Paragon of Destruction Chapter 402 The Dangers Ahead

Arran remained silent for several moments, studying Nisra as he considered the situation. She was undeniably pretty, with dark eyes and a kind face that revealed not a trace of guile of hostility. Even now, she appeared more like a friendly maidservant than the daughter of one of the Imperium's most powerful n.o.bles.

She was young, too — even younger than he'd realized. From her appearance, he guessed that she had yet to leave her teen years behind her, and he could tell that her youth was genuine rather than the youthful agelessness of Body Refiners.

Yet for all her youth and beauty, there was something about her that left him wary — a hint of cunning, carefully concealed behind her harmless appearance.

"What do you want?" he finally asked, deciding that there was no point in dancing around the question.

"First," she said with a smile, "I want you to enjoy the food I've spent the past few hours preparing. And second, I want to warn you about the dangers that await you in Sacrifice."

"Why?" Arran gave her a skeptical look. "We don't know each other. Why would you want to warn me?"

A flash of displeasure crossed Nisra's face, but it disappeared a moment later and she let out a sigh. "If you insist on skipping the pleasantries, I suppose there's no choice but to be direct. I intend to travel to Sacrifice within the next two weeks, and I find myself in need of allies."

This time, Arran nodded in understanding. "So you want my help."

"Not just yours," Nisra replied. "I'm looking to forge an alliance with your army." She gestured at the food that still stood untouched on the table, and added, "Please, eat. This took me hours to prepare."

Arran heaped some food on his plate before turning his attention back to the girl. "If it's an alliance you want, you should talk to the captain. He's the one who leads the Wolfsblood Army."

"I shall talk to him," she said. "But not before I've gotten a look at the champion of his army. He might lead the army, but your strength is what makes it a force worth taking seriously."

"That's what this is about?" Arran raised an eyebrow. "You want to see if I'm worthy of becoming your ally?"

"That's part of the reason I invited you." Nisra reached out to take a small pastry from the table, which she carefully placed on her plate. She took a small bite, then finally turned her attention back to Arran. "The Desolation is a dangerous place, and allying oneself with the wrong people can have dire consequences."

"So you need allies," Arran said. "But you still haven't explained what need we have for you."

"The first part of the answer is obvious," she replied. "To maintain an army is a costly affair, and that's twice as true in Sacrifice. I can help with that." She took another bite from her pastry, and continued, "But more importantly, you need allies if you wish to survive."

"Do we?" Arran asked. "We can handle the Blightsp.a.w.n, and we have no plans of getting involved with the Lords' squabbles."

At this, Nisra gave a small laugh. "Surely you know it's too late for that. You and your captain were involved in the death of Lord Kadun. That alone is enough to make you a target for others."

Arran had no response to this. Although he knew that it was true, some small part of him had hoped that their visit with Lady Raina would be the end of it. But as he'd already expected, it appeared that wasn't the case.

Rather than admit that he was at a loss for words, he took a bite of what looked to be stew from his plate, and found that it was surprisingly good.

"There are three major factions among the Lords of the Imperium," Nisra continued as Arran ate. "And members of at least two of those will target you once you enter the Desolation."

"Three factions?" Arran lowered his spoon, and gave her a questioning look. "I thought there were only two — those who seek to invade the lands to the east, and those whose focus is on fighting the Blight."

Nisra made a scornful gesture. "The mages in the east are but a trifling matter — a distraction from what truly matters."

"Which is?" Arran asked.

"Power, of course." Nisra's earlier facade had all but disappeared, and now, her background as a n.o.ble of the Imperium shone through so clearly it was impossible to miss. "The power to shape the Imperium and decide its future."

Arran nodded thoughtfully. "How do these factions fit into that?"

"The factions," Nisra began, "are what keeps the Lords of the Imperium divided. Were they united, their strength would far surpa.s.s that of both the Imperator and the church. But instead, they squabble and bicker amongst themselves, thus ensuring that the balance of power remains unchanged."

Arran took some moments to consider her words, quickly realizing that what she said made sense. From what he'd seen of the Imperium, the sheer number of Lords and Ladies was enough that few could stand against them if they joined forces.

"So what are these factions?" he asked. "And which ones want to kill me?"

"The factions themselves aren't after you," Nisra corrected him. "You are beneath their notice. If you weren't, you'd be long dead already. But there are some among their members who will target you and your companions."

