The cruasder road, p.16
The Cruasder Road, page 16
"Thank you, Lady Tyressa."
"You'll want to bring Lekar into town and let your parents know. I'll tell them right now, but you will be back within the week, yes? Then we shall celebrate your wedding, or even arrange for it here, if the Wolfmanes so desire."
"Yes, my lady."
Tyressa stood, then bowed to Darioth. "As always, it is a pleasure to see you. Thank you for everything."
The barbarian chieftain rose and returned the bow. "The people of Silverlake are wise and fair. It is little wonder they will prosper."
Tyressa turned and walked away. Ranall fell in behind her, remaining silent. They walked down the hill in silence and didn't even pause when they reached where Baron Creelisk stood. He caught up after a step or two, but Tyressa didn't bother glancing at him.
"What did you get for her?"
"Nothing, my lord."
"Nothing!" Creelisk sputtered for a moment or two. "Nothing? Not a skin or an arrow? Have your senses completely abandoned you? Nothing?"
Ranall laughed quickly. "She actually got everything."
"Talk sense, boy. How can nothing be everything?"
"My lady...?"
"Please, Ranall. I wanted you there to hear. Explain what you heard?"
The young man remained silent for a moment, then began in an even and strong voice. "The danger you saw, Father, is because the Kellids are a fiercely proud people, skilled at fighting. You saw them as all Ustalavs have seen them since our nation was carved from lands they claimed—reavers and bandits, savage opportunists whose morals are beyond our ken."
"I know the history, Ranall."
"My point, Father, is that Lady Tyressa realized that their weaknesses are their pride and their love of freedom. The Kellids knew that they were claiming Aneska as chattel. Had Lady Tyressa negotiated for material goods, she'd have been selling them a slave. While they would have gotten what they wanted, Lady Tyressa would have been diminished in their eyes. She would have denied the girl freedom—a girl who is now counted as a Wolfmane. That would have sowed seeds of distrust that might eventually lead the Wolfmanes to attack Silverlake."
"But they made an offer, didn't they?"
"Yes, yes they did. And in this, Lady Tyressa was more brilliant."
Tyressa shook her head. "I was lucky."
"Lucky was what Aneska said, my lady. Brilliant was in how you used it."
"I'm waiting, son."
"Yes, Father." Ranall paused as he leaped over a small stone half-buried in the grass. "Lady Tyressa asked the girl to put a price on herself. The Wolfmanes would have been honor-bound to meet that request if reasonable; and Lady Tyressa could have negotiated it down were it not reasonable. But the girl said she couldn't name a price."
"So you gave them the girl for nothing?"
"I gave the girl her freedom of choice. The Wolfmanes saw her as a prize of great value, but because it was her desire to join them, I demanded nothing."
"You are mad."
"No, Father, she's not. Remember, the Kellids are ferociously proud. What she did was create an obligation of infinite size. They can never truly pay it off, so they will forever in Silverlake's debt."
"Wait. Stop.»
Tyressa stopped and turned back to look at Creelisk. The baron stared at the ground, hand to forehead. "Yes, my lord?"
"You found a solution where you turned an enemy into an ally without any loss of status or power?"
"And without any blood being shed. Yes, my lord."
His head came up. "I owe you an apology."
Tyressa blinked. "My lord?"
"When I came here, I feared finding a settlement little better than a gathering of mud huts, with people in rags, half of you dead, the rest ill and dying. When Silverlake wasn't that, I reminded myself that you, Tyressa, had managed the Vishov estates. It became easy for me to ascribe Silverlake's condition to that: a well-managed estate in the heart of a nation at peace."
He swept a hand out toward Silverlake. "This sort of situation, I thought it would be beyond you. You show me depths I had not imagined before. I apologize for having believed so little in you."
That was unexpected. Tyressa nodded. "You are most gracious, my lord. If the truth be told, I would have believed of me what you did right up until I found myself on top of that hill. I don't know that I had this in me all the time, or if it's grown in me since being here. But I will tell you this: I mean for Silverlake to thrive. Not just so my family can return to Ustalav, but so the people who have put their trust in me can thrive as well. This is a duty I hold to be sacred, and one I will fulfill until I succeed or die trying."
