Tears of Liscor, page 42
part #9 of The Wandering Inn Series
Yitton did, but he was troubled by the implications on a few levels. He bit back any response though; he had to admit that he was slightly pleased by Tyrion Veltras’ trust in him. The man was hard to like on some levels, but there was much to admire as well.
The two [Lords] walked in silence through the camp, listening to the noise and horns blowing for the dead, as was the tradition for some cities. Yitton had been present when the corpses were cremated; some of the adventurers or ranking officers’ bodies had been preserved for burial in their homelands. After a while, Erill spoke.
“Still, that Goblin Chieftain…it makes you think that Tyrion really knows what he’s doing. Sending the Goblins into Drake lands, that is.”
“You think that’s his plan?”
“Something like it. I think he’s realized keeping it secret’s pointless now. Everyone knows what he’s up to, Drakes and Humans both.”
“That’s true.”
If there was one thing you could say about Izril’s Human nobility, it was that they employed people who weren’t idiots. And some of the nobility were fairly intelligent, too. They’d come to the same realization as the Drake [Strategists] quickly enough when they’d tracked their progress on a map. By now, the entire camp knew what Tyrion Veltras was doing: sending the Goblin Lord and all the Goblins into Drake lands.
The idea had shocked Yitton the first time it had been suggested. He was no lover of the Drake people, with all their pride and hotheadedness and provocations, but he had grown used to the idea of the peace they had between north and south. True, tempers flared occasionally, and then both races would send an army to fight in the Blood Fields during a preselected time, but that was different from this. This was tantamount to war, but it wouldn’t be because of politics.
Few shared his reservations, though. The hostility towards Tyrion’s mysterious behavior had all but vanished when the nobility learned what he was intending. In fact, many of the nobles had begun to treat it as if it were some glorious prank, the height of cunning.
‘A present for the Drakes.’ Yitton Byres had heard others saying it, almost as a joke. But he wasn’t laughing.
“We don’t know that’s what Tyrion intends.”
“Well, we’ll know soon enough. We’re almost here. Good evening Lady Ieka, Gralton.”
Erill raised a hand, and Yitton saw they’d arrived at Tyrion’s personal tent. It was certainly large enough to host a gathering, and the two nobles standing outside the tent looked like they were dressed for the occasion. Each in their own way.
Lady Ieka wore a semi-translucent gown of enchanted fabric that looked scandalous at first—until you realized that the outer layer was simply there to highlight the darker inner blue, so that the transparent outer layer looked like water moving over a dark ocean, flecked by distant stars. The effect was beautiful and mesmerizing.
By contrast, Gralton wore his travel gear, and he hadn’t bothered to use any spells. He looked dirty from riding, and he seemed as if he could sit down at a rowdy banquet and begin quaffing at any moment. Both nobles stood far apart from each other. Gralton sniffed at Yitton and Erill.
“You’re late.”
Yitton opened his mouth to apologize, but Erill smoothly cut in.
“Apologies. I delayed in picking up Yitton. I was tempted by the idea of drowning my thoughts, but then I recalled that we were supposed to be here, enjoying Lord Tyrion’s social graces, which he is of course known for. Have we any word of who our mystery guest might be?”
“You mean the one that’s been housed in the finest tents? And the mysterious influx of commoners? Not a clue. But he’s inside. And it is a he.”
Lady Ieka raised two perfectly shaped eyebrows. She stood with the three men in a circle as they spoke. Yitton glanced towards the tent flaps.
“Should we announce ourselves?”
Ieka sighed.
“Don’t bother. He knows we’re here. Tyrion’s kept us waiting until you two arrived. Childish. And don’t bother knocking. There’s a powerful anti-detection spell on that tent. He’s taking this seriously, at least.”
“Going to tell us what everyone knows? That we’re giving the Goblins to the Drakes with a bow on top? Feh. I don’t need to listen to that.”
Gralton spat, which earned him a reproving glance from Erill and Ieka. Yitton just frowned. He opened his mouth to voice his opinion, but then Tyrion’s tent flap opened. Jericha, the personal [Mage] and Tyrion’s aide, opened the tent flap.