"Either way," Arran said, giving her an impatient look, "will you tell me which factions there are?"

"There's no need to hurry." Nisra took a slow bite of her pastry, almost as if she was testing his patience. Then, at last, she spoke.

"The first of the factions is commonly known as the Martial Alliance. Their leaders are mostly Lords from the western region of the Imperium, and they're the ones most closely aligned with the Imperator. What unites them is a desire to bring the full resources of the Imperium to bear against the Blight — unsurprising, given that most of their members' lands border the Desolation."

"I take it Kadun was a member of this faction?" Arran asked.

"Correct," Nisra replied. "As is Lady Raina — another of your acquaintances, or so I've heard. Although they're the weakest of the major factions in the Imperium as a whole, much of their influence is concentrated in the Desolation."

"So they're the ones I need to watch out for," Arran said. "Understood."

The small smile that crossed Nisra's lips suggested that things weren't as simple, but rather than correcting him, she continued, "The second faction is the Lords' Alliance — those who seek to increase the power of the Lords within the Imperium. Their support lies mainly with those in the central and eastern regions of the Imperium."

"Lord Rannoc?" Arran guessed.

"And many others," Nisra said. "Although the Lords' Alliance is the largest faction, their strength in the Desolation is limited. Many of them are more concerned with their own lands than they are with the defense of the Imperium."

Arran gave her a wry smile. "I suppose I shouldn't count on their protection, then?"

"Not if you value your life," Nisra answered flatly. "The only thing that binds them is shared self-interest. Even if their strength in the Desolation was greater, few of them would help you unless there was something to gain."

With a sigh, Arran asked, "What about the third faction?"

"The Righteous Alliance," Nisra said. "Traditionalists, closely tied to the church — an a.s.sociation that brings them many benefits. Their power is spread throughout the Imperium, but in the Desolation, they are the mightiest among the factions."

Arran creased his brow in thought. He had not forgotten Nisra's earlier words — that two of the three factions would target him and his companions.

Yet the Lords' Alliance did not appear to be a threat, and no matter how he looked at it, he saw no reason that the so-called Righteous Alliance should bear him ill will.

"Why would the Righteous Alliance want to attack me?"

"The Righteous Alliance despises outsiders nearly as much as it does the Blight," Nisra answered. "More, some would argue. An army of prisoners led by outsiders is something they will consider a stain upon the Imperium — one that many of them will be eager to erase."

As she spoke, Arran could not help but curse softly. "I suppose I'd best start sharpening my blade, then."

"And there we have your final problem," Nisra said, a hint of amus.e.m.e.nt in her expression now. "The armies in the Desolation are led by the sons and daughters of Lords. What do you think would happen should you kill one of them?"

This time, the curse that escaped Arran's lips was anything but soft. He'd already realized that killing Darian lordlings would invite retribution, but if the Wolfsblood Army would face open attacks in the Desolation, avoiding violence would be impossible.

"Your problem is easily solved, of course," she continued. "Leave your companions behind, and you can enter the service of someone with the influence to protect you. With your abilities, there should be plenty of interest."

"I won't leave the Wolfsblood Army," Arran replied at once.

Nisra nodded. "As expected. But for your army to survive the Desolation, you will need allies."

He gave her a mirthless smile. "Which brings us back to you."

"So it does," Nisra replied, a wide smile on her face. "I have the means to support your army, as well as the influence to protect you."

Arran refrained from pointing out that it was her mother who possessed the means and influence, though he knew the distinction was an important one. Even if Nisra could be trusted — something he was not at all convinced of — it would only take a single word from her mother to take away whatever help she provided.

Yet giving voice to that thought would change little, and he had a more pressing question to ask.

"What do you get out of this?"

"Allies," Nisra replied simply.

Arran shook his head. "If you have as much wealth and influence as you claim, finding allies should be a simple matter."

"It's not as simple as you think," she said. "Mother maintains friendly relations with all the different factions, trading with each while favoring none above the others. It's a precarious balance, but one that is most profitable."

"And allying yourself with any faction's members would risk upsetting that balance," Arran said, finally understanding her problem.

"Exactly," Nisra said. "There are Lords who belong to none of the factions, but most are too weak to be useful."

A frown crossed Arran's eyes. "I would think that even the weakest Lord is stronger than the entire Wolfsblood Army put together."

