Summa Elvetica: A Casuistry of the Elvish Controversy and Other Stories (22 page)

There was a shout from somewhere inside the building, followed in quick succession by a wild scream and the bang of a door being slammed shut. The screaming continued, inspiring shouts and the sound of running feet.

“Lodi must have killed someone, or nearly killed them, anyhow,” Marcus said. “They’ll be here as soon as they deal with Lodi. Marce, we have to go.”

“No,” Marcipor shook his head. “There’s only time for one trip on the bird. You and the bishop have to go. And Claudo needs Lodi to get him to the roof. That’s three.”

“So maybe it can carry four!”

“Too much risk. If they find me up there and you’re gone, they’ll kill me.”

“Marce, they’ll kill you now!”

His slave, his childhood friend, shook his head. “They might, but they probably won’t. I’m just a slave who plays the fool with a theatre sword. And they know it. You’re a nobleman trained to fight by the best soldiers in the legions. They’ll expect you to be able to best me. But you’ll have to hit me, Marcus. You have to hit me hard enough to knock me out.”

Marcus winced, but the rude plan made sense. Even when Marce was standing before him with a sword to his undrawn knife, he hadn’t really been afraid.

They could hear a methodical slam-slamming vibrating through the building as someone, probably the Michaelines, sought to break down the door. There was the sound of more running feet, but all were heading away from them, presumably toward the bishop’s chambers.

“Do it now. Quickly, please, it’s the only way. They still might kill me to cover their tracks, but if they do, it’s only what I deserve. Oh, Marcus, how could I be so stupid?”

“Well, you know, thinking was never your best attribute,” Marcus said lightly, trying not to cry. “Here, maybe this will make things look more convincing.”

He rubbed at his nose and came away with a little blood. It wasn’t enough, so he grabbed his nose with two fingers and twisted. It hurt enough to make him gasp, but it had the desired effect, and as soon as he could feel blood trickling down his upper lip, he picked up the sword and smeared the tip with it. “You tried, okay? You managed to stab me in the shoulder, but before you could stab me again, I hit you. Okay?”

“Okay. Marcus, I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry. Again.”

Marcus pressed the bloodied sword into Marcipor’s hand and kissed his forehead. Just then, there was a loud crashing sound and they heard the booming of a dwarven warcry. More screams erupted.

“
Ego te absolvo,
Marce. As often as you need it. Get away from those murderers as soon as you can and come back to Amorr. Come to House Valerius. It will wait for you. But if you can’t, I free you now.”

“No, Marcus—”

Marcus drew his dagger and hit his lifelong friend in the temple with the silver pommel.

Marcipor, a slave no more, never saw it coming. He crumpled instantly in an unwieldy heap. Marcus quickly leaned down to slash the side of Marcipor’s head just above the right ear. The blade was wickedly sharp, and blood soaked through the golden curls almost immediately.

Marcus took one last look at the impromptu tableau. It would do. About the only thing that would have looked more convincing was if he’d actually cut Marcipor’s throat. Poor Marce: freedom was even worse than he had feared.

God, You’ll have to bring him back to Amorr, Marcus prayed silently. Because I can’t.

He shouldered his pack and turned back to the window. The rope was still there, but it was bobbing up and down. It seemed Caitlys, quite rightly, was growing impatient. He gave the rope a tug, then climbed awkwardly over the wooden sill and wound the rope around his wrists to give himself a better grip for the climb upward.

“Valerian?”

“It’s me, Caitlys,” he called back.

“I heard screaming and I thought— Oh, never mind. Hold on,” she ordered.

“Wait—” He swallowed his protests and concentrated on clinging to the rope as it jerked violently and began dragging him up the stone face of the building.

His arms felt as if they were being pulled out of their sockets, and he kicked his legs wildly, but somehow he managed to hold on. For a moment, the dark edge of the overhanging roof threatened to bash itself against his head, but then the rope pulled him away from the building, leaving him with his legs dangling uselessly and the sickening sense of empty air beneath him. But moments later, he could see the roof just beneath his feet again, and he let go before Caitlys had the chance to demonstrate any more insane avian tricks.

