Heretic (The Sanctuary Series Book 7) (11 page)

“I don’t know about this,” Cyrus whispered, almost to himself. “The Sanctuary Council—”

“Cyrus,” Terian said, shaking his head. “Your Council is compromised. Remember when Goliath turned Arkaria against us years ago? Malpravus had someone on the inside then.”

“I don’t believe it,” Cyrus said, shaking his head. “He could be spying on us with the dead, like Vaste just did.”

“Mmmm, no,” Vaste said. When Cyrus looked to him for elaboration, the troll merely shook his head. “Trust me. The dead in this place are not on speaking terms with Malpravus.”

“Consider this,” Aisling said, breaking her long silence at last. “It may not even be an actual council member. One of them may have taken a lover, for example, and simply have a loose tongue in the bed.” It took Cyrus a moment to realize that the strange sound he heard was Vara grinding her teeth. Aisling watched her for a moment in mild alarm before continuing. “In the world of information gathering, this is an ancient practice.”

“To scheme in this way is dangerous,” Cattrine said, returning to the conversation once more. “The people of power in these governments would undoubtedly love to know what we’re planning here now, which is why it is imperative that it be kept secret. Even if all goes well, no one in Arkaria outside these walls may ever even know what we have done here. Not only because of reputation, but because the legitimacy of the outcome in some of these cases … well, the secret must be kept.” She looked at Vara. “Surely you agree?”

“I agree that whoring is an ancient practice, yes,” Vara said, her jaw still in a tight line, her eyes locked on Aisling. “And … yes, if we have a leaking Council … perhaps putting this before them would not be the wisest course if our plan relies on our enemies not knowing what is coming.”

“Try and imagine displacing King Danay or Pretnam Urides if they had full awareness we were plotting to do so,” Terian said. “They would counter immediately. They are not stupid. They are surely cognizant of the more restless elements within their own houses, but they probably don’t see those factions descending to the levels we’d like to drag them to.”

“So what do we do, then?” Cyrus asked, frowning. “Stand back and … play dead?”

“We plan,” Terian said.

“We scheme,” Cattrine agreed.

“We put things in motion,” Aisling said. “Toppling these men, these enemies … it’s not going to be easy. You’ll need to assemble coalitions of the willing against them, make deals at the very top of the power structures of Arkaria. It will take time, and it needs to be done in utter secret or it will fail.”

“We just declared war on the Leagues,” Cyrus said, shaking his head.

“And you should be seen huddling down,” Terian said. “We all should, because we’re outnumbered. They know we’re outnumbered. They know we know.”

“I know almost nothing,” Vaste said cheerfully.

“Indeed,” Vara said.

“I set that up so perfectly for you,” Vaste grumped.

“They know Cyrus Davidon as a man whose first instinct is battle,” Terian said. “You’ve been hit. You’re reeling. You need to play into that, but not look so weak that they come at you right away. We need time. Hiding behind the walls provides it.” He darted a gaze at Cattrine. “Their first move is likely to try to find a way to sever us from each other. Without allies to come to your aid, you’re much easier prey.”

“They’re going to strike at you, then,” Vara said, looking at Terian.

“Very likely,” Cattrine said. “At Terian or me, directly or indirectly.”

“What are you going to do to guard against that?” J’anda asked.

“We have a plan or two,” Cattrine said.

“But it’s hardly infallible,” Terian said in a warning tone. “Goliath’s treachery should never be underestimated, after all.”

“They never come at you cleanly,” Vaste whispered.

“And they won’t this time, either,” Terian said. “They will knock the legs from beneath us and strike when we’re down.” He took a step closer to Cyrus. “You won’t see the strikes coming, but you have to be ready anyway. You have to be willing to knock them down with you, to wrestle in the dirt, to fight and scrape and push their faces into the mud. This isn’t even war, it’s not troops in lines marching against each other.” His eyes burned as he stepped right up to Cyrus. “This is the lowest form of combat, a brawl in a dirty alleyway, and the only prize is that you and yours get to keep breathing. Are you ready for that fight?”

“To keep this secret, maybe to your grave?” Cattrine asked.

