Ambassador (Conqueror of Isles Book 1)

by Stephen L. Hadley

  Thanks to their wary avoidance of the main roads, they managed to avoid detection for a further three days. On the fourth, a semi-circular smattering of farms succeeded in funneling them onto one of the main roads. By now, the trails had widened into proper avenues. And when Elias spotted the first stretch of poorly maintained cobblestone leading around a bend, he knew further stealth was impossible.

  “Make sure everyone stays close,” he said, dropping back slightly to speak to Rhona and Gilla in a quiet voice. "Hopefully they don’t give us any trouble. But, just in case, you’d better let us do the talking.”

  “And the fighting?” Gilla asked.

  Elias grimaced. “That too,” he said. Twisting in the saddle, he managed to meet Suli’s eyes with one of his. “Can you walk for a bit? I doubt the locals have seen an ambrosian before and I don’t want to startle them.”

  Suli didn’t answer, even with a nod or a look. She did, however, carefully shift and drop gracefully to the packed earth.

  With that, Elias nudged his famos forward and trotted ahead of the group. There wasn’t far to go. As he rounded the bend, the sight of the village beyond turned his gut into an anxious, sinking mess.

  The town was small, barely a hundred people in all if he judged the number of scattered homes and hovels accurately. There was little in the way of proper organization, just a handful of larger buildings, including an open-faced barn that doubled as a tannery, judging by the smell. A few small children raced along the primary thoroughfare, squealing as they played. One look at him and the children froze, vanishing instantly without a sound.

  Elias glanced nervously about as he edged his mount past the first pair of homes. He resisted the urge to reach for his sword. Instead, he hunted for an adult face among the buildings. Eventually, he found one.

  The man looked to be no older than Elias himself. Tanned, bare-chested, wiry, and narrow-eyed, he watched suspiciously as Elias steered his famos forward. There was a knife on his hip and a pitchfork leaning against his shoulder. Thankfully, the iron tines were buried in the dirt.

  “Good morning,” Elias called as he neared. Carefully, he reined in his mount and brought the famos to a halt a few lengths from the man.

  Wordlessly, the man studied him, then the famos, and then glanced up at the sky.

  “Afternoon,” the man corrected dryly.

  Elias cracked a smile but the man did not follow suit. He glanced over his shoulder and felt a twinge of unexpected fear at the sight of the others. They’d already rounded the bend and had slowed to a crawl near the edge of town.

  “My name is Elias Ansiri,” he said, turning back to the man. “I’m the Governor-General’s ambassador to the elves. I need to speak with your mayor, if you have one.”

  The man eyed Elias for a further few seconds then grunted and nodded toward the tannery-barn. “Hopp!" he called loudly.

  For a brief, irrational instant, Elias thought the man was addressing him. A moment later, however, a large, broad-shouldered man wearing an apron and worn trousers rolled up above his knees lumbered into view. He carried an awl in one hand and, at the sight of Elias, slid it into the pocket of his apron.

  “Eah?” the newcomer called.

  The wiry man nodded a second time. “Mayor Hopp,” he said with an air of finality.

  Elias tried to thank him but his tongue felt glued to the roof of his mouth so he nodded gratefully instead. He nudged his famos forward and covered half the distance before he thought better of it. Carefully dismounting, he led the beast forward on foot.

  The mayor waited for him with folded arms and a calm, only vaguely suspicious expression.

  “Mayor Hopp,” Elias said, offering his hand. After a heartbeat’s delay, the older man grasped it. “I’m Elias Ansiri, Governor-General Offert’s ambassador to the elves.”

  Hopp snorted, cocking his head and pressing a finger to the back of one ear. “No elves here, lad,” he said. “Yer not lost, are ye?”

  “I’m afraid not,” Elias said, grinning. The man had a gruff sort of humor that reminded him of Avans. “I’m riding back to Islesmark. And as for the elves, I brought a few of them with me.” He nodded over his shoulder to where the others lingered atop their famos.

  The humor drained from Hopp’s eyes as he noted them. “Then I hope yer not planning to stay, ambassador. Folk here aren’t much fond o’ the pointies.”

