Ambassador (Conqueror of Isles Book 1)

by Stephen L. Hadley

  Sighing, he let it go.

  “I was married,” he admitted. “For barely a year. Catherine—she, ah… she died two years ago.”

  Lucasta’s gaze softened. Her sympathy was so pronounced that he briefly wondered if she was faking it. He quickly decided it didn’t matter. Even if the gano had numbed her like it had him, the fact that she could force herself to grieve outwardly on his account was proof enough of her sincerity.

  “I’m sorry, Elias,” she said. “Would you care to speak of it? Sometimes, my people will use—”

  “No.” He whispered the word, shaking his head. Despite the blissful absence of the pain, habitual privacy was evidently not something the elven drink could conquer. “Thank you, but, no.”

  To his relief, Lucasta did not press him. She might well have—Elias didn’t know her well enough to judge—but her younger daughter chose that moment to join them. He half expected the elder Lucasta to shoo the younger away. Instead, she welcomed her with a grin and chuckled as her daughter nestled close and rested her head on her shoulder.

  He lingered there for a while, observing the pair in a contented haze until the sun peeked above the horizon and he excused himself. Compared to sitting in silence, the walk back to his companions only made the gano’s effects more obvious. He felt strangely intoxicated, yet without the confusion or clumsiness that typically accompanied it.

  It was a good feeling, he decided as he stretched out on the grass. Rhona had finally drifted off and Avans’ snoring had diminished to a soft whistling. And so, surrounded on three sides by the sound of gentle breathing, Elias closed his eyes and effortlessly joined them.

  ***

  Prior to leaving Islesmark, Elias had never truly appreciated the terror that could come from being suddenly and indelicately awoken. Had it not been for the hand with which Rhona covered his mouth, he might have cried out in alarm at the violent shake.

  He glanced around as her fingers left his lips. Kyra and Avans had already risen and crouched low in the grassy underbrush, peering at something to the west. The trow were moving as well, hastily shouldering their packs. Many had donned swords or cradled spears as they assisted the slower members.

  Rolling to his knees, Elias crept cautiously to Kyra’s side.

  “What’s going on?” he whispered.

  Kyra gestured to a spot in the distance. It was far enough that Elias couldn’t make out any detail, though he could just spy a column of indistinct figures marching past a copse of slender trees. They were impossible to count with any degree of accuracy, but judging from the length of their formation, there were several dozen at least.

  “Elves,” Kyra whispered back. “The trow think it’s a search party. Might be Cotora’s. We’re going to wait for them to pass.”

  Nodding, Elias looked about for Gilla or Lucasta. He didn’t see the mother but spotted the daughter almost immediately. Gilla knelt alongside Barneis and was whispering urgently into her anathki’s ear. The male grimaced and idly stroked the haft of his spear. Then, quite abruptly, he turned and dashed toward a small knot of similarly armed trow.

  The sight of their readiness should have been a comforting sight. Instead, one look at the fear and disbelief on Gilla’s face sent a chill down Elias’ spine. He spun quickly, before Gilla could notice him watching, and clutched the hilt of the sword on his hip.

  The waiting was hard. Though not as drawn out and dreadful as watching Cotora’s ship outspeed the Dark Dawn, watching the unknown host draw nearer was far tenser. It soon became clear that their trajectory was slightly off course by fifty or so paces. On different terrain, it would have been a relatively simple matter to relocate and dodge the searchers entirely. Unfortunately, they’d stopped to rest in a bowl-shaped glen. Until now, Elias hadn’t questioned the wisdom of that decision. After all, it had made a convenient shelter and was likely the only reason they had not yet been spotted. It did, however, mean that venturing from cover ran the risk of exposing them to watchful eyes.

  This only served to magnify his shock when Barneis and approximately a dozen of his fellow trow slipped stealthily over the rim and sprinted to a denser patch of trees and underbrush, stooping and clutching their weapons as they ran.

  Horrified, Elias crouched low and raced to Gilla’s side on his hands and feet.

  “What are they doing?” he hissed, as loudly as he dared.