“You’re asking me,” Cyrus said slowly, “to subvert Sanctuary. To go against who we are. To compromise—”

“I’m asking you,” Terian said, landing both hands on Cyrus’s pauldrons and shaking him lightly, “to not be stupid at a time when your very survival requires you to be aware—your enemies are coming in the night, with blades, and you don’t know who all of them are.” He lowered his voice, and it was thick with emotion. “Cyrus … you need to decide whether you’re going to fight for Sanctuary to live … or just give up and let it die with all its people as they close in on all sides.”

Cyrus looked at Vara, who gave him a subtle nod. Glancing at Vaste and J’anda, he saw the same approval.

The guild looks to me … and I look to
… The quiet in the tower was a palpable thing, every single one of them waiting on his answer. He looked around, not at them but at their feet, his mind awhirl.
This is not what Alaric would do.

But Alaric has never faced these enemies before.

He sighed, as the answer—the only one—came. “All right,” Cyrus said, “let’s find a way to save this guild.”

“Is this really necessary?” Cyrus asked, straightening his breastplate. The way he’d fastened it, in haste, on his way out of the tower, had caused it to poke into his chainmail and press it sharply against his ribs. If he wore it into battle in this lopsided way, he knew it would result in injury, but he wasn’t counting on a battle.

“You definitely need armor for this,” Vaste said. “What if they throw things?”

“Don’t listen to him,” Vara said, seizing the edge and adjusting it straight with one good tug. She gave the troll a searing glare. “You know this is necessary.” She looked him in the eyes. “You need to address the guild about these events. It’s been elided over for entirely too long.”

They were standing in the foyer outside the Great Hall, and dinner was already well underway. The clatter of plates and silverware rattled in the air, and the smell of cooked meat enticed Cyrus even as the prospect of what he needed to do repelled him. Taking up a prominent place close to the door, Cyrus could see the new troll applicants eating rather messily. He glanced at Vaste, who had covered his mouth with his hand. “Gods, that’s embarrassing,” the healer muttered.

“You’ll do fine,” J’anda said, giving a look behind him. The rest of the Council lingered in the foyer as well, the Great Hall looking empty compared to what it had been only a year earlier. “Go through the sequence of events, answer questions at the end, and don’t forget to be your usual, charming self.”

“Yes,” Erith called from behind him, “do try to remember to charm.”

“Or at least try not to kill anyone,” Ryin said, an aura of weary resignation about the druid. “That seems important right now.”

“Such encouraging words,” Vara said under her breath. She looked up at him once more, and he could see the faint light of hope within her eyes. “You can do this.”

“I can do this,” Cyrus agreed, sure that she was right. He still felt a sense of unease, stemming not only from all that was coming at them now, but also by his consideration of the plans put forth by Terian and the others only the night before.
I am actually going to do this, to fight this battle … as I might have when I was a warrior in the Society, on my own.
Bare knuckles, whatever weapon I can find.
He sucked in a breath, but his armor did not stab him as it had a moment earlier. “I’m ready.”

“Oh, good, because you’re the one who really needs to be,” Vaste said. “I mean, I could be unready for days, possibly, because I don’t need to speak—”

“Truer words were never spoken,” Vara said, nodding at Cyrus and stepping up beside him. “Shall we?”

“We shall,” Cyrus said and started into the Great Hall before the troll could retort, the officers following behind him. They threaded their way through the crowd, which was packed in knots around some tables with others left empty and abandoned. Cyrus made his way up front to the officers’ table, surprised that the Great Hall didn’t look emptier.
The Luukessians aren’t here … we have a tenth of the numbers eating tonight that we had a year ago, yet the place doesn’t appear utterly desolate.
He caught a glimpse of Larana watching him through the pass-through to the kitchen, eyes intently upon him. When he caught her looking, he smiled. She did not return the smile, but neither did she look away.

Cyrus stopped before the officers’ table and waited for the others to file in around him.
We still have a full complement at the walls … the hall is even emptier than I knew … at least it doesn’t look it.
Doubtful that having that be obvious would appear as anything other than weakness to the members we have left.
“Good evening,” he called, swallowing once, hard, before he began to speak. “Thank you for coming tonight.”

“It’d be hard to miss, given it’s dinnertime!” came a rough voice out of the crowd. Peals of laughter crackled through the room and Cyrus smiled, nodding along with the jest.
They’re bound to feel isolated, alone, with this recent news. Some of them are probably very afraid.
Let them have some humor, and maybe this will go easier.

