The Lord of Frake's Peak (The Bastard Cadre Book 4) Page 10

  “Consider this pre-dinner drinks where we all mingle and get acquainted before the main course. We’ve already learned about Warwick’s impatient tendencies and inability to stick to a deal. Marlan has shown us once again that he is honorable to a fault and will stay true to a deal long after it should be abandoned if he has given his precious word. I thought you were immortal, but…” Fahlim trailed off.

  His irritation showing, Valan said, “I am above immortality.”

  “Oh, excuse me, I didn’t realize I was in the presence of a deity,” Fahlim said.

  “I’m not a deity.”

  “But you’re above immortality?”

  Valan nodded. “Correct, now if we can move on, there really are—”

  “Mortal. Immortal. God. That’s all there is, nothing else,” Fahlim said.

  “There is always more,” Valan said. “Immortals never learn. You’re destined to repeat your mistakes over and over again, never learning, never growing, never happy. You’re all caricatures of the people you were on the day you cast aside your mortality. In reaching for everything, you have ensured that you will never have anything. I learn. I have evolved above immortality.”

  “Oh, I’m fairly happy,” Fahlim said. “Stuck in the mud like a pig. You know, there was a time, a couple of centuries ago, I was in a Balimarian brothel, bless the Dreamer, but those whores know their trade.”

  Valan said, “Momentary pleasure is not happiness.”

  “Oh, I disagree entirely,” Fahlim said, “You see the trick is to stack momentary pleasure on top of momentary pleasure. It’s possible to keep it going indefinitely with practice. But that isn’t the point of my little story. You see, you were there in that Balimarian brothel. We had a lengthy exchange you and I. You appeared much older than you are today. An old man, with a long gray beard and a shiny, bald head. I see you don’t remember me. Oh, don’t scowl, it makes you look positively wolfish. So while I am destined to remain a caricature who never learns anything, I do remember. Who is better off, I wonder? The mortals, with their short and insignificant lives filled with opportunities for learning and growth and momentary pleasure that mostly go squandered. Myself and other immortals, as you say destined to stay the same forever, never changing, never learning. Or you, growing older and inexplicably younger, learning all the while, but forgetting. I’ll have to think hard on the secrets you shared that day in Balimar. Your tongue was very loose. The whores entertaining you were very bold. I wonder, will any of the secrets you shared that day come back to haunt you today?”

  Valan looked at Fahlim for long seconds after he had stopped talking. Finally, he asked, “Finished?”

  “Never. But I apologize for the interruption, please continue.”

  Fahlim stepped back to stand with Vincent. Obdurin looked calmer now.

  “You’re both wrong,” Doran said from her place beside Corsari. “Death is a doorway. Mortal lives may seem short and wasted to you, but it’s you who have wasted the real opportunities life brings by trapping yourselves in this one realm. You have my sympathy and my sorrow.”

  The room was silent until Fahlim said, “Oh my, what a strange little girl you are.”

  “Enough of this,” Warwick shouted. He turned to Lord Obdurin. “Old man, your time is over. You won’t leave this place alive. If you give me Rhysin’s heart willingly, I will let your people live. If I have to take it by force, they will all die.”

  Siaveen stepped forward, her cadre shadowing her.

  Warwick scowled at Marlan, “It’s time to prove where you stand, ally.”

  Marlan said, “Please, let’s at least pretend to be civilized.”

  “No,” Fahlim said. “Incredibly, the brute is correct. We can dance around it all we like, but Lord Obdurin’s time has come. As you said,” Fahlim inclined his head toward Warwick, “Rhysin compelled Obdurin to come here so that you could take the God’s heart.”

  Warwick nodded once with righteous satisfaction.

  “Fahlim, don’t betray me now,” Obdurin said.

  “I am sorry, old friend, but it does rather seem your time is up.”

  Obdurin sank back into his chair. Vincent glanced at Warwick and thought, He’s buying it.

  “This may save you,” Warwick told Fahlim.

