“Fair enough,” he said. “You’re the expert.”
From the corner of his eye, he thought he might have seen Lucasta grin. But he was too busy helping Rhona scramble up the side of her famos to check properly. And, by the time she was securely in the saddle and he turned back to Lucasta, the trow matriarch had regained her cool, purposeful demeanor.
“We can’t afford to dawdle,” she said. “Let’s move.”
Chapter Eighteen
Elias’ first clear view of Dan Tien arrived roughly an hour before sundown. He’d glimpsed the walls and a few high towers sporadically throughout the day, but it was not until they’d practically reached the city itself that he realized just how incomplete his impression had been.
Dan Tien was a fortress. He’d imagined the walls to be akin to Islesmark’s defenses, roughly twice his height and perhaps just wide enough for a sentry to patrol atop. In reality, Dan Tien’s perimeter rose taller than the highest peak of Governor-General Offert’s palace, perhaps three times taller than he’d expected. Nor was height its only impressive attribute. One glance at the enormous slabs of stone that comprised its bottommost layer told Elias that the fortification was easily a dozen paces wide, if not wider.
“Seven hells,” he whispered. He did not even realize that he stopped in his tracks until Avans nearly collided with him from behind. “Look at the damned thing!”
Avans barely even glanced up. “Aye,” he agreed. “That’s one hell of a wall. I don’t envy Offert having to find a way inside.”
“Forget Offert. How are we going to manage it?”
The answer, as it turned out, was quite simple. From high atop her mount, Rhona led them down a broad, winding road to the western side of the city. They passed dozens of elves along the way. But, true to Lucasta’s prediction, none bothered them with more than a greeting. Twice, they passed small groups of soldiers riding the opposite direction, but received only disinterested glances. Until, at last, they reached the gate.
If anything, Dan Tien’s western gate was even more impressive than the wall that contained it. The vertical beams that comprised it had been fashioned from whole trees and reinforced with enormous slabs of heavy iron. Even more astonishingly, the gate did not open inward or rise like a portcullis, but swung up and outward with the aid of enormous chains and half-hidden gears that loomed overhead like the fangs of some immense, mechanical creature.
“Don’t stare,” Lucasta whispered, unexpectedly at Elias’ side. “Keep your head down. The Gwydas will do the talking.”
He was about to ask what she meant when he saw them. On either side of the gate, directing the flow of foot traffic and occasionally glancing through famos-drawn carts, roughly two dozen soldiers were stationed. Distracted by the sight of the gate, Elias had completely missed them until now. And, upon noticing them, a flash of icy fear stole the warmth from his chest and hands.
“Keep walking,” Lucasta continued. “Everything will be fine.”
Elias doubted that very much, but they were too near to turn back now. Fighting to keep his shudders hidden, he trudged forward alongside the others.
The queue was less an organized line than a narrow crowd of bodies gradually shuffling forward when the route ahead was clear. At times, the guards interrupted the flow of traffic to search a wagon or question the odd pedestrian. But, otherwise, they moved without the chance to pause or prepare. The only thing that kept Elias’ terror was the fact that many of the elves around them were similarly cloaked and hooded.
Kyra’s hand found his as they neared the outer edge of the gate. Her palm was sweaty—or perhaps his was the source—but he squeezed it tightly nonetheless. Again, the urge to gaze up at the unfathomably large mechanisms overhead tugged at his chin, but he forced such thoughts down and focused on looking as innocuous as possible.
He held his breath as one of the elves wandered by. The uniformed male was bored-looking and more focused on his halberd than the passersby, but his nearness sent another chill down Elias’ spine. He was so fixated on not looking at the guard that it was only the sound of raised voices that made him realize Rhona had been stopped.
Three of the elves stood in Rhona’s path, two of whom grasped her mount’s reins. The other leaned casually against his spear, gazed up at her, and spoke in a cold, commanding tone. Elias couldn’t understand him, nor did he catch Rhona’s reply, but her apprehension was obvious at a glance.
Elias didn’t dare speak. Instead, he squeezed Kyra’s hand and leaned ever so slightly toward her.