“Well, I wanted a captive audience,” Cyrus said, prompting a little laugh of his own. He caught a glimpse of Calene Raverle sitting with some of the rangers in one of the front tables. She smiled at him encouragingly when she caught his eye, but he could see that her expression was nevertheless laced with uncertainty. “It’s been a long time since last I addressed the guild this way. Too long. Much has changed—”

“Too much!” someone in the crowd hooted, and a chorus of catcalls followed.

“Too much, agreed,” Cyrus said with a nod. “And too little of it we controlled. No one enjoys change, especially not change for the worse, and yet that’s what we’ve been presented, time after time, of late.” He kept his voice steady and loud, booming out to those sitting in the back of the room. “Well, I don’t care for it any more than you do, and I think it’s time we—”

“When are we going on an expedition?” a voice—the same one that had been calling since the first thrown jest—yelled. A murmured chorus of assent flew through the ranks, running through the room like water down a steep slope.

“Well,” Cyrus said, trying to keep his good humor about him and delivering his answer with as much levity as he could muster, “more or less the entire Council is now declared heretics and are considered persona non grata in many of the major cities. Several very large, very dangerous guilds—Goliath and Amarath’s Raiders, for instance—are presently trying to find ways to kill us, so … running expeditions out from behind these walls and our defenses is not a priority until we clear this matter up.”

“You don’t just clear up a declaration of heresy!” that same voice called again, and again, many others chorused in agreement.

“No, you don’t,” Cyrus said when the yelling faded. “It’s not that easy, but we are—”

“We got no stipend!” came another voice, less cultured than the first. “We haven’t been paid gold in nearing a year!”

“Well, we haven’t been on any expeditions,” Cyrus said then inwardly cringed.
Like they don’t know that.

“So, what, are we working for free now?” came the first voice again. Cyrus peered into the crowd and saw the speaker. He was a swarthy human in his thirties with glaring eyes, and his lips looked like they might not ever have cracked in a smile at any point in his entire life.

“What’s your name?” Cyrus asked, looking right at him.

The man stood, and his long, dusty-blond hair fell around his face as he rose to his feet. “Mathyas Tarreau, Lord Davidon.”

“You don’t have to call me ‘Lord Davidon,’” Cyrus said. “And yes … you’re working for free. Or for room, board, food, lodging, protection … almost everything except actual gold.” He looked around the room. “I know this isn’t what a lot of you signed on for—”

“I came for coin!” shouted someone at the back of the room, and a roar of agreement ran through the Great Hall.

“Oh, I am sick of this interrupting arsehole,” Ryin muttered under the roar of the crowd.

“I remember when that interrupting arsehole was you,” Vaste said, elbowing him in the ribs.

The druid shot the healer a sour look. “When it comes to interruptions, you remain the king.”

“I’m sure you did,” Cyrus said to the gathering. “And for a time, obviously, Sanctuary had a stipend unlike any guild in Arkaria. Our members practically floated in gold while we took mercenary contracts during the war. But that was never the reason we were here.” A silence had fallen, and he could feel his audience listening. “The purpose of Sanctuary was to be here to help Arkaria in its hours of greatest need.” A creeping sense of guilt prickled at Cyrus.
Is that what I’m doing now, in conspiring to remove leaders from governments to save my own skin? To save my people?
“We were meant to protect this land against all threats. We were never a mercenary company except when we had to be. We did what we had to do to help the people of Emerald Fields survive, to help ourselves survive. We beat the Dragonlord. We destroyed the tyrannical Goblin Imperium. We knocked back the dark elves when they reached forth their hand for empire. We killed Mortus and Yartraak, have fought enemies … unfathomable enemies to save a people … we have battled dragons and titans, and now we face the governments of men and elves, and allies of old turned against us.” Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Vara looking at him. “We have a purpose. We are not mercenaries, though we have taken gold for service. We are not mere adventurers, though we have adventured. And we are not soldiers, though we have fought. This guild is more than any of those things. It is a home, it is our place—” He looked sideways and saw Larana staring at him, now out of the kitchen, watching him in rapt attention, “—and they’re going to come for us. And we’re going to fight them.”