The Humbled (The Lost Words: Volume 4) (44 page)

“You think supporting Amalia is a mistake,” Lucas said, insightful, candid, brutal.

“I promised to help her. I convinced her to give up her father’s empire…for what? So all these people can die by an ancient weapon they cannot see or hear?”

Lucas was silent for another long moment. “You made the best decision given the facts and knowledge you had at that time.”

“Did I?” Jarman really wondered. Had he been blinded by his desire to avenge his third mother? “We are protecting
Amalia with our magic. Soon enough, we will start killing people using our skill. To what end?”

“This war will not be won by the bloodstaff. The fact the nations of the realms fight together is more important. It is how it should be. You know that.”

That gave him a pause. “Is it?”

Lucas made a slow, deliberate nod. “Yes, it is.”

Jarman sighed. “How can you be so certain, friend?”

“I share the same doubts as you. However, I choose to respond in a different manner. You asked me how you measure a person’s worth. This is how you measure it.”

Jarman wondered if he deserved his first tattoo. Lucas had not mentioned anything yet. “I wish I had your courage.”

Lucas started walking again. “What is courage? Stick with your decisions, no matter what? Ignore reality? Adapt? Choose the best or the worst alternative once you realize your plan is not panning out as you expected? Keep your promises?”

“I don’t know,” Jarman admitted.

“Courage is being willing to live with the consequences of whatever you decide. So tell me, Jarman, are you willing to accept the outcome of this war, whatever it may be? We have come here to avenge your third mother. The same reason I was bonded as your life slave all those years ago. You are following your instincts, your experience, your desire maybe. Perhaps Amalia is not the brave leader you wish her to be. Neither was her dead half brother. This peace is not the teary-eyed union between respected rivals, but a bitter necessity among old enemies, none of which know the full extent of the truth. So your courage, Jarman, is to understand you do not control the situation. Are you still willing to keep on fighting? This goes against everything the Anada have taught you. What are you going to do now?”

Jarman stopped walking. His friend moved on awhile longer; then he turned and faced him, his blue face radiating brutal honesty. Did he want to be a part of this ugly reality? No. Was he going to give up? No. If he left now, he could not live with himself.

Lack of courage is also courage, no?
he mused.

“We are staying,” he announced. “What now?”

Lucas approached him. “We minimize the elements we cannot control.”

Jarman looked around him. He had to examine the situation from the perspective of their foe, not his own. Calemore considered the humans insignificant, it seemed. He was not worried about kings and emperors. But he had come forth to assassinate a young Caytorean.

Then, there was that half Sirtai in Amalia’s camp.

“Why would the White Witch kill Rob?” he spoke loudly.

Lucas shrugged. “I do not know. Let’s find out.”

They walked back into the chaos.

CHAPTER 31

“W
hy have we stopped?" Stephan complained.

“Wait here, sir,” Bader said and stepped out of the carriage into a world painted golden, russet, and dying green.

Stephan slumped against the padded seat. Best silk, best feathers, but after so many weeks warming his backside against the soft, supple fabric, the texture chafed like a leper’s cheek. He had traveled halfway across Caytor, and with every mile, the journey got uglier. Oh, the nature turned pretty with the shortening of the days, but the news coming from the northwest was grim.

On his last travel through the realm, he had rested in one of Goden’s fairly cozy lodges. Not this time. The little place had become a ghost town, with all its inns closed. Too little trade, the townsfolk complained, which meant he had been forced to evict half a dozen families to lodge his considerable entourage. He had paid the villagers, and they had been glad to accept the coin, but their faces had been sour and full of rancor as they herded their children into a barn.

Then, the village of Pasey had offered equally lukewarm hospitality. The freight station outside the village stood abandoned. No known reason, no sign of a plague or banditry, no
fires. They found the stables empty, without even a single bale of hay. Strange, because the High Council paid for those so that couriers and messengers could have a place to spend the night or change their horses. The phenomenon worried Stephan because it had occurred less than a day away from Pain Daye. Did it mean something bad had befallen the mansion and its inhabitants? Or had Sebastian lost all power and control of the area?

Bader returned, looking cryptic with his one healthy eye. “Refugees clogging the road, sir.”

Refugees?
Stephan thought. He stepped out, ants tingling in his arse.

His small private army was waiting for the surge of humans to step off the gravel and let them pass, but there were just too many people, and they were milling. Stephan shielded his eyes against the silver glare of a clouded afternoon, the sun hiding somewhere to the west.

Entire families were migrating away from Pain Daye, carrying what little possessions they had on their shoulders, dragging filthy children behind. Most of the boys and girls had a rope round their waists so they wouldn’t get lost. A few thin-ribbed dogs were slinking round the group.

“What do you wanna do, sir?” Bader asked. Some of the riders were getting impatient, their horses frisky, neighing, stomping their hooves. One of the men was donning his iron-padded gloves, as if he expected to get his hands bloody.

“Ask questions,” Stephan said. He reached out and grabbed the sleeve of an old man walking nearby. “What is going on?”

The fellow touched his straw hat in a respectable greeting. “Fleein’ the war, milord.”

“What war?” Stephan asked, but the grubby tide swept the man away.

“Ask questions. No violence,” he told Bader. The mercenary melted into the mass.

Stephan waited, and the flow just would not end. Bader returned soon thereafter, shrugging. “Just nonsense, sir. Some army got their villages burned. They don’t know who.”

This won’t work
, Stephan figured. He stuck his head through the carriage window. His clerk, Nudd looked up. “Get a bag of coppers, quickly. And get out.”

Confused, the clerk stepped out.

“Get up there, onto the roof.”

Frowning, Nudd obeyed.

