“Please…a healer…help me…,” he heard Iolas whine.
Clovis’s twin voice spoke again, only this time the gruffer layer, the one that sounded much less than human, took precedence.
“Get the sniveling fool out of here. And you had best silence yourself before I decide you look too tempting not to have a taste, old elf.”
Ceredon stopped his laughing and watched as two soldiers dragged Iolas from the room. The wicked gash in his arm left a trail of blood on the floor behind him, and Clovis ogled it like a starving man eyeing a roasting chicken. The red-eyed human then returned his attention to Ceredon. He smiled, revealing a mouth that was too wide, filled with too many teeth.
“You know not whom you deal with,” the man said, only to call him a man would be sacrilege. His cheeks shifted, his ears bulged, and his forehead retreated. His every feature was in a constant state of flux, and his voice now seemed to hold no human qualities whatsoever. Ceredon squeezed his eyes shut, certain the potion he had taken was giving him illusions.
“You will learn,” that bestial voice spoke into his ear. “I will keep you alive, and you will watch them suffer for what you’ve done.”
A sharp blow landed in the center of Ceredon’s face, bringing stars to his vision. A moment later, his world went black.
CHAPTER 40
Thousands of women packed the streets of Rat Harbor. They formed a stinking horde on either side of the road as they craned their necks to watch the armor-clad soldiers march past.
Matthew waited for the soldiers in front of the same theater where he’d met with the Conningtons months before. The location was symbolic as well as strategic; if they were to accuse him of treason, which was his fear, it seemed appropriate for it to happen in front of the very place where that treason had been hatched, while keeping Karak’s representatives off-guard by meeting in a place of filth rather than the relative luxury of his estate.
Catherine squeezed his hand, and he passed her a worried glance.
“All will be fine,” she said, winking.
“How can you be so confident?” he asked.
“Because you are powerful and strong, and a worthy leader for this city.”
“Ha! A city of women and children. What a bounty.”
She smiled. “Remember who you’re speaking to, darling. And chin up. Here they come.”
Matthew turned toward the approaching soldiers, and the three billowing red cloaks who led the charge. He took a deep breath and shook his head to ease his nerves. An elbow jabbed into his left shoulder.
“Stop fidgeting,” Bren said. “You look too damn nervous. Might as well hang a sign above your head that says, ‘I done bad things.’”
“Easy for you to say. You’re not the one set to lose his head if this goes wrong.”
“Shush, both of you,” said Catherine.
I don’t know you at all, thought Matthew, a thought that had rarely left his mind since Catherine’s confession. Though she had returned to being the demure and doting wife he had always known, he could now see the layer of strength hidden just beneath her frilly garments and rouge-painted cheeks. He wondered if that strength had been there all along, and he had simply been blind to it.
The cloaked figures drew closer, and now Matthew could see their faces clearly. They were the same ones who had arrived months before to secure use of his river barges, their red robes bearing the roaring lion of Karak. They walked with their heads down and their hands clasped. The soldiers followed behind dutifully, more than two hundred of them. Matthew’s grip on his wife’s hand tightened. He peered at his remaining eighty-six sellswords, who formed a line on either side of the street in front of the gathered women, then at those standing beside him, which included his maids Penetta and Lori, and finally back to the soldiers. Moira was nowhere to be found, and his men were outnumbered more than two to one. If talks went sour, they were in trouble.
The three acolytes stopped before him, as did the soldiers, leaving ample room between them and their holy leaders. The middle acolyte lowered his hood and lifted his eyes, while his two compatriots kept theirs downcast. The one in charge was no older than sixteen, though he carried himself with poise far beyond his years.
“Master Brennan,” the acolyte said with a slight bow. “May Karak bless you on this fine day.”
Matthew nodded in return. “Yes, Noel, you are well met,” he said, hoping he remembered the name correctly.
“It is Noyle,” the acolyte said, his frown deepening. “Though I must ask you why we have gathered here in the slums rather than at your home. If I were a distrustful man, I would think you were attempting to hide something from us.”
You are no man, thought Matthew, but his lips recited the words Catherine had told him to say.
“We have nothing to hide. Holding our business here is symbolic. We are all beggars in the shadow of Karak, and I wished to demonstrate that humility to his most trusted servants.”
He bent his knee then, as did Catherine and Bren.
“Stand up, Master Brennan,” Noyle said. “Your respect is noted.”
Matthew stood once more, his knees popping in the process. Noyle stared at him, his doubt obvious in the rise of his eyebrows and the twitch of his youthful nose. In the silence that followed, it seemed the murmuring of the crowd of women climbed tenfold.
Noyle blinked first.
“You received our letter,” he said. “Have you brought all we requested with you?”
“We have,” Matthew replied. “I present to you the last eighty-six of my men, those who have guarded my estate diligently. They are yours to do with as you wish.”
“Good.” Noyle turned to address the two lines of sellswords. “You have been given a great honor, chosen to serve in the army of our Divinity and protect the ideals of the almighty Karak.”
The sellswords grumbled and shook their heads.
Noyle looked back at Matthew. “These men are to be sent up the Rigon, to join the force that has gathered in the elven city of Dezerea.”
“How will they get there?” he asked. “You conscripted our barges during your last visit.”
“At this moment, one of your barges awaits at the mouth of the Rigon. Our own representatives will escort them on their way. Now, onto the matter of our other requests…”
Matthew pointed down the crowded street. “There are fifteen wagons waiting in front of the postern gate. They contain a third of our wheat, vegetables, and salted meats, to be used in whatever way Karak requires.”
“A third is not enough. We require half of your stores.”
Matthew’s insides twisted, the dire warning of the Conningtons manifesting itself before his eyes. The part of him that wasn’t afraid, small as it was, silently applauded his decision to help them.
Catherine nudged him, and he shook himself out of his stupor.
“If half is what you require, half is what you will get,” he said.
“And what of the weapons?” asked Noyle, one eyebrow lifting.
“Weapons?” asked Matthew, a hitch in his voice.
“Yes, the weapons I requested in the letter. It is on record in Veldaren that you purchased a large cache of steel from the Connington family two years ago. We require those weapons to fight the brother god’s scourge of Paradise. The production of the northern armories has declined precipitously since most of the workers have been called into service to our Lord. Where are they?”
“We-”
“We don’t have them any longer,” said Catherine, cutting him off.
Noyle eyed her, seeming aghast that she’d had the nerve to speak.