  “We aren’t staying,” Elias assured him. “Just passing through. I wanted to warn you though. The elves are preparing for another war. They’ll likely be here within a month—no more than two. You and yours may want to leave. Make for Islesmark or one of the larger cities.”

  “Awful kind,” Hopp growled. From his tone, he thought the news anything but. “Suppose that lot’s come with terms?”

  “They’re allies, actually,” Elias said. “Most of them hate the elves more than we do.”

  Hopp grunted skeptically. Reaching into his apron, he withdrew the awl and gripped it readily. “Take yer word for it,” he said. “And thank ye fer the warning. I’ll make sure folk here know. Doubt many’ll care to leave, but… they’ll know.”

  Elias wanted to press the issue. He wanted to shout and rave until Hopp was forced to understand. But one look at the man told him such a display would be pointless.

  “Thank you,” he said. “And, if the opportunity arises to spread the word….”

  “Won’t keep it a secret,” Hopp said. The man smiled, just a bit. It was a rather paternal expression, almost condescendingly so, but Elias was grateful for it all the same.

  “Thank you,” he repeated. Turning, he led his famos back to where Gilla and the others waited.

  ***

  They rode on. Thrice more, they happened upon small but growing towns. And each time, the pattern repeated. Elias rode ahead, spoke to the mayor or sheriff overseeing the rural community, and was gently but graciously rebuffed. They were never rude or hostile in their refusals, and each town promised to spread the word whenever convenient, but no one moved.

  At first, the rejections were expected. Frontier towns were known for their unflappable self-reliance and stubbornness, after all. But, as they progressed deeper into civilized territory, they became more and more alarming. It wasn’t as though he expected whole towns to pack up their belongings and abandon their homes at a moment’s notice. But the sheer nonchalance of their leaders made his hackles rise.

  And, as they rode out from a large farming community not two days’ ride from Islesmark, his frustrations finally boiled over.

  “Damned fool,” Elias snarled, glaring back at the dwindling cluster of two-story farmhouses. The mayor of the town had been pleasant at first, inviting Elias and his companions to spend the night. The human ones, at least; the trow had been offered a place in his barn, which he had declined on their behalf. But, when Elias had pressed the issue and recommended the townsfolk at least make preparations in case they were forced to evacuate, the mayor had turned nasty. He’d even gone so far as to threaten Elias with arrest if he didn’t leave before nightfall. It had probably been an empty threat—no mere mayor would dare detain one of the Governor-General’s agents, even a somewhat disgraced one—but Elias had taken the hint.

  And so, they rode on.

  Gilla guided her mount into alignment with his and eyed him curiously. “Why are you angry?” she asked.

  He glanced at her, incredulous.

  “Why now?” she amended. “Your leaders refused before, as well. But you were not angry then.”

  “No,” Elias agreed. He sighed deeply through his teeth. “The frontier towns had nowhere to go,” he explained. “They would have to abandon their homes and leave everything behind. Well, almost everything. But these people have time to resettle. Islesmark is barely two days from here. They have plenty of time to make multiple trips there and back. You’d think I asked them to leave the Isles to hear that damned mayor tell it.”

  “Ah.” Gilla w
as quiet for a long time before she continued. “Perhaps it is because they are so near? They do not believe you because they feel safe?”

  “I’m sure that has something to do with it.”

  “To feel safe is a fortunate thing. My people have a saying.” She paused for a moment, her lips moving silently. “Home is where you sleep with both eyes closed.”

  Despite his lingering frustrations, Elias snorted. “That can’t be right,” he said harshly. “Nobody actually sleeps with one eye open.”

  “No, no. It is—” Gilla started to say. She stopped abruptly, peering at him. “You’re teasing.”

  He grinned, earning a scowl.

  “Kabalie,” she grumbled, tugging on the reins and guiding her famos away.

  Elias laughed. He would have followed her to apologize had she not shaken her head in annoyance. But she did and so he didn’t. Thankfully, Gilla didn’t seem to hold his joke against him. She spoke to him multiple times the following day, typically to inquire about Islesmark and what they could expect upon arriving.