  Gilla glanced at him. And for just an instant, Elias saw in her eyes the same frightful disbelief. Then her expression hardened.

  “Ambushing,” she breathed. “In case they spot us.”

  Elias waved a helpless arm and sought for words. Instead, he managed only a throaty note of exasperation. Gilla scowled but did not disagree.

  He wanted to return to the spot where Kyra, Avans, and Rhona watched the approaching elves from the underbrush but didn’t trust himself to move quietly enough. And so, he followed Gilla’s example. Squatting low, they carefully edged their way toward a grassier section from which to observe.

  By the time they reached the edge of the glen, the elven host had drawn near enough to pick out individual faces and voices. Most were half-hidden beneath hooded cloaks or gleaming silver helms and spoke in quiet murmurs. Before long, however, one cold and imperious voice rose above the rest.

  “Bial no shruvach, Altan. Tievan nos poruk’linainen?”

  Eyes widening, he looked at Gilla. She was already staring back in equal alarm. And although she did not even whisper, he had no trouble recognizing the name she mouthed any more than the voice that had prompted it.

  Cotora.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Elias wanted to peek out for some glimpse of his foes but such a thing went beyond foolhardy. Lying on his stomach, with grass in his face and a hand on his sword, he waited and listened to the sound of irregular, trudging footsteps and the snapping of twigs beneath countless boots. In spite of all his preparations, however, there was no stopping his flinch at the sudden, pained cry that split the air.

  His gaze snapped to Gilla, but she was already on her feet and moving. Drawing her sword, she vaulted the brush and raced in the direction of the sound. Cursing under his breath, Elias followed her example.

  Barneis and his comrades were already engaged by the time Elias spotted them. Though fewer in number and lacking the armor of Cotora’s men, they’d had the element of surprise and had made nearly a half-dozen corpses in as many seconds. Their startled adversaries had recovered quickly though, and proved unexpectedly disciplined as they made a fighting retreat.

  It was a good decision. The column of elves had been fairly dispersed. And even as Elias bolted toward the center, he saw further dozens of elves converging from both sides to join the fray.

  He spotted Gilla next, then her sword as it gracefully cleaved the neck of a charging elf. She swiveled as her foe dropped and tensed as she spotted Barneis. She did not, however, notice the fallen elf’s comrade charging from the opposite direction, sword in hand.

  Elias did. He leapt forward without thinking, caught the murderous blow on his own blade, and then staggered as the weapon was knocked from his overextended arm. The clash of steel alerted Gilla, however, who spun and ran the elf through as if she’d planned to from the beginning.

  “Elias!” she roared. “Ijal—Why are you here?”

  He snatched up his blade and didn’t answer. Jaw set, he made for the center of the spreading battle—only for Gilla to seize him by the chest and shove him, hard, in the opposite direction.

  “Go!” she snarled. “Find your friends and go!”

  “But—!”

  She didn’t stay long enough to argue, or even hear him out. Turning on her heel, Gilla dashed forward in his stead. Elias stared after her, willing himself to move but unable to do it. It went against all his instincts to flee, just as much as plunging headfirst into a deadly skirmish.

  Growling, he took a step after her then paused. And then, with a furious curse, he tur
ned and raced back to the glen. Kyra and the others rose as he neared, faces pale with panic. Avans held his empty scabbard like a club. All three eyed him expectantly.

  “Get down!” he growled, practically bowling over them as he ducked back into cover. “Kyra, Rhona—grab as many of the trow as you can. Gilla wants us to flee, but there’s no way they’ll run as long as there’s fighting. Avans, go find a proper sword. Someone has one.”

  He expected at least one of the three to remain, frozen in shock or fear, but was pleasantly surprised when all three leapt into action without any hesitation. He turned back to the battlefield, which had now drifted an additional thirty paces away. Several of Barneis’ comrades had fallen, but their deaths purchased valuable space. He could no longer see Gilla or her anathki.

  He did, however, spot Cotora almost immediately. The elven captain prowled the rear of her troops’ formation, sword drawn and ready. She didn’t use it and was so far removed from both the glen and the fighting that Elias recognized her more by her posture than her face. As a result, he indirectly witnessed the moment the battle ended.