“My lords and ladies, I apologize for the delay. Lord Veltras welcomes you to a minor repast. Please, enter.”
The nobles exchanged a look, and then they entered, Ieka in front, Gralton, and then Erill and Yitton bringing up the rear. He swallowed the words he was about to say as he entered the tent and saw the dining table set up with expensive cutlery and porcelain dishes. There was more than a light repast set on the table, and six chairs had been set around the table.
If the nobles had listened to Yitton a moment longer, they might not have been so surprised later on. For Yitton had his own opinion of what was going on. He was no [Strategist], but he knew Tyrion, if by reputation alone. Simply pushing Goblins into Drake lands? It couldn’t be that simple. And when he saw the young man standing next to Tyrion, he was certain.
His eyes were closed, so Yitton could not see the color of his irises, but the young man was thin, and his hair was flaxen, slightly darkened, and his skin pale. His clothes were simple, far too plain for any [Lord], even a poor one. Laken kept his eyes shut as the nobles entered the tent and stared at him. And Tyrion Veltras. The [Lord] stood next to the young man, as if they were equals.
Yitton stared at the youthful stranger. Even Erill was older than him by at least a decade. He could have passed for a commoner with his garb. And yet, he had a presence. Yitton saw the young man tilt his head towards the four nobles. And still, he did not open his eyes.
“Lord Tyrion. We’ve come at your request. Who is this?”
Lady Ieka did not waste time. She peered at the stranger, her eyes narrowed as she flicked her gaze to Tyrion. The [Lord]’s face was impassive as he indicated a chair.
“I apologize for the delay, Lady Ieka. Please, have a seat.”
Then he turned to the young man standing beside him.
“Your Majesty, I present to you Lady Ieka of House Imarris, Lord Gralton of House Radivaek, Lord Erill of House Fienst, and Lord Yitton of House Byres. They serve as representatives to the larger gathering of nobility and are among those I trust to keep the nature of tonight’s conversation secret.”
Ieka froze in the middle of sitting down. Yitton felt his knees quiver. Did Tyrion just say ‘Your Majesty?’ He saw Gralton snort in surprise and Erill’s eyebrows raise. The merchant [Lord] cast a sharp glance towards the young man. Yitton saw the closed eyes turn towards him. And still, the stranger had not opened his eyes. Yitton felt a chill as he recalled a rumor he’d heard.
A blind man. A foreigner carrying jewels and gold who appeared in Invrisil. A stranger who had attracted the attention of Magnolia Reinhart.
The Unseen Emperor.
Yitton stared at the young man. Lord Tyrion nodded. He met Yitton’s eyes briefly, then looked around the tent. He spoke softly.
“Lady Ieka, gentlemen, I present to you [Emperor] Laken Godart of Riverfarm. Please, have a seat. We have much to discuss.”
——
“It’s all part of his plan. Tyrion Veltras, that is. He’s going to take the Goblins to Liscor. And when he arrives—in a few days—the waters will be gone.”
Olesm shook as he reached for a mug. He’d ordered alcohol despite it being only early morning. He needed a drink to steady his nerves. He didn’t know why he’d dragged Zevara to The Wandering Inn, but something about it reassured him. And he didn’t want to discuss this in the Watch House, not if he was wrong.
Zevara drummed her claws on the table, eying Olesm as he sipped from his mug. It was a dark lager, which Erin seemed quite proud of for some reason. It tasted normal to Olesm, but Zevara had ordered the same.
“When you asked me out for a drink, I didn’t think we’d be talking about strategy.”
Olesm looked up sharply. Zevara grinned sheepishly at him. He didn’t smile back, and the Watch Captain leaned forwards. She coughed.
“Okay, bad joke. Are you sure, Olesm? The waters will recede around Liscor in four days’ time? Right as he’s getting here?”
The [Strategist] nodded. He saw his claws steady on his mug as the alcohol went down. He took a deep breath. It was going to be okay. It was just—
“He’s timed it perfectly, Zevara. Any day now, the rains will stop. And when they do, Liscor has only a few days before the waters drain. You know how fast the water levels go down. After that, Liscor’s surrounded by mud, but you can fight in mud. Or lay siege in it.”
“And you’re sure it’ll be then? How can you be certain?”