“He’s ordering her down,” Kyra whispered without moving her lips. “And asking where she’s from.”
“Is it bad?” he breathed back.
Kyra didn’t answer him. The momentum of the queue had carried them dangerously close to Rhona and her accosters. Pulling his hand free of Kyra’s, Elias grasped his cloak, ready to throw it back and draw his sword if necessary.
It wasn’t necessary. For just a split-second, Rhona’s eyes twitched in his direction. And then, with a haughty scoff, she climbed down from her mount. Elias was afforded a brief glimpse of her standing opposite the three guards—all three loomed over her by more than a head—before the ceaseless momentum of the crowd carried him past her and spilled out the far side of the gate like a river meeting the sea.
The trow gathered in clumps, doing their best to escape the gate’s presence without wandering too far. Elias glanced over his shoulder as he and Kyra blended seamlessly into one of the groups. It took only that single glance for him to spot Rhona again.
The Gwydas scowled as the elves led her away. Two of the guards grasped her by the arms while the third followed close behind, leading her mount. From the males’ stern expressions and the curious glances of the nearby elves, this was not an ordinary occurrence.
“Shit,” Elias muttered.
Lucasta joined him in a matter of seconds, trailed closely by Avans. Both wore looks of grim determination but, for once, the matriarch’s was the greater of the two.
“They won’t go far to question her,” she whispered urgently. Glancing around, she gestured to two of the trow who bowed slightly and sauntered off in Rhona’s direction. “I didn’t tell her exactly where we’d be, but she should be able to find us. Gods willing, they’ll free her shortly. If not, well…”
“What’s one more jailbreak?” Avans finished for her.
It was obviously a joke, but Lucasta did not laugh. She didn’t smile either. Instead, she nodded curtly and started in the opposite direction.
“This way, please,” she said.
It went against all of Elias’ instincts to turn his back on Rhona and follow the trow deeper into Dan Tien, but there was no time to argue and no point in discussing it further. Adjusting the hood of his cloak, he studied the elven capital with narrow eyes as they passed from the gate into a dense, mostly residential neighborhood.
Despite the enormity of its walls and the elvenness of its population, Dan Tien bore a striking resemblance to Islesmark. Its broader streets were paved with cobblestone, crowded with wagons and carriages, and hosted an assortment of merchants and storefronts that would hardly have been out of place anywhere in the Isles. Its narrower, unpaved alleys, however, bore a more distinctly elven feel. Unlike the boxier shops and shaded market stalls, Dan Tien’s underbelly was a chaotic mixture of poverty and desperation. Tents and ramshackle huts lined piss-reeking alleyways while hard-eyed vagrants stared bitterly at each and every passerby. Twice, Lucasta led them past what were unmistakably brothels, though aside from the bare chests and breasts, there was little to distinguish the dilapidated structures and occupants from any others.
As a result, it took Elias a moment to realize where they had stopped. Three elves crowded the stoop, two females and a mostly naked male, but Lucasta did not acknowledge them as she rapped on the door. The proprietor, a squat, surprisingly burly elf wearing a dirty apron, answered a few seconds later. For just an instant, his fa
ce registered surprise. Then, after a few quiet words, he nodded and opened the door wide.
From the look of the brothel’s interior, a dozen guests was more activity than the place had seen in months. There were no patrons to be seen. And, from the way the floorboards creaked at the slightest provocation, there were likely none upstairs, either. The sitting room contained a further three whores, two more females and a fully nude male, each of whom sat up rather abruptly as Elias and the trow entered.
“Jijah,” the proprietor growled. “Tilse no Lucasta.”
The nude male grinned and flopped back down onto his reclining couch while his female coworkers turned back to the small, corner bar and resumed their conversation.
Elias edged his way forward, seeking Lucasta, but the proprietor reached her first.
“Ijal nos vevan, ‘Casta?” he muttered in a tense, worried tone. “Se Tereus no—”
“Cotora captured Gilla and Barneis,” Lucasta replied. And despite how accustomed he was to the sorcerous translation, it took Elias a moment to realize the trow was not actually speaking his tongue. “She brought them here. I couldn’t just leave them, Nauje.”
