Tears of Liscor, page 43
part #9 of The Wandering Inn Series
“Could they stay in the dungeon?”
“If they do, they’re on their own against adventurers.”
“Right.”
The two Drakes sat together. Olesm scrubbed a claw through his spikes.
“It’s really not up to us. There’s only one person who can get them to move. I can speak to Erin. Drop a few hints.”
“About what?”
Both Drakes jumped and turned around. Erin paused with a bowl of soup in one hand and a spoon in the other. She delicately tasted the soup. Olesm stared at her and felt sweat rolling down his back for the umpteenth time today.
“Uh, Erin! How long have you been there?”
Erin shrugged.
“I just heard my name so I came over. What’s up?”
Olesm and Zevara exchanged a quick glance. Olesm cleared his throat.
“Nothing…but how’re the Goblins, Erin? Uh, have the Hobs been in your inn recently? Are they…doing well?”
“They’re doing great, thanks for asking! The Hobs aren’t in my inn so much—they’re busy with the Cave Goblins. You know, leading them and teaching them how to survive and stuff. Numbtongue’s over there. Actually, he’s about to go back to their cave. I just need to give him this soup. I think it’s done.”
Erin pointed with her spoon at the Hob. She tasted the soup again and smiled.
“Yup, it’s done. Hey, Numbtongue! Order up!”
She shouted at Numbtongue. The Hob looked up and abandoned his guitar. He walked over, and Olesm saw the same Cave Goblin trot out of the kitchen with a huge pot in her hands. He stared as she waddled over with it. The soup was steaming and gave off a fishy, yet enticing aroma.
“This is Pebblesnatch. You remember Pebblesnatch, right, guys?”
“Charmed.”
Zevara spoke flatly as she eyed the soup. Erin offered the bowl to Numbtongue. He grunted with approval and tasted the soup before nodding vigorously at Erin. She smiled.
“I’m teaching the Goblins how to cook as well as feeding them meals. It’s actually sort of fun! You see, they really like to cook, and all I have to do is show them how to make something and they copy me. Sometimes they get it wrong, but there’s a few promising [Cooks] among them! Pebblesnatch has been watching me work.”
She patted the small Cave Goblin on the head. Pebblesnatch grunted and put the pot on the floor. Erin offered her the bowl to sip from as well. She pointed at it as she spoke to Numbtongue.
“This is fishy minestrone soup with a side of hot garlic bread. Share it; Pebblesnatch can teach the others how to make more, okay? Oh, and take some baking soda. And some flour. Krshia just sent me a shipment via boat. And you’ll need some vegetables. Oh, and pepper. And do you have enough plates?”
The Hob grunted and sighed. Erin began dragging over bags, and eventually, the Hob had to drag everything through the magic door into a cave filled with Goblins. Olesm caught one look of a dozen Goblins swarming Pebblesnatch, peering into the pot as she hit them with her ladle, before the door closed. Erin walked back into her kitchen as Olesm looked at Zevara. The Watch Captain shook her head.
“That Gnoll must be making a killing providing so much food for the Goblins.”
Olesm nodded. He recalled a report that had landed on his desk.
“Apparently, someone’s bought enough food to drive up prices in the city. I’d have spoken to you about it, but since we have access to Celum’s markets, I didn’t think it was cause for alarm.”
“Oh really? Well, I can handle that.”
Zevara smiled slightly. Then she leaned back in her chair and shouted towards the kitchen.
“Oi, Human! Buy your food from Celum instead of Liscor! We don’t have unlimited supplies, you know!”
“Aw! Fine!”
The Watch Captain grinned as she sat back and looked at Olesm.
“Problem solved. Now, where were we?”
“Can we talk about Liscor and the Goblins? Er, I mean, the Goblin Lord. I was going to ask you how certain you are. I hate to keep harping on about it, but…”
Olesm twiddled his claw thumbs together. Zevara nodded. She sat up straighter and leaned forwards, lowering her voice.