“Tekshia thinks it’ll be around then. I asked her before she nearly gutted me, and she told me that there is a pattern to when the rains start and stop. It’s not precise, but you can get within a few days of when it’ll occur. And—it’s too much of a coincidence. First Tyrion camped his army without moving and only now he makes his move? He’s timed this, I’ll bet my class on it.”
“Damn.”
Zevara scowled and sat back in her chair. The two Drakes stared at each other in grim silence—for all of a second. Then they heard Erin breeze past them.
“Fries! Here’s your fries, Olesm! And for you, Zevara, a bowl of fish flakes?”
“Oh. Thanks.”
“Thanks, Erin.”
Olesm looked around. Erin’s inn wasn’t exactly hopping, but it was doing good business. The young woman had Gnolls and Drakes and Humans eating in her inn, a few of which Olesm recognized as regulars.
There were a few new faces like the [Mage] with the gaudy robes sitting at a table just next to Olesm’s. And was that a Cave Goblin walking in and out of the kitchen? Olesm spotted Numbtongue sitting at a table, playing on a guitar. He shook his head and focused back on Zevara.
“The waters will fall. And he’ll march the Goblins straight in here. It’s safer than the High Passes. And if they’re not swimming, they can run right around Liscor with minimal casualties. Or there’s a worse option.”
“Go on.”
Zevara’s grip tightened on her mug. Olesm took a deep breath.
“They make the Goblins assault the city.”
He stared at Zevara for a few seconds in grim silence. The Watch Captain blinked, and then she laughed. She drank from her mug and chewed down a few fish flakes.
“You had me worried there, Olesm! That’s not going to happen.”
“You’re sure?”
Olesm’s racing heart finally began to slow. Zevara nodded, chewing her food with good humor.
“There’s no way. Even if a hundred thousand Goblins attacked our walls tomorrow, we could hold them. This isn’t like the moths. There were probably at least a hundred thousand of them, and they could fly. The Watch is thousands strong, and we have enchantments on our walls, Embria’s company, Wall Lord Ilvriss…and the Antinium.”
“That’s true, but I was considering the timing, and I thought—”
Zevara shook her head. She indicated the fries, and Olesm realized he hadn’t touched his food. He began to eat as she replied.
“No, you’re dead right about the Goblins moving through Liscor. Damn, they’ll get past with far fewer casualties this way. But there’s no way they can take the city. Not even if the Goblin Lord brings his entire force to bear. I’m certain of it. Don’t worry about that, Olesm.”
The [Strategist] sagged in relief. He’d been running through scenarios in his head, but if Zevara said so, he could relax. He was about to ask more when Zevara coughed. She glanced at Olesm and then leaned back in her chair.
“So, how’ve you been lately?”
The change of conversation was as jarring as Olesm could imagine. For a moment, he stared and then realized what Zevara was doing. He jumped and remembered that he had asked if she was free. And they were eating at Erin’s inn.
“Oh, nothing much. It’s been work as usual, you know.”
“We do see a lot of each other.”
“Yeah. And, uh, I haven’t had much free time what with the Raskghar and all the reports.”
“Right. We’re, uh, overdue for time off.”
“Yep.”
That line of dialogue died fast. The two Drakes stared at each other. Then Zevara shifted.
“I heard there was something interesting happening over here the other day.”
“When is there not?”
“Hah. But I meant this game that Relc played. Apparently it was in Celum? And it involved hitting a ball and running around in a circle?”
Zevara looked hopelessly at Olesm. He smiled.
“A diamond, actually. It was this fascinating game that Erin introduced us to. It’s called baseball. I wish you could have been there. You see—”
“Olesm, is that you? I haven’t seen you in—oh.”
The Drake broke off as Zevara was leaning forwards. He turned and winced. Of all the times…Zevara leaned back, and her smile vanished. Ceria Springwalker paused as she realized what she’d walked into.
“Uh, hello. Ceria.”
“Hey, Olesm. Sorry, I didn’t see you were busy.”
Ceria stared at Zevara. The Watch Captain crunched down on a fish flake.
“Don’t mind me, half-Elf. I’m just sitting with a fellow co-worker. Talking about business. Together.”
