Crusader: The Sanctuary Series, Volume Four (39 page)

“What happened here?” J’anda asked. “What caused the Kingdoms to fragment?”

“I do not know,” Cattrine said. “We have no real records from those days. Our writings have all been lost to the ravages of age, and no one lives who has more than a tale passed down through the millennia, weakened and twisted by the passage of time.” She shrugged. “I doubt you could get an accurate accounting from anyone who wasn’t there themselves to see it—ten thousand years ago.”

Cyrus’s head swiveled slowly along with Longwell’s, Terian’s and J’anda’s, and all four sets of their eyes came to rest on Curatio, who looked back at them impassively, almost disinterested. “Curatio?” J’anda asked.

“Yes, J’anda?” Curatio wore an almost patronizing smile plastered on his face.

“Do tell.”

“Tell what?” Curatio said, maintaining his overly friendly smile as below them Grenwald Ivess stood and launched into a florid greeting that Cyrus didn’t catch a word of. “Oh, I’m sorry,” the healer said, voice slightly above a whisper. “Are you under the impression that I know something about what happened here ten thousand years ago?”

“Ten thousand years ago?” Cyrus asked. “Kind of a funny number. Been coming up a lot lately.”

“A few times in the space of months could be considered hardly more than a coincidence,” Curatio said.

“But it’s not, is it?” J’anda asked. “The War of the Gods, ten thousand years ago? It spilled over here, didn’t it?”

“Not really,” Curatio said. “There were certainly expeditions, but when the war began, I firmly believe it constrained itself to Arkaria. What happened here, I believe, happened shortly before the war. I haven’t heard much more than rumors, secondhand, keep in mind—but to understand even those, you must realize that humans do not originate on Arkaria.

“I’m sorry, what is he talking about?” Cattrine asked.

“He’s over twenty thousand years old,” Cyrus said. “He lived through your land’s schism.” Cyrus watched Cattrine’s jaw drop then watched her eyes flick to Curatio, appraising him, looking for some sign of the age he didn’t show.

“That sounds ridiculous, Curatio,” J’anda said. “Humans are likely the most populous race in Arkaria. They certainly have more in numbers than the dwarves, the gnomes, the elves or the trolls.”

“Very true, but it was not always so. The rise of the Confederation and their power is very recent, remember. In fact, I recall the days when there were no humans.” He sighed. “Not fondly, exactly, but … uh … well.” He paused, slightly pained. “It was simpler back then, you understand.”

“So if humans don’t come from Arkaria …?” Cyrus let his words trail off.

“They are from Luukessia,” Curatio said, “and from inauspicious beginnings did they come to Arkaria—the ancients sent expeditions to Luukessia for purposes of slaving, bringing back tens of thousands of humans to their capital—where Reikonos sits today—as labor for their empire. The expeditions stopped after the ancients were destroyed, obviously, but humanity on Arkaria sprung from the ashes of the empire and took root in their lands.”

“A fascinating history lesson,” Longwell said, skeptical. “But I have a hard time believing that, if you’ll forgive me.”

Curatio shrugged. “I saw enough of it myself to be sure it’s true, humans marched into the coliseum to fight for the entertainment of the ancients. I saw them tending the houses, working in the fields. I’ve never been to Luukessia myself until now, so all I’d heard is what those on the expeditions told me.”

“You knew the ancients?” Cyrus asked.

“Some of them,” Curatio said. “I was in their capital for a time.”

“Interesting story. Will you play Alaric and refuse to tell us any more of it if we ask later?” J’anda watched the healer with a coy smile.

“I’d rather not remember some of those days,” Curatio said darkly. “But I’m willing to discuss parts of it. Back to the point, though—the last time the ancients came here, Luukessia was already in chaos and the land was dividing into what I presume became the Kingdoms you have today.” He shrugged. “That is all I recall of it.”

“Fascinating,” J’anda said as the volume rose down on the floor, drowning out any further whispering.

King Longwell was standing now as was Milos Tiernan and a few of their aides as well. “I have done nothing to you,” King Longwell said, his voice comically raised. “Did I ransack one of your castles? Did my army? No.”

“It was your vassals,” Milos Tiernan said, his voice calm, much calmer than Longwell’s. “I see them, even now, sitting with my sister, as though to taunt me with her as an affront to my honor.” Cyrus looked at the man carefully, watching his facial movements, and decided that if there was any sign of effrontery there, it was well hidden. “Your mercenaries came through my lands and caused great harm to my people.”