“It’s not a concern to me because I know our numbers, Olesm. A siege isn’t easy, and there’s no wood around Liscor—at least, not in enough quantities to help in besieging our city. Our gates are nigh impregnable, and even if the Goblins had siege towers or ladders…the Watch numbers in the thousands. We have Embria and her soldiers, and they’re worth something. So is Ilvriss. But what really reassures me are the Antinium. Don’t let anyone know I said that.”
“Really?”
There was a lot Olesm knew as Liscor’s [Strategist], but some things were still above his pay grade. At least, they had been as a [Tactician]. Zevara nodded. She lowered her voice even further, although no one was listening.
“Officially, the Antinium have three hundred Soldiers they can bring to our defense if necessary. Unofficially…we could hold off a hundred thousand Goblins even if all of them had ladders. We can fill the walls with bodies, make it practically unclimbable. And the Humans have to know that.”
Olesm whistled. Obviously, a single defender could repel multiple attackers, but Zevara was speaking about hard numbers here.
“So we’re safe?”
She nodded.
“If they want to besiege us, they’ll have to take our walls just like the Goblins, and we won’t fall so quickly. It’s my opinion that you’re right and the Humans are pushing the Goblins past Liscor, but not attacking it. With that said, keep listening.”
“Will do.”
“Good. Keep me informed.”
Zevara fished in her belt pouch and stood up. She tossed a few coins onto the table and strode towards the door. Olesm saw her pause there and waver. After a moment, she stomped back over, blushing.
“Sorry, I guess this was a work discussion after all. I’d stay and talk, but I need to tell Embria and Ilvriss and file a report with what you’ve told me.”
Olesm stood up, flushing with embarrassment.
“Of course. I’m sorry, this was my fault.”
“No, no, it was good. And important. It’s just that—”
“Duty calls. Right. Another time, then?”
“Naturally.”
They stared at each other for a second, and then Zevara turned away. She strode towards the door, so flustered that she took the bridge to Liscor rather than the magic door. Olesm sat back in his chair. He looked at his practically uneaten fries for a second and then noticed he had an audience.
At some point, a furry little Gnoll had crept up to the edge of his table. Now two big, round eyes stared at him. Olesm turned red.
“What?”
Mrsha stared sympathetically at Olesm. Then she grabbed his fries and dashed away. He leapt up, outraged, and then flinched as Apista buzzed over his head, stinger raised.
“My fries!”
He watched Mrsha dash upstairs, resigned, as Apista triumphantly followed her. Olesm stared down at his nearly empty bowl and then saw someone turn towards him. The [Mage] with the fancy robes who’d cast the illusionary phoenixes raised a mug and saluted Olesm with it.
“She got mine too. Same trick, even. Fearsome things, those giant bees.”
Olesm sat back down, looking sadly at a wimpy fry at the bottom of his bowl. He raised his mug in turn to the mage.
“Sorry, she’s part of the inn. She’s usually less trouble, but she’s a food thief. Erin’ll probably replace your food if you complain. My name’s Olesm.”
The Human smiled. He threw his mug up, and Olesm winced, but it vanished, liquid and all. He’d been holding an illusion! He winked at Olesm.
“Eltistiman Verdue, [Magician], at your service. I was told this inn was the place to visit if I wanted an interesting time, and I believe it! You wouldn’t happen to know when the, ah, play is starting, would you?”
“Sometime tonight, sorry. Why, are you here for it?”
Eltistiman smiled.
“I’m here to join it, if I can. I was wondering how much time I had. I was hoping to go to Pallass, actually. This wondrous door can send me there in an instant, can’t it?”
He indicated the door, which had the glowing red mana stone on it. Olesm nodded.
“It can do that, but the magic is limited. It can only send two people at a time.”
“Ah, that is inconvenient. But natural given the distances.”
“Right, but there’s more complications too on Pallass’ side. They don’t just let you walk through like, uh, Liscor. You’ll have to fill out a request. I’m sure it will be approved, but it will be at least a day before you can go through.”
Olesm looked apologetic, but Eltistiman didn’t look too put out.
“Ah, a pity. I’ll inquire about the details later. Thank you for your help, sir.”
He smiled at Olesm and turned back to his table. The [Strategist] sat back down and tried to gather his thoughts. He wanted more fries…no! He stared at the table, thinking hard.
