“Who are you?” he asked.
The captain grinned—smirked, really—and offered a flippant, condescending bow. “Adjutant-General Rion Lonnell,” he said. “General Bronce of Baymouth sent me here to advise Governor-General Offert on his behalf.”
“Adjutant-Governor?” Elias echoed. Frowning in confusion, he eyed the rank insignia on Lonnell’s armor.
Noticing his gaze, the man smirked more widely and tapped the pair of gold studs. “Ah, yes,” he said smugly. “It’s a rather recent appointment so I’m afraid I haven’t had time to commission new plate.”
“I want to speak with Offert.”
Lonnell’s face darkened ever so slightly. “I expect you will soon enough,” he said. “Though precisely when will depend on the Governor-General. Prisoners do not dictate terms.”
“The hells they don’t!” Avans interjected. Snarling, the man shoved aside the spear pointed as his chest and stalked forward until he met a new one. From his expression, he might have continued stomping forward anyway had Elias not thrown out an arm to restrain him.
“Explain yourself, General,” he said coldly.
Lonnell’s grin returned. It was the look of a gambler who knew that he held an unbeatable hand.
“This morning, Offert instructed that Islesmark be fortified—no one permitted in or out of the city. The fact that you’re here now means that you violated that command, Ambassador Ansiri. Furthermore, you smuggled in potential saboteurs.”
“I brought allies,” Elias snapped, struggling to keep the fury from poisoning his words. “Who fought and saved this city.”
“Perhaps. But that is for the Governor-General to decide.” Turning slightly, Lonnell gestured to a man who stepped forward with an armful of rope. “You and your… allies will be detained until your guilt or innocence is established.”
Again, Avans bristled. And again, Elias cast out an arm to restrain the man. This time, however, Avans spun in disbelief and snarled the start of a vicious protest.
“Wait,” Elias ordered. Grimacing, he leaned in and waited until Avans did the same before continuing at a whisper. “We can’t cause a scene. Not now. We can rely on Kyra—and Suli. Just be patient.”
Avans’ outraged expression did not soften in the least. But, rather than argue, the man nodded reluctantly. Satisfied, Elias turned back to Lonnell.
“Very well,” he said. “We’ll wait for the Governor-General. But not as prisoners. I brought these elves here in my capacity as ambassador. If Offert decides to punish me for it, that is his prerogative as Governor-General. But it certainly isn’t yours.”
Lonnell shook his head, his smirk widening until it was positively wolfish. “You’re in no position to make demands, Master Ansiri,” he said. Again, he gestured to the man beside him. “Bind them, Haskell. Ansiri and his… energetic friend first, if you please.”
“Stay that order, Sergeant Haskell,” barked a fresh, slightly winded voice from the right.
Elias turned, as did Lonnell, and spotted Vaalen hurrying toward them. The Sheriff was visibly winded and limping ever so slightly, but the sight of him was as welcome as any Elias had ever seen. In that moment, he felt a great weight lift from his shoulders, one he hadn’t even realized he’d been carrying.
“Sheriff Vaalen,” Lonnell said. His voice was stiff and proper, but there was an easily detectable note of resentment lurking behind the formality. “How… opportune. I was just about to deliver these prisoners for questioning.”
“You’ll do no such thing,” Vaalen snapped. Stepping forward, he growled at finding a spear haft in his path and roughly shoved the weapon into the air. “At ease, men. Point those damn things somewhere else.”
The soldiers were slow to obey, glancing uneasily between Vaalen and Lonnell, but eventually complied. His path now clear, Vaalen stepped forward and planted himself between Elias and the general.
“What do you think you’re doing, Rion?” Vaalen demanded. “I don’t recall Offert giving any order to detain the ambassador or his companions.”
“There was no need,” Lonnell replied icily. “I am enforcing the Governor-General’s commands.”
“I am the one responsible for upholding the laws of Islesmark,” Vaalen countered. His tone was as fierce and as heated as Lonnell’s was cold. “Not you, general. And so long as I am Sheriff, you will refrain from overstepping that boundary. Am I clear?”