  He did his best to satisfy her questions but, truthfully, he hardly knew himself. Islesmark was unique among human cities. To his knowledge, the only elves who’d ever set foot there were prisoners from the last war. There was no precedent for how they might be treated. In fact, had it not been for the fact that Vaalen was responsible for such things as one the city’s senior sheriff, he would never have dared bring them this close.

  In the end, it was decided that they would proceed much as they had with the previous settlements. Elias would advance ahead of them, this time with Kyra beside him, and report back to Offert and the other city officials. Then, assuming things went well—or adequately—he would ask permission to house Gilla, Rhona, and the others for a short while. Offert wouldn’t be happy about it. But, if things went Elias’ way, the Governor-General would have far greater things to worry about than a dozen exiled trow taking refuge in his city.

  They received their first glimpse of Islesmark shortly after midday and Elias was surprised by the relief that struck him upon spotting it. The city was still far enough that he could stretch out a hand and hide it behind his palm. But even from afar, inching along the rocky, poorly maintained eastern road, it felt like home.

  Elias found himself riding between Gilla and Rhona. That was hardly unusual, in and of itself. Though from the way Suli squeezed him abnormally tight, he couldn’t shake the feeling that the pair was sticking close more from anxiety than a desire for comfort.

  “Your home?” Rhona said, when Elias pointed out the grey-brown smudge in the distance. She frowned slightly. “How many live there?”

  Elias hesitated. It had been a few years since Offert’s last census so it took a bit of mental math before he arrived at a figure. “One hundred thousand?” he guessed. “The last census counted one-ten but that included nearby towns, like that last one.”

  “One hundred thousand?” Rhona echoed. Eyes wide, she glanced at Elias, then at Gilla as if the trow might be part of a joke. When neither broke, she gestured sweepingly at the rocky, somewhat hilly terrain about them. “How… where… the food?”

  “The hills level out about an hour from here,” he explained. “Islesmark is built on the coast between two of the larger peaks but there’s plenty of farmland along the river.” Leaning slightly in Rhona’s direction, he pointed out each of the geographical features in turn.

  Rhona nodded with growing understanding. And, when Elias informed her that a share of the city’s foodstuffs came from the armada of fishing boats, her eyes lit up and she spent a solid ten minutes plying him with questions that he was woefully under-equipped to answer. It was only when she was finally convinced that Elias knew next to nothing about the intricacies of Islesmark’s fishing industry that she sat back in her saddle and sniffed.

  “Smoke,” she observed. “Much smoke. Why? The sun is warm.”

  “I noticed that too,” Gilla interjected, glancing at him. “Do your people have many blacksmiths?”

  Elias frowned, sniffing at the air. He certainly couldn’t make out any smoke. “I don’t smell anything,” he admitted. “And, no… I don’t think so. There are a few, but…”

  Gilla and Rhona exchanged glances. Without a word, Gilla reached out and snatched the reins from Elias’ hands, bringing both of their beasts to a halt. The Gwydas straightened in her saddle, craning her neck and gingerly dropping her reins as her mount continued gliding forward. Balancing carefully, she lifted her arms.

  “Tekali, kast lo Falass,” Rhona prayed.

  Elias glanced at Gilla but the trow’s eyes were locked on Rhona with an intensity that alarmed him. Before he could speak, however, she lifted a hand and pressed a finger to her lips. He waited impatiently, turning in his saddle and gesturing for Kyra and the others to stop as well. They did, though both Kyra and Avans looked exactly as confused as he felt.

  Eventually, the silent anticipation grew too much to endure. Grinding his teeth, Elias leaned forward in his saddle and forcibly met Gilla’s eyes.

  “Gilla,” he whispered insistently. “What’s going on?”

  She didn’t answer. Rhona, however, cried out in alarm. Wheeling her famos about so violently that the beast half-reared and nearly dumped her from the saddle, she raced back toward them.

  “Ships!” she exclaimed, flushed and breathless. She gestured wildly in the direction of Islesmark. “Many, many ships. Elven. They are close. Many other ships burn, sink too!”

