only so much one could do outdoors. In any event, the elves clearly understood his meaning, saluted, and retreated beyond casual earshot.
“Oh? It’s to be a private chat then?” Bordeau jeered. “Very well, boy. Ask away.”
Leo folded his arms. “Where is Grey?” he asked.
Bordeau’s smile twisted into an undisguised smirk.
“Finally figured it out, have you?” he taunted. “My word, you really are dimwitted, aren’t you, VanOrden?”
“Answer me.”
“You don’t need my help,” Bordeau spat. “You’ve already got your answer. That’s the only reason why you’re here at all. Well, I’m not going to give you the satisfaction. Crawl back home, little soldier. That’s the only way you’ll know for sure. Of course, even if you do, I expect that pretty, young wife of yours will already be dead.”
Leo nearly struck him again. It wouldn’t have solved anything, and the pointlessness of further abusing a chained, graying man would have degraded him. But the frustration of being outmaneuvered—again—combined with Bordeau’s insults pushed him to the brink.
Instead, he sighed and shook his head.
“Why do you keep doing this?” he asked. “Even if Grey wins, you know that I’m the one who’ll decide if you live or die. Why do you keep leaning on the scales?”
For just a moment, Bordeau looked as shocked as if Leo had truly struck him. Then he chuckled and fixed Leo with a thoroughly patronizing look. And when he spoke, it was in a weary tone Leo had never before heard from the man.
“Oh, please. Weren’t you listening earlier? We both know the type of man you are, Leo VanOrden. I embarrassed you and your friend once. Rather publically. Every last soul in the Isles could bow to you without a fight and my life would be just as forfeit as it is now.”
Leo snorted but there was an uncomfortably large grain of truth to the count’s claim. True, he’d had little intention of sparing Bordeau’s life. But even if the man believed Leo utterly intractable, why embrace such a nihilistic perspective with such unreserved enthusiasm? It would hardly have hurt him to try.
He was about to say as much when Nyssa arrived. Studying the count’s face as he was, he heard her sprinting footsteps long before he spotted her.
“Leo!” she called. “I need to talk to you!”
“Whatever it is can wait,” he said, turning back to Bordeau. The man’s smirk had reemerged, and from the gleam in his eyes, he was eager to loose his next cutting remark.
“No, it can’t! It’s Sann!”
“Sann?” Bordeau erupted, preempting Leo’s exclamation by a split-second. “That’s that winged bitch of yours, isn’t it? The one my army pummeled? Please tell me she’s dying! Oh, by all the gods, that would just make this all worth it. Tell me she’s dying.”
Snarling as he fought to block out the count’s vile chatter, Leo spun to face Nyssa directly. The second he did, however, he could tell instantly that something was wrong. Nyssa’s face had gone pale, paler than he had ever seen it before. Her mouth hung ajar and her cheeks were streaked where tears had intermingled with sweat.
“Is he right?” Leo asked softly.
Nyssa hesitated for the span of a few heartbeats. Then, averting her eyes, she nodded.
“He’s right,” she said.
Leo stood there, too stunned to think, much less move. Before he could lose himself to melancholy, however, a chorus of harsh, mocking laughter pulled him from his thoughts.
Bordeau was cackling. Tears of mirth leaked freely from his eyes and dribbled into the dried blood between his lips and nostrils as he practically doubled over with raspy, heaving laughter. And even as he tried to speak, the count could do little to hide his delight.
“Praise the gods!” Bordeau gasped between fits. “I’d hoped she would die, but I never dreamed I would get to see your face when you found out. What a blessing this is!”
Leo drew his sword. And despite the count’s boasts, he saw the fear that flashed across Bordeau’s face. He didn’t stop to savor it. He swung for the man’s neck.
Bordeau lifted his hands to shield himself, but there was no stopping the ferocity of Leo’s blow. The sword sliced through the man’s wrists, severing one hand and removing all but the thumb of the other. Clanging loudly off the now-useless shackles, Leo’s blade continued and sank deeply into the flesh of Bordeau’s neck.
Now, as before, Leo didn’t hesitate. He yanked the sword free of flesh with a brutal tug and watched calmly as Bordeau collapsed in a writhing, howling heap. The wound in his neck was a bad one and arced blood with each beat of the man’s heart, but it was hardly a killing blow outright. Gasping for air between agonized cries, the count struggled to staunch the wound with the ruined remains of his hands. In the end, however, he succeeded only in prolonging his already messy end.
Leo knelt, pinned one of Bordeau’s flailing legs with his knee, and wiped the blood from his sword onto the man’s elegant trousers. Then, as he straightened, he glanced at each of the stunned elves who had served as the count’s captors.