The anger and resentment burning in the general’s eyes was so readily apparent that Elias felt his chest tighten at the sight. As much as he appreciated Vaalen’s intervention, he almost wondered if it wouldn’t have been better to let the man have his way.
“Transparently,” Lonnell said, his voice as smooth as a river-washed stone. Turning on his heel, he stalked away.
Vaalen sighed, little more than a quarter-breathed huff, then gestured at the nearest spearmen. “You four, with me. We’ll escort the ambassador to the palace. The rest of you, stay with the general.”
The soldiers did as instructed. Elias, likewise, nodded to Gilla and the rest and allowed Vaalen to lead them up the street, toward Offert’s palace and away from the corpse-strewn battlefield. So fast was his heart pounding that they’d gone nearly a third of the way before Elias recovered enough to speak without his voice quavering.
“Thank you, Luka,” he said quietly.
Vaalen shrugged without looking at him. “Least I could do,” he said. “It’s good to see you, Elias. I’m glad you made it back safe.”
“I’m sorry if I caused you any trouble.”
Vaalen glanced at him and chuckled once. “What, with Lonnell? It was bound to happen sooner or later. Bastard has been here all of a week and he’s already making my life hell. Unfortunately, he’s got Offert’s ear so I may have only made things worse.”
“Still, thank you. And I’m sorry again.”
Shrugging again, Vaalen forced a smile. “Don’t worry about it. So? What’d you find out?”
The walk to the palace was not a particularly long one, but Elias shared as much as he could—far more than what he’d explained to Offert. And by the time they reached the palace gates and the guards stationed there, Vaalen’s smile had vanished and his face was pale.
“Wonderful,” he muttered. The stationed guards eyed Rhona and the trow with hefty suspicion as they passed, but Vaalen subdued them with a soothing gesture. Then, once they were past, he continued in a low tone. “There’s a godsdamned storm coming and you’re telling me we have to count on the likes of Offert and Lonnell to stop it?”
“Looks that way,” Elias admitted. Vaalen’s grim assessment made him want to smile, but the seriousness of the situation kept it at bay. “The trow and ambrosians might be willing to help us, but somehow I doubt Offert will be keen on the idea.”
“You’re not fucking wrong.”
The palace doors swung outward and Vaalen again fell silent, this time at the sight of the nervous steward who greeted them. Halting in the entrance, he waved them inside.
Elias had never paid much thought to the splendor of Offert’s palace. Though his own home could have easily fit inside the atrium, the immense chamber was quite modest compared to some of the private residences he’d visited. Apart from a few bronze busts and oversized paintings and tapestries, there wasn’t much in the way of decorations. But the trow gazed around the room with wide eyes as if they’d been invited into an unfamiliar temple. Even Gilla and Rhona looked sufficiently impressed.
“We’ll need to speak with Offert when he returns,” Vaalen informed the steward. “His usual receiving room might be too small, so…?”
“Perhaps… the dining hall, sir?” the man suggested. He sounded strangely hesitant. “Most of the cooks are gone, but those still here could prepare something small, if you wish.
“That would be fine.” Vaalen, too, sounded slightly off. Elias didn’t spare it more than a moment’s thought, however. He was far too concerned with makin
g certain the others were not so distracted by the sights that they wandered off.
The steward led them to a door on the far side of the atrium, one that Elias only dimly remembered. He’d dined at the palace only a single time, before he and Catherine were married, and he’d been so distracted with trying to make a good impression that he scarcely remembered what it looked like, much less what he’d eaten.
Hurrying ahead, the steward opened the large, walnut door and ushered them inside with the faintest hint of a bow. Vaalen was the first one through and Elias followed after, only to freeze so abruptly that Gilla collided with him from behind.
“Elias?” she prompted, craning her head to peek worriedly over his shoulder.
Linn curtseyed with the utmost precision, her face warm and relieved but her eyes twinkling with a hint of amusement. “Welcome home, Master Ansiri,” she said.
