windowsill. “The king said I was to try and broach a peace treaty with Altis. I take it things are well past that?”
Arlind took a long swig from her mug and then replied, “There was hope that you could help convince them not to attack us. If that failed, you would be used as a hostage to barter for more time. We are being blunt, ambassador.”
“You have not studied my people, have you?” demanded Therec, turning on the three magisters. “My people would not do this. Even if they could or would do it, my life means nothing in the face of a war. They would tear these walls down without hesitation, and afterwards, they would find my body to give it an honorable ending. Preserving my life would be the last thing they would even consider. My own family would kill me if it meant saving the clan.”
“We know,” Dorus answered ruefully, putting his pipe in his mouth. “The king did not believe us. We were actually hoping that you might have more insight than we did, but we’re not diplomats. We were dreading even asking and wanted to try to bring an end to this on our own.”
“Thus the king thought you were questioning him,” noted Therec.
“And so, we are your bloody traitors,” Arlind muttered, holding her mug up in a mock toast. “Traitors for trying to gain an ally, not a hostage.”
Prying himself away from the window and stumbling across the room, Therec leaned on the back of the chair he had been sitting in when the rumbling steps of the giant golems had shaken the room. One by one, he studied the faces of the magisters, searching them for anything that he might be able to use. What he saw in each was desperation. That, he understood.
“Take me to the front lines,” Therec asked the group, drawing confused glances from all of them. “I need to see what we’re up against. I need to know my people did not do this and find out more about the magic in use out there. How close can you get me?”
*
By mid-afternoon, Therec stood just north of town with two of the magisters and nearly two hundred soldiers at their back.
Whatever Kinet and the others had told the king had been motivational, Therec had to admit. The soldiers had been mobilized faster than the two magisters had been able to ready themselves. During the short wait, Therec sat on a loaned horse just outside the northern edge of town, watching the golems in the distance. From the ground, he could not see the undead army, but the golems could be seen for miles.
“You sure you wanna to go there?” Arlind asked gruffly, sitting atop a pony that looked as though it had been bred for war. The dwarven woman glared at Therec every time she looked his way. “It’s a good way to get killed.”
Therec smiled, still staring at the golems. “You’re afraid I might decide to change sides?”
“Once a necromancer, always one. I don’t give three shits which side you’re on, you’re still a necromancer.”
“I did not claim to stop being one, nor would I even consider it. Among my people, it is an honor, not a disgrace. They call me a preserver, though.”
Arlind spit on the ground, in what Therec had begun to believe was the local custom for even mentioning his profession in public. Yet another crude example of how these people lived, so far from Turessi. Then again, spit would have frozen in seconds during most of the year in his homeland. He also had to keep in mind that Arlind was from an even more crude people than Lantonne. The dwarves were hardly known for manners.
“Just remember that you’re supposed to be proving that your people are misunderstood,” Arlind told him gruffly, watching him with what Therec interpreted to be disgust. “Whether your people are helping that army out there or not changes little for me. All I think it really changes is whether the king sends those golems farther north once we’ve taken down Altis.”
“You’re threatening to invade Turessi?”
The dwarven woman squinted at him, saying,
Arlind took a long swig from her mug and then replied, “There was hope that you could help convince them not to attack us. If that failed, you would be used as a hostage to barter for more time. We are being blunt, ambassador.”
“You have not studied my people, have you?” demanded Therec, turning on the three magisters. “My people would not do this. Even if they could or would do it, my life means nothing in the face of a war. They would tear these walls down without hesitation, and afterwards, they would find my body to give it an honorable ending. Preserving my life would be the last thing they would even consider. My own family would kill me if it meant saving the clan.”
“We know,” Dorus answered ruefully, putting his pipe in his mouth. “The king did not believe us. We were actually hoping that you might have more insight than we did, but we’re not diplomats. We were dreading even asking and wanted to try to bring an end to this on our own.”
“Thus the king thought you were questioning him,” noted Therec.
“And so, we are your bloody traitors,” Arlind muttered, holding her mug up in a mock toast. “Traitors for trying to gain an ally, not a hostage.”
Prying himself away from the window and stumbling across the room, Therec leaned on the back of the chair he had been sitting in when the rumbling steps of the giant golems had shaken the room. One by one, he studied the faces of the magisters, searching them for anything that he might be able to use. What he saw in each was desperation. That, he understood.
“Take me to the front lines,” Therec asked the group, drawing confused glances from all of them. “I need to see what we’re up against. I need to know my people did not do this and find out more about the magic in use out there. How close can you get me?”
*
By mid-afternoon, Therec stood just north of town with two of the magisters and nearly two hundred soldiers at their back.
Whatever Kinet and the others had told the king had been motivational, Therec had to admit. The soldiers had been mobilized faster than the two magisters had been able to ready themselves. During the short wait, Therec sat on a loaned horse just outside the northern edge of town, watching the golems in the distance. From the ground, he could not see the undead army, but the golems could be seen for miles.
“You sure you wanna to go there?” Arlind asked gruffly, sitting atop a pony that looked as though it had been bred for war. The dwarven woman glared at Therec every time she looked his way. “It’s a good way to get killed.”
Therec smiled, still staring at the golems. “You’re afraid I might decide to change sides?”
“Once a necromancer, always one. I don’t give three shits which side you’re on, you’re still a necromancer.”
“I did not claim to stop being one, nor would I even consider it. Among my people, it is an honor, not a disgrace. They call me a preserver, though.”
Arlind spit on the ground, in what Therec had begun to believe was the local custom for even mentioning his profession in public. Yet another crude example of how these people lived, so far from Turessi. Then again, spit would have frozen in seconds during most of the year in his homeland. He also had to keep in mind that Arlind was from an even more crude people than Lantonne. The dwarves were hardly known for manners.
“Just remember that you’re supposed to be proving that your people are misunderstood,” Arlind told him gruffly, watching him with what Therec interpreted to be disgust. “Whether your people are helping that army out there or not changes little for me. All I think it really changes is whether the king sends those golems farther north once we’ve taken down Altis.”
“You’re threatening to invade Turessi?”
The dwarven woman squinted at him, saying,
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