“Jal egar. Dan Tien wei’no erechas lo trowe.”
“I know. We’re not staying long. We’ll intercept them as they head for the square, then flee Dan Tien. I just need shelter for a few hours.”
Elias knew next to nothing about the proprietor, other than what he assumed was the elf’s name. But he didn’t even need to know that much to be taken aback by the male’s expression. Rather than indecision, regret, or even alarm, his brow furrowed with unmistakable sympathy.
Nauje whispered something at length, so softly that Elias stood no chance of overhearing. Whatever it was had an immediate effect on Lucasta. The trow’s shoulders slumped and she wobbled so dramatically that both Elias and the nearest trow reached out to steady her.
“At’kinch, ‘Casta,” the proprietor said. For a moment, he looked ready to say more. Then he turned, gestured for them to follow, and led them up the narrow, noisy stairs.
Lucasta followed him without further prompting but her steps were so unsteady that Elias glided forward and wrapped an arm around her. He leaned forward as they climbed the stairs and struggled to meet the trow’s gaze.
“What did he say?” he asked.
Lucasta merely shook her head. She didn’t answer them until they were safely ensconced in one of the brothel’s many small rooms. Nauje had given them three and although the beds were not quite large enough to comfortably seat their entire party, the rooms’ assorted furniture meant that there was space aplenty for all to sit or rest as they chose.
Settling onto the edge of the bed, Lucasta stared blankly at her feet. Elias studied her, glanced around to confirm Kyra and Avans were present, then knelt at the trow’s feet.
“Lucasta,” he said, gently but insistently. “What did he tell you?”
“Our plan won’t work,” she said, after a moment. “You remember what we discussed? How Tereus would make an example of my daughter? I expected that he would drag her to the center of Dan Tien to denounce her publicly. There are stocks, gibbets, gallows—all manner of ways he might shame her. He might even—”
“I remember,” Elias interrupted. He could feel Lucasta’s distraction and touched her softly on the knee to ground her. “What has changed? Why won’t the plan work?”
“They’ve stopped using the square for criminals. It’s been sealed off,” Lucasta explained. “Tereus hasn’t held a public spectacle since he expelled my people. He’s using it to muster his army now.”
“His army?”
Elias glanced at Kyra then Avans. Both were tight-lipped and grimacing. Lucasta, however, continued as if she hadn’t even noticed him turn.
“That’s right,” she said. “Dan Tien is ready for war.”
Chapter Nineteen
The wait was maddening. Elias paced the borrowed room from end to end, doing his best to block out the sounds filtering in from the rest of the brothel. He understood why they had to remain—they couldn’t risk leaving until the trow Lucasta had sent to tail Rhona and the guards returned—but that knowledge hardly made the hour bearable.
Twice, the creaking of the stairs and the sound of low voices had sent a jolt of adrenaline racing through him. He almost hoped they were discovered, if only to bring the uncertainty to a close. But, as the footsteps faded without incident, he resumed pacing as if the interruption had never occurred.
He was far from the only one struggling. Lucasta remained sitting on the edge of the bed, sipping from her flask of gano with a regularity that would have alarmed him under different circumstances. For whatever reason, the elven drink did not seem to be working as well as it had and she occasionally wiped a stray tear on her cloak. Otherwise, she neither stirred nor spoke.
More surprising were Kyra and Avans. Kyra had pried open a long-neglected bed warmer and was urgently sketching on the floor with the coals. Avans crouched beside her and, for once, they pair did not appear to be butting heads. In fact, they almost seemed to be getting along. From the corner of his eye, Elias watched as Avans indicated something and Kyra, after a moment’s muttering, corrected her lines.
Several of the trow had been lured over by Kyra’s work by the time Elias gave in to curiosity. He wandered over and was pleasantly surprised to find himself looking at a clumsy but recognizable map of Dan Tien—or, at least, the narrow slice of it they had passed through on their way to Nauje’s brothel.