“Right. I just wanted to say hi.”
The [Cryomancer] stared cautiously at Zevara and then turned to Olesm.
“Sorry, I’ll leave you to it.”
“Yeah. It’s, uh, good to see you.”
Olesm shuffled his feet. He was about to leave it at that when he saw the man across the table from him raise a hand and throw a bunch of sparks into the air. They floated upwards, turning into tiny phoenixes which flew about, flaming birds dancing in every color.
“What’s that?”
Ceria turned. She blinked as she saw the tiny birds and then shrugged.
“Him? That’s Eltistiman Verdue, a [Magician] who just came through from Celum. He showed up this morning pretending to be a Dragon when Erin opened the door. She punched his lights out, and he’s been performing here all morning as an apology.”
“Eltisti—who? He got here this morning?”
The half-Elf nodded. She leaned over the table, ignoring Zevara’s irritated look.
“Yup. He knows a lot of illusion spells. Some of them are pretty impressive. He and Pisces had a competition this morning. You should have seen it. Erin’s over the moon about him. I think she likes him. And she’s guilty about punching him in the face, which was hilarious.”
The half-Elf smiled. But Olesm felt a bit irritated. Not necessarily about Eltistiman, but about how so much happened around Erin that he never got to see because of his work.
“Why haven’t I heard about him being here?”
Ceria gave Olesm a flat look.
“Like I said, he arrived this morning. You aren’t here all the time.”
“True. I have work—”
“—Which is very pressing, isn’t it, Olesm?”
Zevara jumped into the conversation. She leaned around Olesm, not quite nudging Ceria out of the way. The half-Elf glowered at her. Olesm cringed.
He’d had a brief fling with Ceria until she’d essentially prevented him from joining the Horns of Hammerad. And Zevara had a not-so-subtle interest in him. It didn’t take a [Strategist] to tell that he shouldn’t be here. But now, Ceria had locked gazes with Zevara.
“It’s a shame he’s so busy. But Olesm’s not on duty right now. Can’t he chat?”
“He’s discussing private information. With me. I’m sure Olesm will have plenty of time to talk when he’s free for trivial pursuits.”
The half-Elf’s eyes narrowed.
“Is that so?”
Zevara breathed out a puff of smoke.
“Do I need to repeat myself?”
Olesm was just about to pretend to choke on a fry when salvation appeared in the form of Ksmvr. The Antinium walked over and waved a hand.
“Hello, Olesm. Hello, Watch Captain Zevara. Hello, Captain Ceria. May I join your conversation?”
All three stared at him. Ksmvr looked from face to face and only now seemed to pick up on the underlying tension.
“Ah. I perceive my presence is unwelcome. Am I being a nuisance? Please inform me directly when I am, and I will take note of my behavior.”
“No, Ksmvr—I mean, yes, Ksmvr—look, I’ll explain it to you over here. Sorry, Olesm. I’ll talk to you later.”
Ceria hustled Ksmvr off to one side. The Antinium kept asking what he’d done wrong. Sheepishly, Olesm and Zevara turned back to each other. After a moment, Olesm brought up the only thing he could think of.
“So, about the Redfang Goblins and this huge amount of money the adventurers have gotten…”
Zevara groaned. She fished around in her bowl for more flakes and found there were none. She sighed and took a sip of her drink instead.
“There’s not much we can do about it. Those adventurers will raise all kinds of hell if we try and reverse what’s happened. I want to nail my tail to a wall, but—at least we don’t have to worry about the information leaking. Imagine the riots we’d have if that got out. This is classified and buried.”
Olesm nodded. Zevara sighed.
“And on the subject of Goblins, did you hear what Ilvriss was suggesting?”
Again, Olesm nodded. This time, he traced a pattern on the table.
“It’s…not something I want to consider. They saved those Gnolls, Zevara.”
She tilted her mug up. It was already empty.
“They did. But you know they can’t stay here forever. Maybe—no, maybe it’s best if they leave with the Goblin Lord. By accident. Or maybe they can be ‘encouraged’ to leave ahead of time. They’ve got a grace period while the waters are up, but if the citizens of Liscor see a huge tribe of Goblins suddenly roaming the plains…”