Elias strode forward, heedless of the stares, and pulled the woman into a firm hug. She stiffened at the sudden touch. Compared to many of Islesmark’s wealthier houses, he’d maintained a certain aloofness from his servant. In fact, apart from a similar embrace shortly after Catherine’s death when he’d been near-mad with grief and their singular embrace before his departure weeks earlier, they’d scarcely touched. But now, he couldn’t help himself.
“It’s good to be home, Linn,” he whispered.
She recovered quickly, chuckling and patting his back until he released her. When at last he did, he found a modest blush warming her cheeks.
“I’m glad you’re safe,” he said. “I looked for you at home, but…”
“That’d be my fault,” Vaalen interrupted, a tad sheepishly. “We weren’t expecting you, so when the elven fleet arrived, I sent a man to fetch her. Offered to let her stay with my family, but she insisted on making herself useful here.”
Elias grinned and Linn answered with her own, slightly more dignified smile. “I was lucky,” she said. “It turned out to be the right decision.”
Reunion complete, Elias turned back to those who’d come with him. And, as the continually wide-eyed trow settled in and selected chairs at the row of elongated tables, he began the introductions. Despite the length of time for which they’d traveled together, he stumbled over several of the names—not that the trow seemed to mind. By the time he concluded, however, he had a sneaking suspicion that both Vaalen and Linn had a far better grasp on them than he himself did.
He saved Gilla and Rhona for last. The pair had occupied themselves in a corner. And by the time Elias had finished with the rest and wandered over to the place where they sat, he was relieved to see that Gilla had succeeded in repairing more of the Gwydas’ injured leg. In fact, the wound had now diminished to the point that Rhona could walk unassisted and without bandages.
This was doubly fortunate, since Offert’s servants chose that very moment to arrive with food. Elias’ stomach growled at the sight. And it was not until he sat down—Avans to his right and Rhona to his left—that he realized how long it had been since he’d eaten fresh food. Hardtack, salted meat, and the occasional foraged berries had been enough to sustain him for the breadth of an isle, but the intensity of the flavors now placed before him awakened something. He dug in, ravenous, and stuffed himself until he felt like his stomach would burst.
All around him, the trow did the same. Even Rhona, who had always comported herself with a shade more dignity and refinement than even Kyra, feasted liberally. They devoured so much that it took the servants two more trips to the kitchens to satisfy them. And by the time they slowed to a more reasonable pace, the harried staff had been reduced to day-old chicken and roast vegetables—not that anyone dared object.
And so it was that, an hour after arriving, Elias found himself lounging at the Governor-General’s table, conversing with Sheriff Vaalen, and close to finishing his second cup of wine. They’d spent the past few minutes discussing the details of their escape from Dan Tien and the role the ambrosians had played in it. And it was only when Elias concluded that particular vignette, delicately mentioning the role it had played in Lucasta’s death, that the Sheriff leaned forward in his chair.
“Elias, I have an idea.” Vaalen’s voice grew softer and more serious. “It may be bold of me to ask, but—”
The details were lost as the door to the dining hall abruptly opened. Elias glanced over, expecting to see Offert’s steward, then lurched forward and stood at the sight of the Governor-General himself.
Offert’s gaze swept across the dining hall, studying the faces of the trow and the mess of bones and empty plates that dotted the long table, then settled on Elias and the Sheriff beside him.
“I see you’ve made yourselves at home,” Offert said, wry but unamused.
Lonnell stepped into the room as well and Elias felt his stomach churn. Unlike Offert, the general made no attempt to mask his disgust. Elias suddenly wished that he had not eaten quite so much.
“Governor-General,” Vaalen said, bowing deeply. “I apologize for—”
“Enough,” Offert interrupted. “Sheriff Vaalen, Ambassador Ansiri… come. We’ve matters of state to discuss. And since this chamber is no longer fit, we’ll do so elsewhere.”
Sick to his stomach, Elias set his cup of unfinished wine aside. He felt as though he was a child again, about to be lectured, only much, much worse. He glanced at Vaalen but the man didn’t look at him. The others were though. Gilla, Rhona, Avans, Linn, and most of the trow gazed at him as if they never expected to again.
