“You’ve rarely seen me, since I attended few enough Alliance functions and never went to the meetings.”
“Not after a time,” Partus said with a grin, “but at first you did, when you were new and sweetly innocent to the way things ran.” He ignored her searing look at the remark. “Anyhow, you’ve always had such a charming personality, I just can’t tell you how amazed I was when I heard that the one who finally broke down your gates was that blockhead Davidon-”
“Stop talking,” she said. This time there was no menace to her voice, only a whisper that sounded like thunder to her ears.
“Ooooh,” Partus said, hands still up in front of him. He wiggled his fingers and made an amused sound. “So it’s true, is it? I had always wondered if you’d ever melt for a man, but Davidon? Really? What is it about him that has women throwing themselves at his feet? The Princess of Actaluere, that smutty little rogue dark elf, and you-”
“Stop what you’re saying right now,” Vara raised her hand at him, “or I’ll-”
“Now, now,” Partus replied, waving his own hand, which was still pointed at her, “let’s not be hostile about things. Assuming you
There was the sound of an explosive blast, and Partus was launched to the side, smashing into the battlement wall. Vara heard the crack of his bones as his leg and hip hit the stone and broke. His upper body was carried by the force of the spell into a flip, his hip the center of gravity. He tipped upside down and was flung, end over end, off the wall. Vara leaned over to look and saw the dwarf fall in a spiral from his momentum, and when he landed with a crack, he did not stir, eyes wide, staring up at the battlements, dead.
“You wished to leave Sanctuary, Partus,” came Alaric’s voice, to Vara’s right. She turned and saw him there, his hand still extended, even as he spoke to the empty space where the dwarf had stood only a moment before. “Now I have granted your wish.” Without bothering to look over the battlement at the fallen dwarf, the Ghost turned, walking back to the tower nearest them, and disappeared into the darkness without another word.
Chapter 94
Cyrus
The sound of troops filled the street, guards shouting, men marching in armor. The clatter of the gates shutting was complete, and the smells of death were cut off abruptly, replaced with the city scents-old baked bread from communal ovens, torch oil, and latrines. Cyrus whipped his head around, and saw more soldiers running toward them, toward the walls, the gates, and felt the padding of his armor brush against him as he tried to decide what to do next. “The palace,” Cyrus said. “If the scourge is coming now, they’ll be pulling defenses. We need to go.”
“No time like the present,” J’anda said as the first wave of guards began to pass them. He waved his hand, and Cyrus saw the enchanter’s appearance change from a human man in robes to an armored guard wearing the livery of Grand Duke Hoygraf’s Green Hill guard. Cyrus looked down and saw his armor masked in the same way. Martaina and Aisling were now absent, but beside him on horseback were two others, similarly clad.
“Let’s go,” Cyrus said, and urged Windrider forward, holding as close to the side of the street as possible. The soldiers made way for them as they passed, the hooves of their horses splattering in the muddy street. The steady clang of armored men on the march echoed off the houses to either side, and Cyrus watched as the lines of infantry maintained their formations, holding to their discipline as they headed for the gates. “That’ll be important for them,” he said out loud, “especially as those things come over the walls.”
“This is not going to end pretty,” Martaina said, glancing back nervously, her Actaluerean helm sitting atop a blond man’s head. That her soft voice came through in a husky whisper was even stranger to Cyrus, who had to think about it for a moment to remember it was, in fact, her.
They rode on, down an alley onto a side street and on toward the palace, with its columns and massive steps. Guards were peeling off from the gates as they got close, the dirt streets an unpleasantly muddy place to be. They rode through without being questioned or inspected, the chaos wild around them. There was a harbor visible to their left, dark waters lapping at the piers; the palace was built on the water but rose stories above it, high enough that the entire side was protected by the sheer face of the palace’s eastern walls. The back of it was against the ocean too, Cyrus realized as they entered the courtyard; he wondered if there was an easy way out. The shouts of the palace guard filled the air, crackling as the portcullis to the palace’s smaller curtain wall began to crank slowly shut. A few more guards rushed to beat the closing.
“Let us hope there is another way out,” J’anda said, eyeing the gate closing behind them. “If it truly is the scourge, then I don’t expect we’ll be going out the front.”
“Aye,” Martaina said. “We’re bottled up now.”
“Well, let’s be quick about this, then,” Cyrus said, eyeing the palace steps. “Aw, hells, why be polite and shy?” He urged Windrider forward and the horse began to climb the front steps, a few at a time with a neigh. Cyrus heard the clopping of hooves on the stone and knew the others were following behind. The palace steps narrowed toward the top, running into a column-lined portico and within moments Cyrus was under it, a few guards staring at him in shock. “Urgent message for the King,” he called as he passed. “Urgent!” At a checkpoint ahead he saw two guards stare at him, crossed poleaxes ineffectually blocking his path. At the sound of his cry, they uncrossed them, then stepped aside as he thundered into the palace on Windrider’s back.
“What are you going to do when they find out you don’t have a message?” he heard Martaina say behind him.
“I actually do have a message for King Hoygraf,” Cyrus said tersely.
“I don’t think he’s going to want to hear that one,” Martaina replied.
“No one ever wants to hear bad news,” Cyrus said. “It still shows up anyway. Urgent message for the King!” he called, and a bevy of guards ahead of him parted in a slow sea, the two closest to the bronze doors behind them opening them for Cyrus to pass. As the doors opened, he could see a throne room ahead, a high seat in a wider room than Vernadam’s. Columns lined either side of the room and to his left there was an open balcony that overlooked the sea running the length of the room. There were a few guards scattered about that came to attention as he entered, and Cyrus dismounted swiftly, saluting Hoygraf as he did so.
Hoygraf rose from his seat on the great throne as Cyrus dismounted. The man still carried his obsidian cane, leaning heavily upon it as he pulled up. Cyrus froze for only a beat as he looked to the seat next to Hoygraf; Cattrine sat there, upon a grand throne with a teal backing. Hoygraf’s seat was teal as well, and the ocean’s salt air seemed to fill the room around them as Cyrus stared at Cattrine. Her hair was only neck-length, now. She watched him without interest, slumped slightly to the side in her chair, her neck limp and angled, as though even sitting were some great effort for her. Her left eye was blacked, and there was a crust of blood at her lip. Her hand came up self-consciously to daub at her face as Cyrus began to stride across the wide, blue carpet toward the throne, his head bowed.
“Your majesty,” Cyrus said, traversing the carpet in quick steps, struggling to remain nonchalant and keep his hands free from his sword belt.
“That’s close enough,” Hoygraf said, stopping at the edge of the rise of steps. He leaned heavily on his cane for support, stooping over like an old man.
“As you wish, m’lord,” Cyrus said, and knelt to one knee roughly ten feet away from the man, bowing his head.
“You ride horses into my throne room,” Hoygraf said, straining at each word. “If you have an urgent message, deliver it.”
“Yes, m’lord,” Cyrus said, adding a tone of contrition. “M’lord, the scourge appears on the horizon.”
Hoygraf let out a small hiss of disbelief. “Yes, I know that, you idiot. We have lookouts posted that rode back here with that message long before you.” Hoygraf frowned at him. “Is that your only message? Why didn’t you