Chapter Nineteen
The Asp
Baron Anthorn Creelisk strolled through Silverlake's gates as dusk trailed into night. He waved away the guard who would have followed him. "I shan't be long."
"Yes, my lord."
Creelisk headed off along the path running to the north and then back east, outside the wall, and down toward the lake. He made his way casually, hands clasped at the small of his back, as if a man lost in thought. Most of the Silverlakers regarded him politely, but didn't interact with him overmuch. Their loyalties lay with the Vishov family, so on one level or another, they regarded him as an enemy.
Tyressa Vishov had surprised him in her treating with the Kellids. He would have loved to know what she would have done had the girl said she didn't want to go to the Kellids. The impasse he'd described would have then been in place. He had to allow that she might have been able to find a way to resolve the issue without bloodshed, but that he put down to a minimal chance of success. Most likely she would have had to fight, which would have killed people in the short term, and allowed Silverlake to wither.
That would have been an outcome that would not suit him. Not anymore. He had contingency plans in place to reinforce Silverlake if necessary, but he much preferred to remain in the background. If he were seen as having too much of a hand in Silverlake's fate, it would put the whole of his plan in jeopardy.
He paused at the top of the hill overlooking the lake. The setting sun cast a long shadow out before him. The silhouette of his head touched the waters gently lapping at the shore. He watched red and silver lights dancing on the water.
Silvershade Lake had a certain beauty to it which Creelisk could recognize despite having spent his life in more settled and civilized lands. Echo Wood had an elegance and power that mocked the empires of men. Hundreds of settlements might well have been raised down through antiquity where Silverlake now stood, and when they fell, the wood simply reclaimed them. It hid the accomplishments of men, appearing innocent and inviting when the next company of settlers arrived.
The harsher bits of Ustalav allowed no one such illusions—places like Carrion Hill, for example. It existed at the southern edge of the Furrows, a desolate land scarred with trenches from a generations-old war, and often still sterile because of the destruction. Anthorn's father had taken him there when he even younger than Jerrad Vishov. He'd pointed to the devastation and told Anthorn that it had all be caused by a civil war which pitted brother against brother.
The old man's meaning was clear: were Anthorn to plot against his brother, only ruin would result. He told his father he understood.
I just didn't tell him what I understood.
The lesson he'd taken from that landscape was simple: never engage in a war unless you've guaranteed the outcome before the first arrow flies. While that lesson might have served as the brake to ambition for another, it challenged Anthorn. He never looked upon others as allies, but as enemies or weapons or both. He resolved not to make the mistakes that had killed so many in the past, but that was far cry from resolving to see to it that no one died.
Ascending to the pinnacle of Creelisk power had not been difficult. Anthorn had secured—by bribes, extortion, and apparent friendship—enough support to unseat his brother. He'd have happily murdered him, but his brother did him the favor of falling from a horse and dying.
He closed his eyes, raised his face to the sky, and smiled. Had anyone been watching him from the wall, they'd assume he was luxuriating in the beauty. And he was, in a way, just not the beauty of the lake. It was in the memory of his brother's death. His brother had died riding, which was something the man had always enjoyed. The fact that his death was in character with who he was elegantly killed rumors of foul play. Anthorn was able to assume the throne without having to destroy conspirators or gossipmongers.
The smile still curving his lips, Creelisk opened his eyes again and walked down to the shore. The rustling hiss and slap of water pleased him with its calm regularity. It, akin to people, was a predictable force. Recognizing strength and momentum allowed one to manipulate anything or anyone. A nudge might do. A shove in an extreme case. An encouraging word and a heartfelt expression of sentiment worked for people.
His son, for example, was so simple. Like all young men, he chafed to be out from under his father's shadow. Tyressa had used that by picking Ranall to accompany her to talk to the barbarians. And Ranall had repaid her when he came back and deigned to educate his father about her brilliance. Ranall was proud of her because he was proud of himself.
