far from Kortran, and I’d imagine the titans give them some considerable amount of trouble.”
“Considerable is understating it,” Cora said, leaning back in her seat, her cloak spilling open to reveal robes of the deepest blue, more cerulean than her dark cloak. “What resources we harvest are sent back to the Heia Pass in convoys that only made it roughly one out of five times, until recently.”
“Good gods,” J’anda murmured.
“Why keep sending them, then?” Vaste asked.
“Because they have to pay their taxes,” Nyad said, drawing every eye in the room. “They’re a protectorate of the Elven Kingdom. It is required.”
“They don’t sound terribly protected,” Vaste said.
“We’re not,” Cora agreed, looking quite comfortable where she sat. “We live under constant threat. The only reason the titans have not destroyed us utterly is that the town of Amti remains safely hidden.” She drew a sharp breath then let it out in a hiss. “But I do not believe it will remain so for much longer.”
“You have traitors,” Cyrus said, and she snapped around to look at him.
Cora watched him carefully, as though she could read his thoughts. “Know that, do you?”
“The last time I was in Kortran,” Cyrus said, “we caught an elf named Erart there. He claimed to be a prisoner.”
“Good memory, remembering his name like that,” Vaste said. “I confess I’m surprised; as many times as you’ve died and been resurrected, I’m surprised you didn’t lose that trivial bit of knowledge.”
Cyrus felt a sudden tightness in his chest. “It doesn’t seem to be the trivial bits of knowledge that are lost in resurrection.” He shifted his gaze back to Cora. “Have there been others?”
“Probably,” she said. “Captives from the caravans we send that are ambushed, desperately seeking to survive in any way they can. Frustrated outcasts searching out favor they will never find from the titans.”
“How have they not betrayed you yet?” Cyrus asked. “Being in Kortran, as prisoners or traitors—it would seem they’d have to give away your secret.”
“No,” she said, looking just a bit proud, though it was mixed with a coyness that Cyrus found strangely compelling. “They can’t.”
“Why’s that?” Longwell asked, sounding thoroughly irritated.
“Because they don’t know exactly where Amti is,” Cora said, matching Longwell’s fire with her own ice. Cyrus watched as the dragoon sat back, seemingly halted in his advance.
“Why have you come to us now?” Cyrus asked. A pop in the fire to his side punctuated his question.
Cora let a poignant silence linger a moment longer than necessary before speaking. “When I left this guild, it was scarcely more than a hundred people on a good day.” She swept her gaze around the Council Chambers once more. “Now I hear you have over twenty thousand at your command.” The number prickled at Cyrus. It would have been more if not for Leaugarden. “Before, Sanctuary was hardly a bulwark against anything, let alone an army capable of rendering the sort of aid that Alaric promised in our purpose when we founded this guild.” She pursed her lips carefully, and glanced at Vara, who remained silent but flushed just slightly enough that Cyrus detected the quiet something that passed between them. “Now you’ve become the fulfillment of that promise, and Alaric is no longer here to see it. A great regret, I am sure.”
“You seek our aid in your cause,” Cyrus said, and she met his eyes with her own, and her meaning was made plain.
“I would seek any aid I could find at this point,” Cora said, unsmiling, “but the rest of Arkaria is painfully thin on help. The King of the Elves would draw a line at the Heia Mountains, the River Perda, and the swamps of the north, and desire to pay attention to none of what goes on beyond those boundaries, even though he supposedly rules us in Amti. She looked pointedly at Nyad, who flushed and
“Considerable is understating it,” Cora said, leaning back in her seat, her cloak spilling open to reveal robes of the deepest blue, more cerulean than her dark cloak. “What resources we harvest are sent back to the Heia Pass in convoys that only made it roughly one out of five times, until recently.”
“Good gods,” J’anda murmured.
“Why keep sending them, then?” Vaste asked.
“Because they have to pay their taxes,” Nyad said, drawing every eye in the room. “They’re a protectorate of the Elven Kingdom. It is required.”
“They don’t sound terribly protected,” Vaste said.
“We’re not,” Cora agreed, looking quite comfortable where she sat. “We live under constant threat. The only reason the titans have not destroyed us utterly is that the town of Amti remains safely hidden.” She drew a sharp breath then let it out in a hiss. “But I do not believe it will remain so for much longer.”
“You have traitors,” Cyrus said, and she snapped around to look at him.
Cora watched him carefully, as though she could read his thoughts. “Know that, do you?”
“The last time I was in Kortran,” Cyrus said, “we caught an elf named Erart there. He claimed to be a prisoner.”
“Good memory, remembering his name like that,” Vaste said. “I confess I’m surprised; as many times as you’ve died and been resurrected, I’m surprised you didn’t lose that trivial bit of knowledge.”
Cyrus felt a sudden tightness in his chest. “It doesn’t seem to be the trivial bits of knowledge that are lost in resurrection.” He shifted his gaze back to Cora. “Have there been others?”
“Probably,” she said. “Captives from the caravans we send that are ambushed, desperately seeking to survive in any way they can. Frustrated outcasts searching out favor they will never find from the titans.”
“How have they not betrayed you yet?” Cyrus asked. “Being in Kortran, as prisoners or traitors—it would seem they’d have to give away your secret.”
“No,” she said, looking just a bit proud, though it was mixed with a coyness that Cyrus found strangely compelling. “They can’t.”
“Why’s that?” Longwell asked, sounding thoroughly irritated.
“Because they don’t know exactly where Amti is,” Cora said, matching Longwell’s fire with her own ice. Cyrus watched as the dragoon sat back, seemingly halted in his advance.
“Why have you come to us now?” Cyrus asked. A pop in the fire to his side punctuated his question.
Cora let a poignant silence linger a moment longer than necessary before speaking. “When I left this guild, it was scarcely more than a hundred people on a good day.” She swept her gaze around the Council Chambers once more. “Now I hear you have over twenty thousand at your command.” The number prickled at Cyrus. It would have been more if not for Leaugarden. “Before, Sanctuary was hardly a bulwark against anything, let alone an army capable of rendering the sort of aid that Alaric promised in our purpose when we founded this guild.” She pursed her lips carefully, and glanced at Vara, who remained silent but flushed just slightly enough that Cyrus detected the quiet something that passed between them. “Now you’ve become the fulfillment of that promise, and Alaric is no longer here to see it. A great regret, I am sure.”
“You seek our aid in your cause,” Cyrus said, and she met his eyes with her own, and her meaning was made plain.
“I would seek any aid I could find at this point,” Cora said, unsmiling, “but the rest of Arkaria is painfully thin on help. The King of the Elves would draw a line at the Heia Mountains, the River Perda, and the swamps of the north, and desire to pay attention to none of what goes on beyond those boundaries, even though he supposedly rules us in Amti. She looked pointedly at Nyad, who flushed and
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