  The silence that fell was dreadfully still, punctuated only by the groans of wounded and dying. And, judging by the casual ease with which Cotora slid her sword back into its scabbard, the outcome was far from uncertain.

  Elias exhaled slowly, bowing his head. He had yet to raise it when a hand alighted on his shoulder. He turned to find Kyra crouching at his side and judging by her somber expression, she too had noticed the silence.

  Let’s go, she mouthed, jerking her head.

  The trow were gathered at the southern edge of the glen, creeping over the edge in twos and threes. Most were teary-eyed and a few trembled, but none more so than Lucasta. The matriarch knelt on the grass, her face anguished and her shoulders wracked with silent but powerful sobs. Her younger daughter crouched beside her, equally stricken but temporarily focused on urging her mother onward. Rhona stooped on her other side with similar intent.

  It was hard for Elias to approach. He did so as slowly as he dared and by the time he arrived at the grieving trow’s side, the last few trow had passed from the glen. All save the Lucastas.

  He knelt, stretched out a hand, and touched the elder on the back.

  “Lucasta,” he whispered. Both mother and daughter turned tear-streaked faces to look at him. “Come. There’s no time. Gilla asked us to escape and we can’t leave you here.”

  The elder Lucasta did not speak or even nod. She did, however, allow her daughter to haul her from the grass and staggered clumsily into the safety of the trees. Elias followed them, waved Kyra and Rhona ahead, then returned Avans’ grateful nod with a stone-faced one. Thankfully, there was no need for further persuasion. As soon as they were free of the glen, the trow moved without prompting. They moved swiftly and quietly with an effortlessness Elias envied and did not halt for well over a mile. Then, as if by some unspoken agreement, they paused in unison.

  Elias had glanced over his shoulder hundreds of times since their flight began and did so yet again as the trow rested. Fortunately, there was still no sign of any pursuit. And so, bracing himself for another painful conversation, he made his way to Lucasta’s side.

  The trow matriarch sat in the dirt, alone but for her daughter’s wordless company. Thin, unnoticed tears continued to spill from her eyes, but she made no attempt to stymie them. She might almost have been a statue if not for the small knife she cradled in her hands. The blade was small, shorter and narrower than a finger, but looked devilishly sharp. The tip rested against one of Lucasta’s palms and though the trow didn’t look as though she planned to use it, her idle spinning of the knife had already pierced her skin enough to draw forth a bead of blood.

  The sight alarmed him but Elias held his tongue. He’d done far worse after Catherine’s death. So, rather than intervene, he turned and sought Rhona’s eyes.

  The Gwydas was already looking his way and hurried over as their gazes met. Elias choked on the words, but Rhona had plainly guessed his intentions from the beginning. Facing the direction they’d come, she closed her eyes.

  “Tekali, kast lo Falass,” she whispered.

  Glancing between Rhona and Lucasta, Elias was so distracted he barely heard the rest of her prayer. He did, however, hear all too clearly the gasp that Rhona tried and failed to stifle once it was complete. The elf cursed under her breath, repeated it several times over, then shook her head and stumbled slightly as the effects of her sorcerous prayer faded.

  Elias steadied her and waited, brows lifting curiously. Rhona panted for a few seconds. Her gaze flitted to Lucasta for a second. And then, rather woodenly, she grasped Elias’ sleeve and led him out of earshot.

  “Gilla is alive,” Rhona explained. “And her anathki. They are… they are not well. Injured. But they are alive. Prisoners only. Cotora takes them somewhere.”

  “Taking them where?” he hissed.

  “I do not know!” Rhona growled, an edge of frustration creeping into her voice. “Tekali blesses me with sight, not ears! Dan Tien, their ship… they go where Cotora wishes!”

  Elias grimaced. The knowledge that he hadn’t abandoned Gilla to an immediate death should have made him feel better. Instead, it stole away what little peace he had.

  “I’ll tell Lucasta,” he said. “She needs to know her daughter is alive.”