“Something’s not right here.”
His conversation with Zevara had reassured him on a lot of points. But still, something didn’t sit right with Olesm. He knew she’d probably run countless simulations, but he wasn’t reassured. The timing, the way everything was falling together…was Liscor in danger? The least he could do was think it out. Olesm sat at the table, pondering hard as his brain ran through possibility after possibility. After a few minutes, he looked up and called towards the kitchen.
“Hey, can I have another plate of fries?”
“Coming!”
——
The late meal was elegant despite being held in a war camp. Almost ridiculously so; Yitton eyed the gilded plates and silver silverware with deep concern for the priorities of whoever had packed the camp’s supplies. There was no need for this.
Then again however, it suited the gathering. Emperor Laken Godart sat next to Lord Tyrion, dining carefully. He was blind. Yitton had met men blinded in battle, and Laken behaved as they did, although there was a surety to his movements that he had that the men had lacked.
The young man sat stiffly, head slightly tilted towards Tyrion. He moved slowly, but not randomly, carefully finding his plate and food with knife and fork. He was able to eat with only a minimal amount of inconvenience. But his presence disturbed the others. He bothered Yitton too.
“Tyrion, how is it that an…an [Emperor] is sitting among us? Your Majesty, I hate to be rude, but the presence of any sort of royalty on Izril is unheard of. Let alone for someone of your station to appear here…”
Ieka glanced between Laken and Tyrion, her face torn between suspicion and incredulity. Lord Tyrion looked up from his meal—carefully prepared scallops adorned with so many little toppings that they quite outnumbered the seafood itself.
“I requested Emperor Godart’s company, Lady Ieka. The need for his presence will soon be made clear. As for his origins, that remains for His Majesty to reveal. I have not pressed him on the matter.”
“You aren’t curious?”
“I consider the information superfluous. Emperor Laken, would you care for more wine?”
“No, thank you. My stomach’s still unsettled from the ride from Riverfarm these last few days. I’ve discovered that I don’t care for horses.”
Laken replied calmly. Yitton tried to remember where Riverfarm was. He must have been riding nonstop and with powerful Skills to have caught up. He was about to ask something—Erill had been uncharacteristically silent—when Gralton interrupted.
“I don’t care for games. Are you an [Emperor] or not, boy? And where the hell did you come from?”
The table went silent. Laken Godart slowly turned his head in Gralton’s direction.
“Is that Lord Gralton?”
Tyrion opened his mouth, looking displeased, but Gralton interrupted. The man had all the manners of a savage.
“That’s me. Izril has no [Emperors]. We have no [Kings]. Where did you come from so suddenly that not even a she-weasel like Ieka knows of you?”
Yitton held his breath with the table. Ieka narrowed her eyes. Tyrion did not look inclined to intervene, and so everyone stared at Laken. The young man calmly speared a scallop.
“That is none of your business, Lord Gralton.”
“What?”
That was the wrong thing to say to Gralton. The man half-rose and uttered a low growl, like the dogs he raised. The sound made Yitton’s hair stand on end. Consumed by his class. He eyed Gralton warily, wondering if he should say something.
But Laken Godart didn’t flinch. He calmly chewed his bite and spoke.
“Heel.”
Yitton’s blood ran cold. The sound Gralton made was all beast now. He rose from his chair.
“Gralton.”
Erill sounded wary. The [Lord] looked at him, and Erill backed up in his seat. Gralton leaned over the table.
“I’ve killed men for lesser insults.”
“And will you try again tonight?”
Laken’s voice was glacial. He looked towards Lord Gralton in complete silence, his eyes still closed. Gralton’s eyes narrowed. If the man had a dog’s ears, Yitton thought they would have been laid flat against the back of his head. The intensity between the two ratcheted up another notch. Gralton began to snarl.
Yitton could sense the impending violence in the air. He held his breath, his body tensed to move. If Gralton leapt, possibly not even Tyrion could save the [Emperor]. But the air was heavy, and it wasn’t just the threat of violence that hung there. Yitton felt something heavy pressing down on his shoulders. And he was not the center of Laken’s focus. The young man sat in place, head turned towards Gralton. And then he took another bite of the scallop.