“Don’t interfere,” he instructed then aimed a kick at the still-thrashing count’s knee. “And leave his body for the crows. Once this one has finished bleeding out, you can report back to your commanding officer for a new assignment. Understood?”
Both elves quickly nodded.
Leo didn’t stay to watch. Returning his sword to its scabbard, still sticky with the last smears of the count’s lifeblood, he turned and followed Nyssa back to the spot where Sann lay.
***
Sann was gone by the time Leo reached the drakonid’s side. It was difficult to tell at first. Since her injury, her eyes had remained closed and her breathing inaudibly shallow. Plus, thanks to the un
natural chill of her body, it was only by pressing his fingers to her throat and finding no hint of a pulse that Leo could convince himself that, yes, Sann was actually dead.
He said nothing as he rose and brushed the dirt from his knees. The surgeon at Sann’s side, another one of Buchanan’s, wore a mask of thinly concealed terror as he bowed low.
“Sincerest apologies, Your Excellency,” the man practically groveled. “I did all I could for her once your trow fetched me, but she was no longer breathing when I arrived. Among men, there are ways to restart the lungs, but her kind are so rare that I don’t know if anyone… I mean, even at the Academy—”
“Thank you,” Leo interrupted. His head and heart ached in tandem, and he was suddenly convinced that if the man blathered on for a moment longer, he was liable to begin shouting. “That will be all.”
The man bowed again, just as deeply, and fled.
Leo flinched as Nyssa’s hand touched him delicately on the arm.
“Sorry,” she whispered.
Leo shook his head before she could say more. Then, as Karran approached and rested her head on his shoulder, he sighed aloud.
“Did…” he began, voice cracking. “Did either of you ever speak to Sann about customs? Do you know how she’d like… like to…?” He trailed off before emotion could choke the words completely.
“I never got the impression her people had many traditions of that sort,” Nyssa volunteered gently. “But then, I think drakonids have more in common with ambrosians than trow. Maybe Karran could suggest something?”
Leo turned slightly to study Karran from the corner of his eye. Though he knew firsthand just how dissimilar Karran and Sann could be, there was undeniably some truth to Nyssa’s words. Physically, mentally, and emotionally, the resemblance was there. It was certainly possible that the same was true culturally.
Karran, however, merely shook her head. Abandoning Leo’s shoulder for a moment, she gazed past him at Nyssa and offered a few subdued gestures in hand-speech.
Nyssa, after a moment, responded with a thoughtful noise and a grateful nod.
“She says that she doesn’t know,” she translated. “But since Sann thought of herself as your mate, you should honor her in the way you think best.”
Exhaling a quiet sigh, Leo studied Sann’s unmoving features for a long time before responding.
“If we were closer to Ansiri, I’d build her one hell of a mausoleum,” he said at last. “But we can’t carry her all the way home. The elves will want to build a pyre for the fallen. We’ll put her there, and I’ll commission a statue or something later.”
He hesitated as a thought occurred to him. Forcing a gentle smile, he faced Nyssa until she met his eye.
“I could do one for Mihal too,” he suggested. “If you’d like.”
Nyssa twitched slightly, not quite a wince but near enough. Then, matching his smile with one of her own, she shrugged.
“If you’d like,” she said. Almost as an afterthought, she tapped the hilt of his sword. “He deserves honoring, but I don’t need a statue to remember him by.”
And to that, Leo could say nothing more.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The return journey felt to Leo much like a waking nightmare. He staggered along wearily, ignoring all but the simplest inquiries from those around him. Fortunately, they did not ask much of him and the days soon blurred together. Buchanan, Lucius, and the primarchs were more than capable of managing the day-to-day needs of the army, which meant that caring for him fell to Nyssa and Karran. Naturally, they did their best, but Leo hardly made it easy for them.
His appetite fled. It felt wrong somehow to be eating and drinking when Cirilla and his unborn child could be starving in a damp cell—or worse. And, even when the cramping pain of his empty stomach grew too much to ignore entirely, his fevered thoughts turned to less imagined matters.
He remembered Sann. He remembered the good—the pleasant chill of her scaly skin against his, the stubbornness with which she’d resisted his earliest efforts to win her over to his side, and the fanatical devotion she’d demonstrated once that battle was won. But it wasn’t such things that kept him awake at night. It was the other memories that managed that. The yelp she’d given when the golem first grabbed her, the violent thud when the creature had slammed her to the ground, and the unnatural liquidity with which her shattered wing had flopped about. These were the sort of thoughts that caused Leo’s eyes to snap open whenever he tried to rest, and the sort that moved him to silent, wretched sobs when he was confident that Nyssa and Karran had fully dozed off.