“Your Baron kidnapped my people and brought great harm to your own lands,” Cyrus said, standing, and drawing a gasp from the crowds on Actaluere’s and Galbadien’s benches. “Had he simply let us pass, none of what you’re upset over would have happened, and he’d still be a baron,” Cyrus pointed to Hoygraf, who glared at him, hunched over on his seat, “with all his equipment still functioning, and not a Grand Duke who lacks any grandiosity.”

“You have no standing to speak here, sir,” Milos Tiernan said, still unexpressive.

“And yet I’m standing and I’m speaking,” Cyrus said. “How ’bout that.”

Cyrus felt the tug of Odau Genner pulling on his sleeve, so he sat and Genner whispered to him, “Interrupting the debate of Kings is not considered to be appropriate.”

Cyrus stared at the clearly disturbed Genner, whose face seemed to be twitching from thought of the infraction of the rules. “I’ll do it sparingly in the future,” Cyrus said, causing Genner to twitch anew.

They returned their attention to the floor, where King Longwell was reading a list of grievances to Briyce Unger of Syloreas, who stared at his feet in utter boredom. When Aron Longwell finished, he asked, “What say you, Unger?”

Briyce Unger stirred, slowly, as though awakening from a sleep. He got to his feet, unfolding his massive frame. He was muscled like Cyrus, though he was older, and his physique bulged even through the sleeves of the robe. “It’s all true,” Unger said. “I won’t deny a bit of it, though some of those injuries don’t sound like things my men did, especially a few of those villages you claim were damaged. Seems they’re a mite further south than my armies got, at least to my understanding, but I’ll not quibble with your accounting.”

A buzz ran through the garden, one of amused joy in the Galbadien ranks, slight shock in Actaluere’s, and mutinous rumblings from Syloreas. “What’s that about?” Cyrus asked Genner, who watched agape.

“Briyce Unger has just accepted the King’s reportage of grievances,” Genner said, his mouth flapping in shock. “That means he’ll agree to pay reparations for the damages. Such things are never agreed upon this quickly in the moot, and certainly not wholly—I mean, we included villages in the listing that suffered no damage, so we would be able to cede some out from the final figures. That’s how it works, you see, you profess a list of damages, they deny it totally, then you give them a smaller list, they acknowledge one, maybe two, and it goes on—no one accepts a list of grievances wholly, not ever!”

“Why would he do that?” Cyrus asked.

“How much will he be paying?” Terian asked, a glimmer in his eyes.

“I don’t know on either count,” Genner said. “It’s all to be decided later, in smaller sessions. This first session is for the points of major contention, when all the grievances are reported; the mediations come later and are handled by underlings, not the Kings.”

“Briyce Unger,” Grenwald Ivess spoke, as King Longwell took his seat. “Now has come the time for your first grievance to be brought.”

Unger took his feet once more, and motioned up the steps behind him. “I have a grievance mightier than anyone else, one that concerns everyone in this room, eventually, one which will destroy us all if left unchecked.”

“You fear my mercenaries?” King Longwell was already on his feet. “You bring your own, wreck my Kingdom, and now you wish to warn of the dangers of westerners, now that a group of them is poised at your neck?” Cyrus watched the King, and from the side profile he could see veins standing out on the man’s temple, his ire either real or well feigned.

Unger waved his hand in utter dismissal. “Were your western mercenaries camped outside my hall in Scylax even now, I would be unworried. I have greater concerns.” He waved his hand up the stairs, and four of his men came down, carrying a large bundle between them, wrapped in cloth as though it were a funeral shroud being borne by the four warriors, one at each corner. “Things have happened between us, battles,” he nodded at King Longwell, “wars, takings of women and sisters,” he nodded at Tiernan. “But what is waiting for us right now is a threat graver than any of our petty concerns.”

“I doubt he’d feel the same had he taken Vernadam a moon ago,” Genner said under his breath. Cyrus heard grunts of agreement from the benches in front of him.

Unger ignored whatever comments were made and focused on his oratory. “In the last month and a half, my Kingdom has been invaded.”

Milos Tiernan sat up in interest, as did Aron Longwell, Cyrus saw. “I didn’t think Count Ranson’s armies had made it into Syloreas’s territories yet?” he asked Genner under his breath.