The bird landed next to him, and he looked up to see Caitlys leaning over the side of the bird, looking concerned. “Are you hurt? You’re bleeding. If you let go of the rope, I’ll throw it down for the others.”

“Not there,” he gasped, pushing himself up from the hard tiles. “Other side. Where all the noise is. Two more, but they come together. Maybe too late.”

“Take my hand,” she told him, and with that unnatural strength so at odds with her slenderness she all but pulled him up behind her, then urged the bird back into the air.

Lodi was still alive. Marcus could hear the shouts, curses, and weapons clashing from the open window below. They circled out away from the building, then swooped lower and slowed as they approached the window at which the bishop was standing with his back to them.

“Claudo!” Marcus shouted as he threw the rope. Cassius Claudo turned around, and his jaw dropped at the sight of Marcus and Caitlys on the back of the huge bird. But blind instinct caused him to catch the rope. It played out nearly to its full extent as Caitlys circled around again, and Marcus feared that the old man might try to hold on to it.

As they passed the window again, Marcus could see Lodi still battling to hold the broken doorway. He had the aid of the last of the bishop’s servitors who were not already down.

“We need the dwarf,” Marcus shouted. “The old priest can’t hold the rope!”

“I know!” she shouted back. “When we go by again, tell him and the dwarf to fall on their faces on our next pass and hold on to the rope!”

“No, no magic!”

“Just do what I tell you, Valerian!”

“But we can’t—”

“Do it!”

Appalled, but seeing no other way, he took a deep breath as they approached the window again. But before he could shout out her orders, Lodi hurled his axe in the face of one attacker, ducked the thrust of another, then turned and fled just as the sword of a third flashed down where he had been a moment before.

He swept something from a nearby table and tossed it over his shoulder without looking, then grabbed Cassius Claudo around the waist with his left arm and took the rope in his right hand. The grim look on the dwarf’s face told Marcus what he was going to do.

“Go up, go up!” he screamed in Caitlys’s ear.

She instantly leaned back and urged the bird higher. Vengirasse responded with four powerful beats of his wings. There was an immense roar, and the window belched out fire just behind Lodi as he dove over the window sill with the bishop in his arms. It was almost as if a huge dragon had found them unpalatable and vomited them forth, like a fiery Jonah being spat up on the beach.

For one horrible second, the rope grew taut, and the bird seemed to stagger in the sky. Marcus feared that Lodi had lost his hold on the rope.

But the dwarf had a grip like the iron in his mountain, and he held on to both priest and rope with stubborn dwarven determination until Caitlys managed to circle the bird back around to light upon the rooftop of the now-burning building.

Marcus couldn’t resist hugging her in his excitement. She was laughing wildly, almost hysterically. Lodi and Cassius Claudo stood up unsteadily. Lodi was bleeding from four or five minor wounds, and both were half-covered from the black residue of the dwarf powder Lodi had used to effect their escape, but they were alive.

Then Marcus heard Caitlys catch her breath and say something softly in Elvic. He didn’t know what it meant, but it didn’t sound like anything salutary or edifying.

Then he saw what she was staring at, and he felt a sudden desire to learn what she had said in order that he might repeat it.

For out of the night sky, three dark shapes were sweeping down upon them from the direction of the royal citadel. The light of the fire burning below them cast golden-red reflections on the well-burnished helms and lance tips of the High King’s skyriders.

Ad tertium dicendum aliqui aelvi, etiam in statu viae, sunt maiores aliquibus homines, non quidem actu, sed virtute; inquantum scilicet habent caritatem tantae virtutis, ut possint mereri maiorem beatitudinis gradum quam quidam homines habeant. Sicut si dicamus semen alicuius magnae arboris esse maius virtute quam aliquam parvam arborem, cum tamen multo minus sit in actu. Ergo aelvi habent animae naturaliter unita.

MARCUS WAS MARCHED unceremoniously by two armored skyriders into a large room located two flights down from the avian stables at the top of the High Tower. Behind Marcus, other guards escorted Caitlys, Bishop Claudo, and Lodi. The procession made its way to the accompaniment of a litany of extensive verbal abuse to which Caitlys was subjecting their captors. He didn’t understand a word of the elvish but was impressed by the effortless way it cascaded from her lips.