It was not until they’d closed to within a day’s march of Ansiri that Leo felt remotely like himself again. Oh, the fear and guilt remained, but their pain had dulled in his chest. He still ached with worry, but the nearer they drew to the city the easier it became to harden such emotions into practical, useful rage.
Grey had struck at him in ways that no one had before—or would again, if Leo had his way. The Hammonds had insulted him and bloodied his nose. Wyden had betrayed and manipulated him. Terras had even succeeded in murdering one of his dearest, most useful servants. But only Grey had threatened to take away everything and everyone that Leo cared about.
If the bastard had harmed a single hair on Cirilla’s head, Leo would flay him alive. And, even if he had not, that still didn’t mean Leo wouldn’t see him dead. He’d already lost Sann and Grey would pay dearly for that, if nothing else.
The change in his resolve must have appeared sudden to those around him given the hush that fell over the tent as he stepped inside it. Lucius and Buchanan stood on opposite sides of the improvised map table. From the expressions they wore, they’d been politely arguing before Leo’s arrival. The tense silence that followed gave him more than enough time to notice that Lucius’ return had changed the composition of the room somewhat. Buchold and Iresh stood at the baron’s side, one at each shoulder, while the human officers edged toward Buchanan somewhat. Only Sophe, the tent’s solitary exception, idled quietly between the two parties, solemnly studying the maps from one of the table’s unoccupied sides.
Leo took the other. Ignoring the stares, he leaned forward and smoothed the map with his knuckles before bracing himself on its corners.
“We’re going to retake the city and kill that usurper,” he declared. Eyes narrow, he glanced up to study Lucius and Buchanan severely. “How can we make it happen?”
The tent was silent for a moment, until Lucius pierced the stillness with a laugh.
“We’re, what? A couple of leagues from Ansiri?” he said. “About damn time you asked that.”
A muted note of concern rippled through many of the human officers, presumably those who’d had little to no interaction with the elven noble and could not conceive of addressing the Duke with such an irreverent tone. Leo, however, merely snorted and wrinkled his nose at him.
“I’ve had a few things on my mind,” he pointed out. “You’ve had days. So? What do you have for me, Lucius?”
“Your tunnels,” the elf said without the slightest hesitation.
Leo nearly gasped aloud. It wasn’t that he feared betrayal from anyone present, but to hear his private effort spoken of so casually sparked more anxiety than expected. But, even so, he could see the shape of Lucius’ suggestion at once.
“What about them?” he asked. Then, when Lucius hesitated, he grinned and gestured for more. “Come. There’s no point in being coy about it now.”
Lucius’ ears twitched.
“His Excellency purchased a large number of kobolds many months ago,” Lucius explained, eyeing the assembled officers but studiously avoiding Leo’s gaze. “And, as some of you know, he has engaged them in constructing underground passages—”
“Tunnels,” Leo corrected.
Lucius glared at him, briefly. “Tunnels,” the elf allowed. “Tunnels that connect a number of key locations in Ansiri.”
“Such as?” as
ked Buchanan. The man folded his arms, but his face was thoughtful.
Lucius hesitated, his gaze flickering in Leo’s direction as if to ask permission.
“The Ministry,” Leo supplied. “Both of my old estates. Several VanOrden properties near the harbor. The kobs work fast, so I’m not certain what else may have been completed.”
“And it’s not clear if Count Grey is aware of the tunnels yet,” Lucius said. “It’s obviously possible since he’s presumably taken the Ministry. But it’s not a small building, and the entrance is fairly well hidden. If he has discovered them, it’s more likely that he did so from one of the VanOrden estates.”
Leo cleared his throat, quietly, but Lucius subsided immediately.
“It doesn’t matter whether or not Grey knows about the tunnels,” he explained. “We need to take them if we’re to recapture Ansiri. If the Count knows, then we need to secure the tunnels to ensure he can’t use them to ambush and outmaneuver our forces. And if he doesn’t know, then we’ll want them for ourselves to do just that. So, no matter what, the tunnels need to be taken.”
“How large are they?” Buchanan asked. There was an intensity to his words that Leo found simultaneously intrusive and reassuring.
Turning, Leo indicated the trapezoidal entrance to the open-sided tent. “The largest are roughly so large,” he explained. “Two or three men wide, if a head shorter. The smallest are perhaps half as wide.”
“And supposing we dedicate, say, three hundred soldiers to securing the tunnels and their exits?” Buchanan continued.
“That would be more than enough,” Leo said. His smile widened slightly. “Grey doesn’t seem the sort to cram his entire army inside the Ministry, so I can’t imagine they’ll have any trouble overcoming any opposition. The most difficult part may be reaching the tunnels at all. Since we don’t know what sort of numbers he has, Grey might try and force a battle outside the city itself.”
Duke of Minds (Master of Monsters Book 4) Page 23