  The immortal chuckled, “Alas, I’m not looking to be saved, I make a terrible damsel in distress. I can’t keep my mouth shut. Anyway, we are here, are we not, to establish a new peace in Central Newterra? With Warwick and Rarick holding Rhyne and Damar, and with Marlan supporting them from Turintar. That is your proposal, is it not?”

  Marlan nodded. “It is.”

  Fahlim continued, “Then consider this, if peace is what you truly seek, the tone of a lord’s reign is set in the moment he seizes power. A lord who claimed his God’s heart through subterfuge will likely rule the same way, a lord who claimed power through force of arms will rule the same way.”

  Warwick said, “I will be a strong lord. I will take Rhysin’s heart.”

  “Wait, the best is still to come,” Fahlim said. “A lord whose worth is recognized by his predecessor will have his worth recognized by his people. In the history of the Chosen, there have been thirty-one Chosen who succeeded with their predecessor’s blessing and support, and every one of them had a long and successful reign.”

  Obdurin asked, “Fahlim, why are you doing this?”

  Fahlim shrugged. “I’m afraid the writing is on the wall, old friend. You have always strived for peace. Peace at any price, remember? It seems now you can achieve that peace, but the price—”

  Obdurin held up a hand and nodded. “I need time to consider.”

  He believes them, Vincent thought, looking at Warwick. Give him Rhysin’s heart? The idea was ludicrous.

  “No. We have wasted enough time,” Warwick said.

  “If you want my blessing, you will give me all the time I ask for,” Obdurin said.

  “No.” Warwick shook his head stubbornly.

  “You can have the day if you require it,” Marlan said.

  “Why the delay?” Warwick demanded.

  “That man is about to hand you Rhysin’s heart,” Valan said. “He understands the importance of getting this right and needs time to prepare. Have some respect.”

  Ethan barked a sour laugh and demanded, “Respect?”

  Valan looked across the room at Ethan and said, “Yes. Respect. I wish none of this were necessary, but this land has suffered enough. If we do not make peace now, it will be too late for those of us who survived the cleansing.”

  Ethan stepped forward. “You don’t care about peace.”

  “I am sorry, but this is the only way. There must be an alliance between the Chosen of Central Newterra,” Valan said.

  “No!” Ethan snapped, his fists were clenched at his sides, and his eyes blazed.

  “It all comes down to the choices we make,” Valan said. “We choose one thing or another, but we must choose, and so today we choose peace. Choice, Ethan. Choices are hard, you know that. Some choices are harder than others, but they have to be made, and we have to live with the consequences.”

  “Stop talking now,” Ethan said.

  “I wonder, is it easier to live with the choices other people make than to blame ourselves for the consequences of our choices?” Valan said.

  “Valan, I advise you to stop this,” Obdurin said.

  “Would it be easier, Ethan?” Valan asked “Would you prefer somebody else had made the choice between lord and wife for you? Would Maria’s death be easier to live with if it had been somebody else’s choice that killed her?”

  Ethan roared as he dived across the table. He crashed into Valan, and they tumbled backward off his chair onto the conference room floor. Ethan landed on top and struck Valan a resounding blow with his clenched fist.

  Warwick jumped to his feet from his chair and cheered loudly. His eyes were wide and eager.

  Lord Marlan’s male first-sworn stepped toward the struggle on the c
onference room floor, but in a bored tone Lord Marlan said, “I think we can let these two sort things out for themselves.” Looking around the room, Marlan found Fahlim and asked, “Will you join me for a drink?”

  “Later perhaps. I’m interested to see where this goes. It’s strange, but I don’t know who to cheer for.”

  Ethan had landed several more blows against Valan, but Valan managed to throw Ethan off and get to his feet. The left side of his face was already swollen and bloody.

  Ethan stood up breathing hard, his attention focused on Valan.

  Valan backed away taking advantage of the wide conference room. He pulled open the leather collar he wore and loosened his shirt. There was a twisted scar around his neck.

  “This is about to get interesting,” Fahlim told Vincent.

  Vincent glanced at the immortal but quickly turned his attention back to the fight.

  “Your little dog doesn’t frighten me,” Ethan said.