The snarling abruptly abated. Gralton sat back down. Suddenly, the wild look was gone in his eyes. He laughed. Yitton stared, but Gralton roared with laughter.
“So you are an [Emperor]! At least that is true.”
“As I said.”
Laken Godart smiled coolly. Yitton remembered to breathe as Gralton grabbed a scallop himself with his bare hands. Only now did he sense the air lighten. And only now did he place the strange emotion he’d felt coming from Laken the entire meal.
He seemed irritated. Impatient, as if he did not want to be here. It was such a simple emotion that it surprised Yitton. For a moment, he was like one of Yitton’s offspring, clearly unhappy about being here. But at the same time, he had faced down Gralton and even now exuded an air of…assurance. Confidence manifest.
Pride. And it was Laken who put down his fork and turned to Lord Tyrion.
“Thank you for this meal, Lord Tyrion. But I believe your guests and I have come for the same reason. Would you please explain what your grand aim is with the Goblins?”
He sat back in his chair. Lord Tyrion inclined his head.
“As you wish, Emperor Godart.”
He was respectful, but Yitton was sure that Tyrion used Laken’s titles out of a desire to be correct, not out of any sense of deference. And he was just as sure from reading Laken’s expression that the young Emperor Godart knew exactly what Tyrion was about to say. Yitton stared at Laken and then turned his attention to Tyrion.
For all an [Emperor] sat next to him, Tyrion Veltras commanded the room. He did not speak loudly or make grand gestures. He simply stood and spoke without wasting time.
“I am aware of the rumors and gossip swirling about in the war camp. And I am also aware that many of the nobility have deduced the destination to which we travel. But in the interest of transparency, I intend to share with you all the full scope of my war plans tonight. Lady Ieka, gentlemen, our destination is Liscor. And I intend to use the Goblins as a first weapon to strike against the Drakes.”
A sigh ran around the table from the other nobles. Satisfied, resigned, dismissive. Yitton looked from face to face at Gralton, Erill, and Ieka. They didn’t look shocked or even surprised. He glanced at Tyrion. Erill mused into his wine glass.
“So the rumors were true. We are indeed fighting a war by proxy with the Goblins as our instrument.”
“I suppose it is somewhat worth the effort. But all the cloak and dagger nonsense could have been avoided to save us all distress, Tyrion. Just say we’re sending the Goblins into Drake lands and we’ll all support you. Well, most of us.”
Ieka sighed as she lifted a fork to her mouth. Tyrion smiled. Yitton glanced at Gralton and noticed the man hadn’t made a comment either. Like Yitton, he was watching Tyrion. It was his eyes. They betrayed the man’s burning heart.
“I am afraid that you are wrong in that regard, Lord Erill, Lady Ieka. My aim is not to simply send the Goblin Lord into the south as a marauding force. Rather, I intend to aim at a specific target. I told you we march to Liscor. And it is Liscor I intend to take.”
For a moment, Yitton was convinced his ears had betrayed him. He half-rose from his seat. War. Gralton was grinning madly. Ieka and Erill were frozen. Yitton uttered a strangled sound, and Tyrion looked at him.
“Lord Yitton?”
It took Yitton a second to make words come out of his throat.
“Lord Tyrion, you cannot be serious! War has not been declared with the Drakes! To attack Liscor would be—”
“I do not intend to declare war. Nor do I intend to violate the terms of our treaty with the Drakes in any way. We will take no direct action against the city of Liscor. But it will be taken.”
“How?”
Erill leaned over his plate. His eyes were sharp as they studied Tyrion. He spoke plainly, dispensing with formalities.
“How, Tyrion? The Goblin Lord may be weaker than our army, but he is not a mindless tool. Goblins are not entirely suicidal. Do you intend to force him to attack Liscor? I fear he would rather march around the walls and take his chances fleeing rather than face certain death. Liscor cannot be taken by an army so quickly, not without preparation. And not while the waters have risen.”
Tyrion nodded. His eyes flicked amusement towards Erill, though his face was stoney.