He just hoped they were wrong.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Offert led them to his private receiving room, the same on Elias and Vaalen had visited at the start of everything. The steward tried to arrive before them to open the door, but Offert brushed the man aside and did the job himself. It was as clear a sign of dissatisfaction as any Elias had ever seen. Fortunately, it seemed to be the extent of it. Offert made no mention of the trow or the untidy state of the dining hall, even when he sat in his usual spot and gestured impatiently for them to be seated as well.
Curiously, Elias found it hard to feel as intimidated as he ought to have. The Governor-General’s brusque comments had unsettled him, but that had more to do with embarrassment than any sort of intimidation. Compared to Cotora, Offert might as well have been a doting grandfather.
Lonnell, on the other hand, troubled him far more.
“The elves have withdrawn for now,” Offert informed them coolly. “We estimate roughly two thousand survivors. Far fewer than they arrived with but more than enough to wreak havoc along the coast if they so choose.
Vaalen grunted in agreement but Elias said nothing. He stiffened slightly as Offert’s gaze settled on him.
“Well, Ambassador?” Offert said. “What is their next move?”
Elias considered it for a moment, drumming his fingers on the table. The chairs here were far less comfortable than those in the dining hall.
“It depends on the nature of Tereus’ orders,” he said at last. “But I agree with your concerns. It’s unlikely that the elves will simply retreat. Tereus has committed—and lost—too many soldiers to sue for peace now. He knows we’d never accept.”
“That is quite the assumption,” Lonnell said. The general had selected the chair to Offert’s right, directly across from Vaalen, but leaned against it rather than sat. “The elves are a cowardly race. They would not have invaded unless they were confident in their advantage. After such an enormous defeat, they would naturally look for any means to avoid further consequences.”
Elias bristled. “Forgive me,” he growled. “I was unaware the good general had such all-encompassing knowledge of our enemies.”
Lonnell reddened and opened his mouth to retort, but Offert cut him off with a flick of his wrist. “That’s enough, Ansiri,” Offert said. “We’re all allies here.”
It took a great effort to swallow his words, but Elias managed it. He bowed slightly from his chair.
; “Supposing you are correct,” Offert continued, “and the elves do not immediately return to their homeland? What do you propose?”
Again, Elias considered his words for a long time before answering. He took so long that Vaalen glanced over in concern. “How many ships do we have left?” he asked.
“Not many,” Offert admitted. “It’ll take weeks to repair those still afloat. We can expect the other generals to arrive with a few, but we won’t be sailing an army anytime soon.”
“The elves won’t know that though,” Elias said. “So it’s unlikely that they’ll sail north. They’ll want to avoid being trapped.”
“They could keep sailing north and round the tip,” Vaalen pointed out.
“This late in the year? Besides, it would take them at least an extra two months to reach Dan Tien from that direction. We don’t have any major settlements north of Baymouth and from what I’ve heard, neither do the elves. They’ll follow the western coast until it turns south, raid the smaller towns along the way, and try to gather reinforcements from the elven cities near the southern coast.”
“And?” Offert prompted. “What would you suggest?”
Every eye in the room stared at him. That, as much as the weight of responsibility lurking behind the question, gave Elias pause. He took a deep breath, chewing his lip and continuing to drum his fingers on the table.
“Alliances,” he said.
Offert frowned and glanced at Lonnell. The general was frowning as well with a hint of scorn.
“I’ve already summoned the governors and generals of every major city in the Isles,” Offert said. “General Lonnell was the first to arrive, but the others should reach Islesmark any day.”
“I’m not talking about them,” Elias said softly. He nodded toward the closed door at his back. “The elves have made their fair share of enemies across the Isles. Tereus expelled the trow from Dan Tien. That means there are thousands—perhaps tens of thousands—of potential allies who will gladly take up arms if we but ask them to join us. And—”
Ambassador (Conqueror of Isles Book 1) Page 26
