Carth nodded his agreement, saying, “It wouldn’t be so bad if we had access to the garrison.”
The elusive thought that had been plaguing Gavin all morning clicked into place, and his eyes shot wide, jaw dropping. Gavin shot to his feet so fast, his chair tipped over and crashed against the floor, startling everyone into silence.
“I have to go,” Gavin said as he strode across the room to the door. “Declan, you’re with me.”
At the door, Gavin stopped and turned back to the group, saying. “If you can find a way to protect those soldiers who would join us, I will issue a general call to arms before nightfall. Leave the city’s defense out of the plan from here on out. It will not be an issue.”
“Are you sure this will work?” Gavin asked between heavy breaths.
He and Declan stood near the top of the Grand Stair in the Tower of the Council, looking up at a landing with no door. They took heavy breaths, for they’d scaled the Grand Stair two-and sometimes three-steps at a time.
Declan shrugged, saying, “I have no idea. I just know how Marcus accessed the Citadel.”
“I guess we’re about to find out,” Gavin said, taking one last deep breath before starting up the final steps.
The moment Gavin set foot onto the actual landing, a specter looking much like the Arena’s Master of the Field faded into view.
“Halt,” the specter said in a wispy voice. “Thou shalt go no farther.”
Gavin took a moment to suppress the urge to banter with the specter about where else he would go and, once he was sure of his composure, said, “I have not come for the Citadel, worthy watchman. I am Gavin Cross, Head of House Kirloth, and I desire an audience with Nathrac.”
“Hold here, Kirloth,” the specter said, “and I shall deliver thy request.”
The specter faded away, and Gavin looked to Declan, saying, “Well…we’re still alive.”
A column of flame that neither burned nor radiated heat erupted from the landing’s flagstones, leaving a purple-robed figure in its wake. The purple robe bore gold runes on the cuffs of the sleeves and the cowl of the hood, and inside the hood, a deep, impenetrable shadow obscured the figure’s face. All that could be seen were two eyes the color of open flame, whose pupils were vertical slits.
“It has been some time, Kirloth,” Nathrac said, and both Gavin and Declan felt the resonance of his voice in their very bones. “Why do you seek me?”
“May I still call upon that boon?” Gavin asked.
Nathrac nodded once. “You have yet to do so. How would you use it?”
“Tel Mivar needs its garrison, and if you will allow me, I will spend the boon to activate it.”
“Never in the history of Tel has any provincial capital activated its garrison,” Nathrac said. “What brings you to make this request?”
“That’s a bit of a long story,” Gavin said. “Do you have time?”
Nathrac allowed himself a brief chuckle, saying, “If you only knew how much time I have…”
“Okay, then,” Gavin said and proceeded to explain the crisis the Society-and possibly the entire Kingdom-faced: the evidence of Sivas’s plot, the Council’s inaction, the Conclave’s activation of Article 35…all of it.
Nathrac remained silent through the entire recitation, focused on Gavin’s narrative. When Gavin finished at last, Nathrac said, “You would use your boon on behalf of the people? Even when that boon might very well save your life or the life of someone you love in the future? You cannot rely on Ovir always being available.”
“Nathrac, these people are innocent bystanders in all of this,” Gavin said and gave a light chuckle as a statement floated up out of the fog at the fringes of his mind. “They don’t have a dog in this fight. The people of Tel Mivar need to be protected, and we don’t have the forces to ensure the city’s safety and meet that mercenary army in the field, well away from everyone. I need your help, Nathrac.”
Nathrac stood in silence for several moments before he said, “Know this, young one. Were it not for oaths I swore in ages long ago, I would join you in the field; long has it been since I took part in a righteous battle.”
Nathrac reached out his left hand to Gavin and opened his fingers. The first thing Gavin noticed was that the skin of Nathrac’s hand looked more like scales than flesh, the fingernails almost scaled-down claws. In the palm of Nathrac’s hand rested a tooth the size of Gavin’s palm, and Declan stifled a gasp when he saw it.
“Use this to summon me,” Nathrac said, “when the time comes to activate the city’s garrison.”
Chapter 55
Gavin threw open the door of the Conclave meeting room, and every head turned to look when it struck its stop. Gavin saw curiosity, hope, concern, and regard all mixed throughout the expressions that faced him. He strode across the room with Declan at his shoulder and stopped when he reached the table. He saw that his chair still lay upon its back, but Gavin didn’t care; he’d deal with it in a moment.
“Well?” Lyssa asked. “We’ve figured out how to protect those soldiers who would follow us. It’s your turn now; how will we defend the city and meet the mercenaries in the field?”
Gavin held out his hand, the tooth given to him by Nathrac dominating his palm. Everyone looked to Gavin’s hand, their eyes widening.
“Where did you get that?” Lyssa asked. “Do you have any idea what you hold?”
“I’m pretty sure it’s a tooth, Lyssa,” Gavin said.
“That’s not just any tooth, Gavin. That’s a dragon’s tooth. Where did you get it?”
“Nathrac gave it to me,” Gavin said. “I’m to use it to summon him to activate the city’s garrison when the time comes.”
Lyssa relaxed, saying, “Ah, okay then. That makes sense.”
Now, everyone else looked to Lyssa.
“How does it make sense that the Chief of the Citadel Guard gave Gavin a dragon’s tooth?” Torval asked.
“Because Nathrac’s a dragon,” Lyssa said. “He and his hatch-mate Myrathsis led the dragon contingent of the Army of Valthon during the Godswar. He and Kirloth were close friends.”
“When he gave me this, he said he’d join us in the field, were it not for his oaths,” Gavin said.
“You must have impressed him to a great degree, Gavin,” Lyssa said. “The dragons were known for viewing the shorter-lived races as little more than petulant children.”
Gavin let that sink in for a moment before he scanned the faces at the table, saying, “Okay…now, it’s your turn. How do we protect the soldiers who choose to follow us?”
“As Royal Priest of Tel,” Ovir said, “I have the authority to conscript soldiers in times of crisis. The only provision is that the authority is voided if there is an Archmagister. I honestly should’ve thought of it sooner, but this is the first time since the Founding that the conditions apply.”
“You’re certain this will work?” Gavin asked.
Ovir nodded, saying, “Absolutely. Everything is spelled out in Article 12 of the Constitution of Tel.”
Gavin blinked and said, “Seriously? There’s an article of the Constitution that grants you the authority to conscript and field an army if there’s no sitting Archmagister?”
“Yes. Do you want to read it?”
“Not at all. If I can’t trust you, Ovir, I’m not sure who I could trust,” Gavin said and fell silent as he ran through everything in his mind. Garrison, check. Leadership, check. Sufficient troops, check. “Well then…it looks like all that’s left is to gather our forces.”