“They haven’t. It must be Tiernan, that bastard opportunist. He always strikes when a back is turned.” Genner guffawed. “Better Unger than us.”

“What accusation are you making here?” Milos Tiernan asked.

“I’m not accusing anyone here,” Briyce Unger said, holding up his arms. “I’ve lost the northern mountain reaches of my Kingdom to an invasion. No man is responsible, not as near as I can tell. It’s this,” he kicked out with his toe, pointed at the bundle his soldiers had laid at his feet. “These … things.”

With that, his men pulled back the cloth. A smell of rot wafted over the crowd, causing a few weak stomachs to gag. Cyrus’s eyes were fixed on the black cloth, on the creature within. It was pale of skin, without a hair to be seen. Decomposition had set in and the flesh had begun to decay, maggots crawling over it, but the figure was still visible, and Cyrus stood to get a better look.

It walked on four legs, even with a roughly man-shaped body. A hideously disfigured mouth was still visible, though the edges of it had begun to decay. Had he not seen one recently, it still would have looked familiar, though Cyrus could not place the thing, could not decide where he had ever seen one before, or even if—

“It’s the …” J’anda was the one who spoke. “From the swamp, when we captured Partus, it’s the … ghoulish thing that was attacking him. It’s just like it.” The enchanter covered his nose. “But I think it might smell worse than the other one.”

“These things,” Briyce Unger said, “have cut to the heart of my Kingdom. They come by the thousands, out of the mountains to the north, the impassable lands of snow, and even now they are sweeping south toward Scylax.” The big King drew himself up, and a look of utter calm descended upon him. “And soon enough, if we don’t act together, they’ll keep coming south, until they cover all Luukessia.”

“What in the blazes is that?” King Longwell cried out, half-laughing. “A rotted goat?”

Briyce Unger looked down at the festering corpse then back at Aron Longwell, who was still chortling. “Does that look like a goat to you, Longwell? Is your vision so poor and your wits so dulled from sitting your throne these last years, not feeling the song of blades in your bones, that you don’t know something unearthly when you see it?”

Aron Longwell stiffened. “You insult me, sir.”

Briyce Unger drew up short. “I suppose I did, at that. It was not my intention when I started, but I got there, sure enough. I apologize. But surely you must see that this is no man, no beast that we’ve ever seen.”

“I’ve seen one before,” Cyrus said, standing. He looked down the benches toward the center of the amphitheater as faces turned toward him. “One of them attacked us after the battle of Harrow’s Crossing. They’re fast, they’re mean, not too tough, but enough that it gave us a fight.”

“I’ve never seen such a thing,” Aron Longwell said with a shake of his head. “Ridiculous creature.”

“Sire,” Count Ranson spoke from next to him. “I told you of this when I returned. Lord Davidon brought the body of one of these things back to us at the crossing, but I scarcely believed it was real. I have heard reports of similar creatures, sporadic, herds being culled, disappearances throughout the Kingdom, and a few indescribable … things … found responsible.”

“I still do not believe it to be real,” King Longwell. “That could be some other sort of creature, a farm animal, dressed up to look like something …” He stared at it, as though trying to discern its nature, “… something else entirely. This is a distraction, meant to muddy the issues before us at a time when we should be addressing grievances.”

Briyce Unger let out a bellowing sigh that turned into a grunt. “Once you’re quite finished reporting your grievances, then will you be willing to listen to me about these creatures?”

“I disbelieve that this threat you name even exists.” King Longwell shook his hand in the direction of the corpse. “You are playing at something, Briyce Unger, but I know not what.”

Unger’s eyes narrowed and the man seemed to grow another foot as he swelled with anger, dark clouds gathering across his countenance. “You and I have known each other for a great amount of time, Aron Longwell, and you know full well that I am not one to move about treacherously. If I want something, I go straight at it until I get it or I’m too badly beaten to go onward. I am telling you that something is devouring my Kingdom whole. A pestilence—a scourge of these things, is sweeping down out of the mountains of the north, taking whole villages and leaving only the survivors who can outrun their grasp before they move again. If you choose not to believe me, that’s your prerogative, but understand this—they are coming, and I doubt seriously that once they’ve run across all the lands of Syloreas they’ll simply stop at your borders, bow to your greatness, and hold their line.”