  Valan shifted. His leather clothes dropped to the floor, and Valan disappeared.

  Vincent stepped forward to see past the table. A snarling wolf jumped at Ethan, but Ethan was ready and met the wolf’s charge. He picked up a chair and swung it like a club knocking the wolf off course. The wolf turned and came at Ethan a second time, teeth snapping. Ethan swung the chair again and connected with the wolf’s head, but Valan took the blow and sank his teeth into Ethan’s left forearm.

  Fahlim winced and said, “Foolish.”

  Ethan dropped the chair but hammered the wolf with his clenched right fist. The wolf shook Ethan’s arm, but Ethan didn’t seem affected by the dualist’s teeth. He landed three heavy blows against the wolf and eventually the wolf released his arm and backed away.

  “Valan really ought to know better,” Fahlim said.

  “What are you talking about?” Vincent asked.

  Ethan charged the wolf, barreling forward. The wolf tried to dodge him, but Ethan was quick and caught him.

  “He’s worked with Ethan before. Valan should know Ethan can’t be hurt. He can’t be stopped once he gets going. Anything short of a fatal wound will just make him angry.”

  Ethan collided into the conference room wall with the wolf trapped between himself and the wall. There was a crunch of bones, and the wolf whimpered a low broken sound. Ethan stepped back from the wolf and looked down at it, then drove his right boot into the beast.

  “Enough!” Lord Obdurin snapped.

  Ethan took another swing, and the wolf whimpered again.

  Marlan looked at his bondsan and nodded in Valan’s direction. Three members of the cadre stepped forward to intervene.

  Ethan kicked the wolf one more time, then stepped back and said, “I’m done.” He walked around the conference table past Warwick who grinned and looked like he might clap Ethan on the shoulder in congratulations until Ethan glared at him.

  Two bondsan picked the wolf up. It was badly injured, and one of its hind legs hung at the wrong angle. They carried Valan from the room. Lord Marlan and Warwick went to the door. Marlan said, “You have one hour.”

  Warwick looked back at Obdurin, then followed Marlan and his cadre of bondsan from the conference room.

  The room was silent for a minute. Ethan breathed hard, but he looked more relaxed and less angry than Vincent had seen him before.

  Obdurin said, “You shouldn’t let Valan goad you like that, Ethan. It has been six months since Maria’s death. I need you to come back to me. Stop and think once in a while.”

  Ethan looked at Obdurin and wiped blood from his knuckles onto his shirt.

  “Siaveen, please guard the entrance,” Obdurin said.

  Siaveen nodded once and then her entire cadre left the conference room, closing the door behind them.

  Obdurin stood up from his chair and wandered toward the back of the room, his head bowed in thought.

  12

  Perspective

  Lord Obdurin had been pacing for ten minutes when Sorros approached Vincent and said, “I owe you an apology.”

  Vincent had retreated to stand against a wall away from the rest of the company. His mind kept cycling back to the question of what Lord Obdurin had planned for Lord Marlan.

  Why are we here?

  Fahlim’s words had stayed with him, and they bothered him. You have a kinship with the Gods.

  I am not my father. I will not take a God’s heart.

  Each time Vincent had repeated the phrase to himself his resentment grew. Was that why he was there? Is that what Lord Obdurin had planned for him? To become a Chosen? It was too ludicrous for words and yet...

  I am not my father. I will not take a God’s heart.

  Perhaps Obdurin thought, like Pete and Fahlim, that his connection to Rhysin made him a likely candidate to become a Chosen.

  He’d been about to storm across the conference room and tell Lord Obdurin that he wouldn’t do it, that he wasn’t his father, that he would never take a God’s heart, but as he emerged from his introspection, he noticed other people around the room lost in their own reveries.

  Only Pete had seemed alert.

  Vincent had watched as the burly soldier moved from person to person provoking and insulting them back into shared reality.

  “Is that why you’re so fat?” Pete had asked Fahlim. At Fahlim’s confused expression, Pete had continued, “It’s always confused me why somebody would choose to be so fat. There are plenty of ways to not be fat. A single vial of nanos would do it, and yet here you are, almost as wide as you are tall.”