“Tievan?” Kyra asked, quirking her brow at one of the trow. The female she’d looked at hesitated a moment, then dropped to one knee and traced several lines in the dust. Kyra nodded appreciatively and marked them with ashy fingers.
“What are you working on?” Elias asked.
Kyra didn’t respond. Avans, however, cocked his head and glanced up.
“A map,” he deadpanned. “Trying to figure out where they took Rhona.”
“Not Gilla?”
“Not yet. Rhona is the one with the magic eyes, remember? We might need those,” Avans said. He climbed to his feet as his voice dropped to a murmur. “Besides, the already trow have a decent idea where Gilla’s being held.”
“They do?” Elias asked, taken aback. Without a frame of reference, he hadn’t pressed Lucasta on precisely where they might find Gilla, but he was beginning to think her evasiveness had been more than just unwillingness to contemplate her daughter’s fate. He glanced at her but the matriarch neither stirred nor gave any sign of having overheard them.
“Aye. There’s a dungeon beneath an old garrison a few blocks from both the palace and the square. Supposedly, Cotora was rather famously stationed there before the last war. Once we find Rhona, we’ll use her to figure out for sure.”
“That makes sense, I suppose,” Elias said. Folding his arms, he peered over Kyra’s shoulder at the ever-expanding map. “But if we have to rescue Rhona first, won’t that alert the elves? There aren’t that many of us. We can’t afford to let them know we’re in the city.”
Avans grinned. “Then we’ll be sure not to leave any survivors.”
The suggestion was bold and made with such a humorless tone that despite Avans’ smile, Elias knew he wasn’t joking. He was about to remark on that fact when the stairs outside their room creaked suddenly beneath a flurry of hasty footsteps. Whirling, he reached for his sword and had the blade half-way from its scabbard when the door swung open and a pair of trow barreled in.
“Ereteno,” the first one announced, struggling to catch his breath. “Gwydas ereteno lo katsun’ach.”
Elias turned but Kyra was frowning and clearly just as lost as he was. Before either of them had the chance to speak, however, Lucasta stirred from the edge of the bed, patted both of the returned trow on the shoulder, and shut the still-open door behind them.
“Sunset Tower,” she said. “It’s the westernmost guard post in the city, just north of the gate we pas
sed through. They’re detaining the Gwydas there.”
“How many soldiers will there be?” Elias demanded.
Lucasta didn’t reply right away. Instead, she drifted back to the bed and retook her seat on its edge. She did not even glance in Elias’ direction before answering.
“There’s no way to be sure,” she said. “It’s up to the officers—or Tereus—to decide how many are stationed there. There could be three or three dozen.”
“And let me guess,” Avans interjected. “There’s no way of knowing before we kick down the front door?”
After a moment, Lucasta nodded.
“Great,” Avans growled. “That’s fucking perfect. Why in the hells didn’t we—”
“David, enough,” Elias snapped. Between Avans’ grumbling and the tension of the last hours, his head was beginning to ache. But, just on the other side of the discomfort, he could sense the pieces beginning to come together. “I… I might have an idea.”
Avans stared at him skeptically. Kyra, on the other hand, did so hopefully—as did most of the trow. Only their matriarch was not looking at him.
“Lucasta,” Elias said. “How well do you know this Sunset Tower?”
“I know where it is,” she said, shrugging limply. “I’ve never been inside.”
“That’s fine. Just lead the way. I’ll handle the rest.”
***
“This is one hell of a risk we’re taking,” Kyra muttered as she clung to Elias’ arm. The main streets had emptied somewhat as dusk approached but the alleys and back corridors had come to life, so much so that Elias was surprised that Lucasta had decided on such a route. Fortunately, apart from a few drunken jeers and unsavory invitations, nobody had bothered them.
“Do you have a better idea?” he whispered back.
Kyra’s hand stiffened on his elbow and even through his cloak, Elias could feel her nervousness. Shaking her head, she let the matter drop.
One of the trow ahead of them muttered something and despite catching only half of the words, Elias knew what had been said even before Avans slowed to join his free side.
Ambassador (Conqueror of Isles Book 1) Page 15