Which is why I said what I said to her. The baron bent, picked up a flat stone, then skipped it across the water. It vanished into shadow before it sank beneath the waves. The praise I gave her, he took for himself.
Creelisk would be certain to praise his son in the coming days. Not effusively, that had never been his way. He'd just approve of more things. He'd tell Ranall that he could remember when he'd just been a boy, and now he was all grown up. He'd play the proud father, and Ranall would take to it like a newborn calf to a teat.
Creelisk would also praise Tyressa in front of Ranall. That praise would reach her ears via his son and her daughter. That means of transmission would benefit him. Because both of the children had developed an affection for each other, they had a vested interest in seeing to it that their parents became friends. Anything Creelisk said about Tyressa would be embellished to the point where he'd vomit were he asked to repeat what they reported.
Oddly enough, he needed Tyressa to see him as an ally if his plans were to succeed. She was rightfully suspicious, since he had coveted Vishov lands. He didn't mind that level of suspicion, however, because it blinded her to the enormity and depth of his planning. In fact, he felt insulted that she believed his ambitions were so paltry as to begin and end with owning her family's land.
He started walking south along the beach, treading carefully over the rocky patches between the high water mark and where the water currently sat. A few people gathering firewood from the piles on the beach gave him nods as he passed. He smiled indulgently, which is what they expected of nobility, then continued on into darkness.
Tyressa Vishov, despite her being stronger than he'd imagined, presented him little difficulty when it came to analysis. She'd proposed the creation of Silverlake to save her family and its legacy. This remained her goal, which meant she was incredibly shortsighted. In twenty years, Silverlake could grow to be the biggest city in Echo Wood. He doubted it would even take that long, but her focus was on survival, not the acquisition of power. Even though the latter would make the former far more certain.
The daughter had surprised him. According to the reports Sunnock had sent along, she wanted nothing to do with Silverlake. Creelisk had fully expected she could be lured back to Ustalav easily enough. He'd brought Ranall for that purpose, and had sent books and other mementos through Sunnock to make her homesick.
Either Sunnock had been incredibly dense in his reportage, or the girl had changed significantly in the wake of the goblin attack. Creelisk believed the attack had been a turning point in her life—as it might have been in anyone's. Once you killed, things changed. So it had been for him, and so it apparently had been for her. People in Silverlake compared her favorably to Garath Sharpax, saying she was a worthy heir to his legend.
Though he'd not accounted for that possibility in making his plans, it served him very well. Having Serrana Straightarrow be the daughter of Garath Sharpax and Tyressa Ogrebane would cast Silverlake into a different light. Whereas many Ustalavs had felt sympathetic toward the effort to save the Vishov family, now Silverlake became a noble Ustalavic outpost sunk deep in Echo Wood. It would become not a place that people hoped would survive, but one where they invested their pride.
So when it's destroyed...
Creelisk briefly considered the boy, Jerrad. From the tales circulating in Silverlake, Jerrad's only talent lay in finding bogs and running afoul of goblins. His need to be rescued from those encounters made him comical at best, and pitiful in truth. Even Ranall, who spent time training the boy to fight, said little of him save that he tried very hard.
He's of no use in this affair. But as soon as the thought formed, Creelisk caught himself. Having the boy as a survivor would generate a certain amount of sympathy. Were I to take him under my wing, return him to his estates, I would rightly be seen as the protector of the Vishov legacy.
Creelisk considered that for a moment, then shook his head. He'd have the Vishov estate when the family was all dead. While Jerrad might be easily manipulated, if he were to grow a spine, he could be a difficulty. No, best he dies here with the rest.
Creelisk stopped and looked back. Judging by how the torches along Silverlake's walls appeared to be little more than sparks, he'd gone a thousand yards along the lake's shore. He waited, stilling his breath and listening. He heard crickets chirping and the lonely calls of waterfowl echoing over the water, but nothing else.