They entered a stone chamber. It was formed like a rectangle at the entrance with walls that angled out to meet the far side, which curved like a semicircle with the outside of the tower.

It was windowless, and the furniture looked comfortable but surprisingly shabby. Two couches and a chair were loosely arranged around a low wooden table. The table was marked by water stains and four jeweled dice were scattered atop it. Three other cushioned chairs were arrayed as for a conference long complete. The stone walls were painted white and were unadorned but for a few lines of elvish scrawled upon the one to the left of the entrance. It was, Marcus thought, probably where the skyriders waited when they were on duty.

Upon one of the couches lounged King Mael, looking informal but still unmistakably regal in a purple silk robe. He also looked royally furious as he lounged on the overstuffed divan. He did not appear to have much appreciated being interrupted in whatever kingly duties he had previously been engaged.

To Marcus’s surprise and dismay, in addition to a skyrider wearing leathers and a pair of elven guards, the king was accompanied by Zephanus, who was still wearing the rich yellow vestments and blue cloak he’d worn hours earlier. Marcus glared at the false priest. His earlier affection for the glib mercenary had been transformed by hurt and anger into something that almost approached hate. Zephanus wasn’t the least bit abashed by the sight of Marcus. He actually had the gall to wink at him! The appearance of Cassius Claudo, however, seemed to throw him at least a little off balance.

Fury filled Marcus as he thought of how the brutish mercenaries had slain the brilliant, affable Jamite, who in his good cheer had seldom thought ill of anything, not even of those he had finally concluded were creatures without soul. It was, Aestus had argued, an intrinsic error to conclude that animation without anima was the result of a demonic heritage. The sparrow was equally unworthy of the Gospel, and yet it was loved by its Creator all the same. It was an outrage, an abomination, that such a brilliant mind should be forever silenced by stupid and greedy men so that other stupid and greedy men could hope to increase their wealth.

His silent lament for Aestus was interrupted by the elf king, however, as Mael pointed a languid, accusatory hand at Cassius Claudo and addressed him in a voice well laden with sardonic contempt. “My lord bishop, I must confess myself in awe. You are the first men to be permitted entry to Elebrion in the eighty-five years of my reign, and in less than twelve hours, you have managed to ruin the feast given in your honor, set your soldiers to disturbing the peace, and then, as some sort of piece de resistance, set fire to my city. Furthermore, I am informed by the captain of your guard that one of your companions here is plotting my death. And if that were not enough,” he said, glancing at Caitlys, “he appears to have somehow seduced one of the noble flowers of my kingdom.”

Caitlys, furious, started to open her mouth, but the king raised a hand in warning. “You will keep that pretty little mouth closed, my dear,” he commanded. “Rest assured, I shall deal with you anon, and you shall have the opportunity to explain yourself in full, whether you will or no.”

He turned back toward the disheveled bishop, who looked more like a scorched scarecrow than a lord of the Church. “Is there any explanation for these incredible actions—one that will be compelling enough to inspire me to depart from my natural inclination, which is to have the four of you beheaded, so that I may return to the rather more pleasurable discourse from whence I was summoned? And don’t be so foolish as to make the mistake of telling me what I would or would not dare, inasmuch as I care not a warhawk’s tail feather for Amorr and all its cursed legions!”

The elf king’s ire was all the more frightening for the icily polite way in which he addressed them. It was entirely clear to Marcus that they would be missing their heads in a matter of minutes if Cassius Claudo did not handle the situation correctly. And it was the hardest thing he had ever done to keep his mouth shut, knowing that his fate rested entirely on another man’s words.

Claudo bowed, not deeply, but merely to indicate a modicum of courtesy. His voice was calm and his demeanor was nearly as chilly as the king’s. “I do regret, your High Majesty, that your royal repose should be disturbed. I may not apologize, however, as I was not the author of these disturbances. It took place by neither my order nor my knowledge. Neither was this most excellent dwarf involved, who risked his life in order to save mine from a band of assassins in the guise of churchmen, but more importantly, to save your kingdom and your nation from the misplaced wrath of the Republic. As for the young man and my lady elf, I can tell you little, except in that they were intimately involved in that same rescue, and for that I certainly owe them my life.”