  “What are you talking about?” Fahlim had asked in a groggy tone.

  “Are you fat because you were fat on the day you became immortal?”

  Fahlim had straightened and said, “Don’t listen to the Wolf, Peter. Next you’ll be kneeling at his feet and believing he really is a deity.”

  With Fahlim aware, Pete had approached Corsari and asked her why she wore that silly armor. “You’re a good-looking woman, and this might be our last day. How about it?”

  “You’re disgusting,” Corsari had told him.

  Pete had grinned. “I try. Hey, Green. What the fuck are you looking at?”

  Vincent had replied, “I’m just admiring your way with women.”

  Pete’s grin didn’t waver. “Hey, Walden...”

  Vincent came back to the present and looked at Sorros.

  “That’s Turin’s influence you can feel,” Sorros said.

  “Turin?” Vincent was momentarily confused, but he shook it off. “Marlan’s God, of course.” Vincent wondered why he hadn’t expected that. They were in Turintar. It stood to reason that Turin’s presence would influence them all.

  “Why do you owe me an apology?” Vincent asked.

  Vincent hadn’t seen the immortal fight during Warwick’s attack in the throne room, he hadn’t seen him at all thanks to the sorcerous mist, but there was blood on the sleeve of the immortal’s shirt, and Sorros wasn’t injured.

  “In proving my intentions regarding Lord Obdurin and Rhysin’s heart, it was necessary to prove my abilities,” Sorros said.

  “You might want to speak to Ethan Godkin about that.”

  “I will.” Sorros held out his hand. Vincent accepted it and shook, but Sorros squeezed tight and pulled him close. Something pressed into the palm of Vincent’s hand.

  “What are you doing?” Vincent tried to pull away, but the immortal was much stronger than he looked. Vincent relaxed and positioned the object, whatever it was so that it would be concealed from the cameras in the room when they let go of each other.

  “Apologizing,” Sorros said.

  Still gripping the hand, Vincent said, “Accepted.”

  Sorros smiled and let go. “This is a beautiful old building.”

  Vincent pushed his hands into his pockets to examine the object by touch. It was a thin flexible strip about half the length of his little finger. It was sticky on one side. He positioned the strip along his index finger, sticky side away from his skin, and hel
d it in place with his thumb.

  “How old is it?” Vincent asked.

  “Half a millennium. It was built not long after the True Gods came back.”

  “Came back?” Vincent asked. “The True Gods weren’t here before.”

  “They’ve been here many times,” Sorros said.

  As the immortal spoke, Vincent rubbed his face with both hands as though he were tired. He moved his hands back from his face over his ears and pressed the strip into place behind his right ear.

  Sorros’s voice sounded in his ear. A bit dramatic, but it’ll do.

  The immortal’s lips didn’t move.

  “How many times have the Gods been here?” Vincent asked, annoyed with the criticism.

  The subvocal pickup will transmit your words to me. The algorithm needs you to say something so it can get the pattern straight. Out loud the immortal said, “Dozens of times. I don’t really know.”

  “Dozens?” Vincent asked. “That doesn’t seem likely. There should be records to prove that.”

  “There are records when you know where to look...” Sorros said.

  Vincent had used subvocal transmitters before, but speaking without making a sound or moving your mouth always took a bit of getting used to. He tried.

  Is that true? The True Gods have been here before?

  “...but for the most part, people have simply forgotten,” Sorros said.

  “We don’t all live as long as you have,” Vincent said. Silently he asked, What’s this all about?

  There, got you. I have need of your talent, Vincent.

  Skimming? There are cameras all over this room. We can’t go anywhere without being seen.

  “Immortals make lousy historians,” Sorros said, continuing the audible conversation. “We assume our memories are infallible, but they’re not. Immortal historians rely too much on their personal recollections and understanding of events.” Silently, he asked, Why do you think they made Gordon Chi’Obdurin Bondsan leave?

  “Memories of little things might change, but we remember the important things,” Vincent said. Silently, he added, For the same reason they made Ulri and his cadre leave. They want us trapped and unprotected.