He dropped to a knee at the water's edge and tugged the glove off his right hand. A gold ring fitted with a knuckle-sized ruby encircled the fourth finger. He reached over and twisted, sliding the ruby up and around, revealing a hollow beneath it. Turning his hand over, he shook the contents into the gloved palm of his left hand, then closed the ring again.
With thumb and forefinger he plucked up a greasy black lock of hair. One of the Silverlakers had cut it from the dead ogre's head. It had cost Creelisk three gold pieces, though he'd gladly have paid a hundred times that much for it. The previous owner had seen it as a souvenir, but for him it became the key which unlocked Silverlake's destruction.
A destruction they've carefully constructed for themselves.
He brought his hand down into the water. The hair softened, the water imbuing it with a semblance of life. It brushed against the backs of his fingers. He let it soak thoroughly, then curled it tightly and tucked it back in the ring's hidden compartment.
He smiled. He'd had the ring made for him especially by a necromancer whose blatant disregard for ethics meant Creelisk got all he paid for without pesky questions being asked. This part of the plan had cost him a ridiculous amount, but as with the hair, some things were worth more than gold.
He tightened his grip, sank his fist in the water, then closed his eyes and concentrated. Within his mind, the pieces of the various spells locked within the ring appeared. All sharp-edges, like shards of glass, and blacker than the night, they spun and twisted and floated. He reached out to one, stopping its motion, then slid another into position. They snapped together, then he added another piece, and another, until they formed a rigid blade. He caught the blade in his mind, feeling it, knowing it, drawing on its essence. Then he focused the magic down through channels in the ring and into the hair. The rigid blade became fluid and jetted like blood from his fist. It pulsed into the lake, black ink in clear water. It washed over the ring, then resolved itself into hairlike fibers which spread out and flowed down.
Creelisk bowed his head as a momentary fatigue shook him. He'd used the ring's magic before to animate the dead, in order to familiarize himself with its workings, but those times he'd been closer to the body, often able to touch it. When he'd worked at a distance, it had seldom been more than the depth of a grave, and many of those had been shallow.
But this, this is different.
The Silverlakers had made a good decision in choosing to sink the ogrekin's body in the lake. Were other ogres to find it, at some point or other it would occur to them that the people in Silverlake had killed their compatriot. While most ogres wouldn't waste sentiment on another of their kind, a community of ogrekillers was a threat to everyone. It could not be allowed to stand.
Hiding the body deep in the lake would keep it away from ogres, but the Silverlakers didn't understand that their watery grave didn't mean the ogrekin would be hidden forever. The lock of hair, because it had come from the corpse, had a connection to the corpse. And the lake's water, which touched the ogrekin, likewise had a connection to it. To accomplish his goal, Creelisk merely had to use those connections to link the corpse with his magic.
His fingers tingled up to the knuckles, and he smiled. He'd not expected the link to be that strong, at so far a distance, but the corpse would be fairly fresh. The depths would retard putrefaction, so save for bits gnawed off by fish or cut off as mementos by Silverlakers, the ogrekin should be in fairly good shape.
He pulled his hand from the water. The ruby glowed lightly, and Creelisk hid it once again within his glove.
He withdrew from the lake's edge and concealed himself in a tree's moonshadow. He should be coming right... about... now...
Something bobbed to the surface thirty feet from shore. It came in, water draining from a head and broad shoulders. The left hand had two fingers remaining, the right three.
Water sheeted off as the creature limped from the lake. It dragged its right foot, but that didn't concern Creelisk. He didn't need speed or agility from the undead ogrekin. He just needed it following his command. It would deliver a message, and that would be enough.
He remained in shadow. "I who raised you now command you. You are to go to Mosswater. Consume what you must only when you must, to sustain yourself. Once in Mosswater you will conceal yourself until I give you further commands."
The ogrekin did not turn to look at him, nor did it acknowledge him in any way. The end of the fishing spear remained stuck in the one eye. It limped on, shifting its course slightly south, then again west, heading on a fairly straight course for the Mosswater ruins.
