The side with the shiniest armor looked like they were cutting through the remnants of Fottergrim's orcs with the ease of a hot knife through sealing wax.
"I don't understand," Sanval said.
"Wait until we meet with the Thultyrl. I don't suppose he'll have much interest in over there."
"Over there where?"
Ivy shrugged and pointed over her shoulder with her thumb. "There. What's left of Tsurlagol and what's left underneath. Might even find you better armor."
Sanval stared down at himself, noting sadly the bits of badly dented leg guards that were all that was left of his once-fine equipment. "Almost any armor would be better than this."
"Uh-huh. Digging rights, I'm thinking," Ivy said.
Sanval still looked confused, but asked no more questions.
The Thultyrl was going to be pleased, generous even. Ivy knew it. And his steward, that officious Beriall, would never notice one more little expense tucked into their bill. After all, she had so very many expenses to put down.
"Going to go find the best-looking healer in the camp," repeated Ivy, striding across the fields to the tents of Procampur. Every bone and muscle in her body ached. She had bruises on top of bruises. She did not care. She walked as if the world did not own her-better than that, she strode as if the world owed her one very large payment for a job well done.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Tsurlagol was once again a free city, and Ivy stood before the Thultyrl in clean boots. Actually, extremely well-polished boots. While a terrifically handsome cleric soothed and mended all her aches and pains, the oddest little man by the name of Godolfin had arrived to confiscate all her clothing. He had returned with every item clean, brushed, mended, and polished to a bright gleam where possible. Then he had hustled her off to a private bath (really, it was amazing what Procampur nobles managed to drag to war with them), full of hot water and scented oils, so she felt personally polished. Her blonde hair was a bright golden banner, floating free from a high crest drawn up to the top of her head. And there wasn't a bruise anywhere on her body. The healing that she had gotten from the Procampur cleric with the lovely, lovely hands was worth every single coin that she had donated to his temple. And he had promised to say a couple of prayers for her too, just a few little thanks that she felt she owed the gods.
The rest of the Siegebreakers were looking equally well-scrubbed, she noticed when she met them outside the Thultyrl's pavilion. Even Wiggles looked like she had been washed and brushed. Sanval, of course, was beautifully turned out in a pure white linen shirt, well-fitted cloth breeches, and a different but gorgeously polished pair of boots. His hair had been combed down into a gleaming mass of black curls, but Ivy was pleased to note that one curl was still defiantly going in the opposite direction of its fellows.
Flanked by an honor guard drawn from the Forty, Ivy was led before the Thultyrl, who immediately chided her for not letting him know sooner about her plans to bring down the western wall of Tsurlagol.
She told him that they had been a bit busy that day or they would have sent him a message.
"So everything happened exactly as you planned?" questioned the Thultyrl.
"Certainly it did," Ivy said. If her plans had swerved off course a bit, what did that matter, and who needed to know? All ended at the desired outcome.
"Lady, we are most pleased," said the Thultyrl.
"And we are pleased that the Thultyrl is pleased," answered Ivy. She was, too. There was enough gold stuffed in the bottom of their bags to pay for a new barn roof and maybe a bit to spare. Still, the farm could use a few more improvements. A bigger kennel for Mumchance's dogs, thought Ivy, set very far from the house. Ivy looked back to the walls of Tsurlagol. The rubble of the western wall formed a ragged gap in the city's defenses. She smiled as she turned to the Thultyrl.
"Sire, can I assume that the treasury of Tsurlagol will cover the rebuilding of the city's defenses? After all, if the wall is left like that, the first wandering band of brigands or underpaid mercenaries…"
"Will dance right through the gap and set up camp in the center of the city," said Mumchance.
"And given the treaties that we hold with the city…" added Sanval.
The Thultyrl exchanged a fleeting look with his steward Beriall. It was a glance that said "this is going to be expensive." Ivy smiled very sweetly.
"This is what you get when you hire mercenaries," said Beriall, who had been a bit vocally bitter about the amount of gold that Ivy had already collected from him.
"Still, they have been most effective in carrying out your wishes," added the Pearl with an elegant roll of her shoulders that stopped just short of a shrug. She was dressed all in palest blue today, with her namesake jewels stitched into elaborate patterns on her long robe. Long metal guards of enameled silver covered her fingernails and winked in the sunlight when she gestured with one elegant hand.
"Quite so," said the Thultyrl. "Do we understand that you are wall builders as well as wall breakers?"
"Well, it takes a larger crew, but once we bring the harvest in, we could pull more people from our farm," stated Ivy. "We could hire from the city too. After a siege, there are always people needing work. That way you would be giving some of the wealth of Tsurlagol's treasury back to Tsurlagol's people. A popular thing to do, I would think."
"Does a Thultyrl need to be popular?" asked the Thultyrl.
"You already are," answered the Pearl. "But it would be a kindness to give some of Tsurlagol's wealth to those who labor hardest and best with their hands."
The Thultyrl nodded.
"Mimeri would love to travel," suggested Gunderal. "She is so good with stone spells."
Sanval cocked an eyebrow at Ivy, and she hissed back, "Youngest sister. She gets it from her mother's side of the family."
"And her mother was?"
"I'll explain to you later."
"I was thinking of flying buttresses on the west side," continued Mumchance, drawing plans in the dirt with the tip of his sword.
"Ground is too flat," said Kid, scuffing a few lines with an edge of his hoof.
"Good thinking. Dry moat," replied Mumchance. "Maybe two. At an angle. To baffle any stonethrower from coming close to the walls."
"Such tricks will not stop a wizard, dear sir," said Kid.
"A couple of glyphs. Something subtle." One old dwarf and one cloven-hoofed thief bent their heads together to contemplate the designs etched in the dirt, oblivious of the others watching them.
"Fascinating," said the Thultyrl. "Truly fascinating. Lady, you may bring Beriall your plans; we shall leave him as steward of Tsurlagol until the city is ready to govern itself. But we think that there are other matters which must be settled first."
One of those matters was a dripping trophy now prominently displayed before the Thultyrl's chair.
"And what do you want done with that?" sniffed Beriall. One of the Forty had dug out the big orc's body from the wreckage of the wall and hacked the head off, bringing it back as a trophy.
The Thultyrl bent forward, wincing a little from his healing wound, and stared into the dead eyes of the creature that had so disrupted his life. For the first time, the two were close enough to touch-the dead leader of the last remnant of the Black Horde, and the man who had never wanted to go to war. In profile, there was a certain grim resemblance between the two. It was, decided Ivy, the bare-toothed smile. Fottergrim's lips were curled up over his big fangs, as if he were still snarling insults from the top of the walls, and the Thultyrl's upper lip curled in an unconscious imitation of his foe.
"We will display it," declared the Thultyrl, straightening up. His face relaxed into the more charming smile that he typically wore. "A reminder to those who break the peace in Procampur or Tsurlagol."