  “Wait!” Rhona said, a tad too quickly. “Wait, please. You tell her now? Is this best?”

  “Of course it is!” he said, aghast. “Why wouldn’t we tell her? Just look at her!”

  “Please,” she said, lifting her hands in a soothing gesture. “Think. Tell her now and she pursues. Cotora has many warriors.”

  “Gilla and Lucasta saved us from Cotora once before.” Elias folded his arms and scowled. “Now they’ve done it a second time. I won’t lie to them just because you’re afraid.”

  Rhona’s face darkened. “I am not afraid,” she snapped. “I think of them! She saves us to die later? No! Gilla saves us to live.”

  “I know,” Elias said, grimacing. He took a deep breath. “And I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have accused you. But I can’t keep this from her. Not this.”

  This time, it was Rhona who breathed deeply. She sighed, averting her gaze with a shrug. “I understand,” she said. “This thing… it is foolish. But it is your choice. Do what you wish.”

  Elias immediately felt as if he ought to apologize again. But Rhona’s dejection was so complete that he could find no way to do so without giving further offense. Bowing his head, he left her standing there and made his way back to Lucasta’s side. The trow matriarch had not moved an inch. She did not even react as he dropped to a knee in front of her.

  “Gilla and Barneis are alive,” he said.

  Lucasta’s head snapped up, the grief in her eyes hardening into suspicion in an instant.

  “How?” she demanded.

  “Rhona was blessed by Tekali,” he said, nodding in her direction. “She just spied on Cotora and says they were both taken prisoner. She’s leading them somewhere. Her ship, maybe?”

  It was no great difficulty reading the emotions that played out across the trow matriarch’s face. Relief and joy came first, followed by frenzied contemplation, and finally a reluctant despair.

  “There’s nothing we can do,” Lucasta said, shaking her head. “Cotora is not the sort to spare her enemies unless ordered to do so. She will not be taking Gilla to her ship.”

  “The capital?” Elias guessed.

  Lucasta nodded sorrowfully and held out an arm. Her daughter was at her side immediately, embracing her and staring at Elias with much the same expression.

  “There are few reasons why Tereus would seek trow prisoners,” she said. “He cannot seek information so perhaps he wishes to make an example of her. To demonstrate to the elves of Dan Tien what happens to his enemies.”

  “Is there anything we can do?” he asked earnestly. “Anything at all?”
<
br />   It was a long time before Lucasta answered him. And throughout that span, Elias could see the matriarch’s rational side warring against her heart. For once, he couldn’t tell which would win.

  “Perhaps,” she said at last. Her face was grim and gaunt, but a wild, reckless hope shone ever so slightly in her weary eyes. “Yes. Perhaps there is.”

  ***

  It took only a few minutes for Lucasta to outline her plan. Elias listened intently, offering feedback when requested. By the time she was finished, however, he was beginning to think that Rhona had been correct. Lucasta’s scheme was bold, utterly reckless, and would almost certainly see every last one of them dead within a week.

  And it was the best idea that Elias had heard in months.

  The problem would be convincing the others. He could feel them watching him as he paced the narrow corridor of a lightly worn game trail. The longer they observed him, the more pressing and complicated his deliberations became. It would be far, far too easy to dissuade them with a single ill-advised word.

  Eventually, when he found his thoughts retracing the same familiar arguments and counterarguments, he stopped in his tracks. And without his even needing to summon them, Kyra and Avans appeared at his sides. Rhona trailed them by a few steps, her expression wary and unreadable.

  “Well?” Avans asked, breaking the silence. “What now?”

  There was no point in delaying the inevitable. Elias folded his arms.

  “That depends,” he said. “Gilla and Barneis are alive; Rhona confirmed it with her magic. Cotora is taking her and Barneis to the elven capital. And Lucasta has an idea of how to rescue her.”

  The group stared at him as if he’d suddenly grown a second head. Kyra gasped and paled, Avans cursed under his breath, and Rhona stared at her feet with the same blank expression as before. For a few moments, none of them spoke. Then, once again, it was Avans who addressed him.

  “What sort of idea?” he asked.