Once his aide was standing on the carriage, in plain view of all the refugees, Stephan clapped his hands. “A copper and free bread for those who answer questions!”

Soon enough, he was under siege, and his men had to draw weapons to keep the hungry, almost riotous crowd at bay. Mouths started gibbering and shouting, answering questions that had not even been asked. But Nudd somehow managed, pointing, and Bader and his men flicked coins and some of the hard bread they had in their baggage. They would reach Pain Daye soon anyway, and they could get fresh food there.

I hope
, Stephan thought.

When some of the refugees got too pushy, they got slapped or shoved away, and when a grown man tried to pry a loaf from a screaming girl’s hands, Bader waded into the seething mass and broke his nose. No one tried to steal bread or coin after that.

Soon enough, they were out of currency and pastry, and the refugee train moved down the road, but Stephan had heard enough to feel worried. Lord Sebastian, as they called him, would not permit them to stay. He had even expelled some of the last of Amalia’s folk, which gave him some credulity, and
instilled a sense of fairness among them, they said. There was a huge army coming from the north, burning, pillaging, killing everyone. War was at their doorstep, and they had to flee to save their souls. It was the end of the world.

A purple evening greeted them at the doorstep to the highly protected manor house. The many walls hugged the path left and right, with torches burning in alcoves at head height so they illuminated anyone approaching the well-armed guards on the parapets and in the sentry towers above. Stephan could see their silhouettes against the canvas of darkening colors, and he felt there were just too many guards and patrols present.

Guild Master Sebastian and a respectable regiment of help was waiting for them in the front yard. The servants carried lamps, and their faces looked lurid. Still more soldiers with crossbows and wickedly sharp spears stood everywhere around.

“A pleasant, if unannounced, surprise,” Sebastian greeted.

Stephan shook hands with the man, wondering how much he should disclose right away. He chose nothing. “It’s been a long and hard journey,” he offered in return. “I hope you can accommodate my retinue.”

Sebastian pretended to look over his shoulder and appraise the train of horses, wagons, and armed men. “We will manage.”

Several hours later, he was having dinner with the guild master. The two of them sat alone behind a table. Stephan thought the décor to be too somber, and it was too dark. But the food was quite pleasant, especially after the last few days of cold scarcity.

“Refugees, in central Caytor?” Stephan remarked. Not the best way to start a conversation, he figured, but probably the safest. He needed to hear more from the guild master before he prodded him about Lady Rheanna.

However, the other man did not seem interested in easing up the talk. “The cities of Marlheim, Faldset, and Keybough seem to have been lost. The entire north of our realm is under invasion by some terrible, inconceivable army coming from beyond our borders.” He pointed dramatically. “From farther north.”

“I thought there was only an endless stretch of grassland there,” Stephan said almost childishly.

Sebastian grimaced. “Well, apparently, there is an end to the prairie, and it is home to many hundreds of thousands of people.” His face dropped its sarcastic mask, and he leaned closer, looking worried. “Stephan, the common people like to exaggerate. At first, I thought this was some ploy, maybe by Amalia, to destabilize the realm. Then, I thought these people had lost their homes in a natural disaster, and were maybe hoping the council would offer them help and protection, so they tried to paint their plight in some way we could sympathize. But dear councillor, I have had credible reports from army scouts. There’s some huge force moving against us, and it’s only days away. If you’d arrived a few days later, you might have found the mansion abandoned.”

Days away?
Stephan swallowed.

This changed everything.

“You are certain?” he said.

Sebastian drank from his cup, maybe too eagerly. “I only have bad news for you, Councillor.”

Stephan forced himself to cut into the thin, bleeding slice of veal, to chew on the delicious meat. He nibbled on roasted asparagus, pretending this was just a polite evening meeting between two affluent business partners.

“Empress Amalia has made peace with the Parusites,” the guild master added almost casually.

Stephan coughed into his wine. What? The one thing he had tried to prevent had happened. He was too late. All his plans had been spoiled. Ruined.

Now
that
changed everything.

Sebastian was watching him carefully, his eyes slightly glazed in the weak light. “She has accepted the rule of King Sergei. Athesia is now officially a vassal state of the Parusite realm, under its protection. Amalia will be restored to her rule as a governess—or something.” He waved his hand.

That silly, stubborn girl had signed peace with her enemy? After having held half the Eracian court and half the High Council captive for so many months? After destroying eighteen years of quiet in the realms? After losing Roalas to the Parusite forces? Now she would bend knee?

Incredible.

Sebastian continued, “As you can imagine, I am no longer really needed. I still need to figure out what I ought to do. It was young James who spared my life from the likes of you, and now the boy is dead, so that leaves me without my employer and savior. I owe nothing to Amalia. Especially not now that she’s buried her tongue between Sergei’s butt cheeks.”

The guild master poured himself more wine. The red brimmed over and spilled. “But then, I was never one to betray my business partners, never one to back out of a contract, unlike most of you fellows. So what am I going to do? Become a traitor to Caytor by following this girl? Half the forces left at the mansion have already deserted, gone back to being private armies in the big cities, or who knows what. Well, Amalia is not going to like me now that I have sent her the rest of her folk, but now there’s peace in Athesia, and they can go back to their homes. No need to toll the Caytorean economy over some refugees who are no longer refugees. And we have enough
of our own. Too many. I wouldn’t let them stay, you know. If this army comes here, I don’t want to be the one to condemn thousands of innocents to their deaths.”

Stephan listened, his mood darkening. Son of a bitch. Everything that could go wrong had gone wrong. Not just wrong. It had knifed the humiliated, battered good and left it bleeding to death by the side of the road.