  For a few seconds, Elias stared at her uncomprehendingly. Then, slowly, his blood turned to ice. He turned to Kyra and found her equally stricken. Avans stared grimly, his expression hard and mostly unreadable.

  There was only one explanation for a naval battle this close to Islesmark. The elves had made their move. It hadn’t been by land. Perhaps the soldiers Tereus had sent to Nessun’s temple were a distraction. A reserve force intended to guard their capital or their borders. Maybe even a second army meant to march from the east while another army struck a surprise blow from the west.

  It hardly mattered. The elves were here. Now. And from the sound of Rhona’s vision, they had already broken through most of Islesmark’s maritime defenses.

  And Elias hadn’t returned in time to warn them.

  “Fuck,” he whispered.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “How is this possible?” Kyra protested.

  She, like Avans, was struggling to keep pace. Elias fared only a little better, thanks in part to the stability of having Suli share his saddle. He glanced back at the struggling pair, reining in his famos to allow them to catch up.

  “The elves must have planned on sailing from the start,” Elias said. “I thought it was odd that Dan Tien was so quiet.”

  “I thought they said that was to avoid conscription?”

  “The city was enormous—at least the size of Islesmark. I doubt tens of thousands of elves would stay inside on the basis of a rumor alone. Tereus must have been conscripting from the other cities and villages for weeks. Maybe that’s why he expelled the trow; he didn’t want to worry about domestic troubles once he did the same to Dan Tien. Honestly, I…” he trailed off, voice growing quiet as Kyra and Avans finally managed to ride near. “I should have seen this coming. It was too easy.”

  “It’s not your fault,” Kyra assured him.

  Elias wasn’t so certain. He would have said as much, but Avans never gave him the chance. Grunting, the man nodded toward Gilla and the trow, who were now over a hundred yards ahead of them.

  “Quit dawdling,” he growled. “It’ll be trouble if someone spots them and we’re not there to explain.”

  Elias grimaced but Avans was right. Nudging his famos’ flank, he urged the beast into motion. Gilla had quite a head-start and it took nearly ten minutes before Elias and his companions managed to catch up to them. To his surprise, it was Lucasta, not Gilla, who rode at the head of the trow.

  “She rides w
ell,” he observed.

  Gilla glanced at him and nodded but said nothing.

  “We don’t have long,” Elias continued. “The elves might reach the city before we do and I don’t think it’s wise to march you in during a battle.”

  “You have an idea?” Gilla asked. She did not look at him.

  Elias nodded and indicated the cliff overlooking the city’s southern edge. Though significantly shorter than the northern hills, the peak still rose more than five times the height of Offert’s palace, the tallest structure in Islesmark.

  “The path is steep, but we’re not far from the trailhead,” he explained, gesturing there as well. “It’ll give us a chance to judge the situation.”

  “To what end?” Gilla asked softly. This time, she did turn to look at him. In her eyes, Elias spied a hint of the same dull resignation that had blossomed in the wake of her mother’s death. “If Tereus sent a fleet, he plans to take the city—or burn it. A dozen extra swords will hardly change that.”

  “We have family and friends in the city,” he reminded her. “No, we can’t stop them. But we can save a few and get them somewhere safe.”

  Gilla stared at him for a moment then smiled apologetically. “Of course,” she said. “I’m sorry. I forgot this is your home. We’ll help however we can.”

  “The hills then?”

  “The hills.”

  With that, Gilla called out a few words in her native tongue and drove her famos to her sister’s side. Lucasta frowned slightly as they spoke, then nodded and adjusted their trajectory in roughly the direction Elias had indicated.

  They rode in tense silence for nearly half an hour, apart from a few words of guidance from Elias to set them on the correct path. The famos slowed as the trail narrowed and grew increasingly steep, until a brisk walk on foot would have easily kept pace, but proved remarkably stable and comfortable with the uneven footing. And as they ascended, Elias finally began to detect the faint wisps of smoke the elves and trow had noticed long ago. The aroma reminded him of wood smoke from the numerous small fires they’d enjoyed over the past fortnight and would almost have been pleasant if not for the implications. Now, the scent made him queasy.