"That goes without saying," Nisra replied. "But Lords rarely travel into the Desolation themselves. They send their offspring and Rangers, and I have no use for some barely trained youth commanding a hundred poorly equipped soldiers. Your strength — both your own and that of your army — may be limited, but all of it is here, where I need it."

"You don't have soldiers of your own?" Arran gave her a questioning look.

She gave him an irritated glance in response. "Of course I have soldiers. I have a thousand men here in Knight's Watch right now, and another two thousand will arrive within the next week."

"Shouldn't that be enough?" Arran asked. "I've heard that the Blightsp.a.w.n rarely travel in groups of more than a few dozen."

Nisra gave a dismissive shake of her head. "That's only true near the border of the Desolation. The deeper you travel into the Desolation, the larger the groups grow. Travel far enough, and you will find entire armies of Blightsp.a.w.n."

"And the more Blightsp.a.w.n you kill, the greater the rewards," Arran said. "I understand. You need strong allies to achieve what you want in the Desolation, but you can't risk allying yourself with anyone from the major factions."

"That about sums it up," she confirmed. "But enough about this. You can discuss my offer with your captain, and I will talk to him myself once I travel to Sacrifice. Now, give the lamb pastries a try. I made them with…"

As Nisra turned her attention back to the meal, Arran couldn't help but look at her in wonder.

She had been the very image of a scheming n.o.ble only moments earlier, but in an instant, she had transformed back into the friendly young girl who'd welcomed him earlier that night. Had she not been sitting right in front of him, he could almost have thought someone else had taken her place.

As the evening progressed, she spoke no more of politics. Instead, her attention was wholly focused on the meal they shared, and several times, she pointed out special dishes that she insisted Arran try.

Yet although her company was as enjoyable as the food she'd made, Arran still recalled her earlier demeanor. He didn't know whether what he saw now was a facade or merely another part of her character, but either way, the sheer magnitude of the change left him puzzled.

When they finished the meal — a good hour later, as Arran made sure not to leave even a single crumb behind — Nisra gave him a satisfied smile. "I would ask if you enjoyed it, but from the look of your plate, I'd say that question has been answered already."

"I've haven't eaten this well in a long time," Arran replied truthfully. Perhaps the food couldn't quite match what his cooks in the Ninth Valley had served him, but the difference was small enough not to matter.

"Then my efforts haven't been in vain," she said, a twinkle in her eyes. "But perhaps I can persuade you to stay a little while longer. There's one more thing I'm curious about."

Arran hesitated, then responded, "I should return to the others. The captain wants to leave tomorrow, and a lot of work still remains to be done."

Of course, none of that work would involve Arran, but it was the best excuse he had. And although Nisra had shown not even the slightest sign of bad intent, there was something in the way she looked at him that made him uncomfortable — like a cat eying a new toy.

"It will barely take an hour," she said, "and I'll be sure to make it worth your while." She produced a coin purse and handed it to Arran, who found that it was surprisingly heavy. "This should be enough to get your army through its first few weeks in Sacrifice."

"What do you want?" Arran asked uncertainly.

"To see you fight, of course." Nisra smirked, and added, "Or did you have something else in mind?"

Ignoring the quip, Arran answered, "All right. Who do you want me to fight?" Though he felt some hesitation about showing his abilities, the coin purse was awfully heavy, and he doubted Kaleesh had won enough betting to supply the army for long.

"Me," she replied. "I could hardly entrust so important a task to someone else. If we will be allies, then I need to see for myself how much truth there is to the rumors about your talent."

Arran gave her a surprised glance. He knew that the daughter of a powerful Lady would be a well-trained Ranger, but a Ranger would hardly be enough to test his skill. Not to mention that she didn't even wear a sword.

Yet after a moment, he shrugged. Whatever her skill, it made no difference to the weight of the coin purse. "If you wish."

A few minutes later, Arran found himself in a small, walled courtyard with carefully trimmed gra.s.s, empty but for half a dozen starmetal swords that were nonchalantly placed against a wall.

Nisra picked up one of the swords — seemingly choosing her weapon at random — then turned to face Arran. "Shall we begin?"

He couldn't help but frown at the casual display of wealth. For most Rangers in the Imperium, starmetal swords were their most treasured possessions, worn at all times and meticulously maintained. Yet Nisra treated the weapons like she would rusty iron garden tools.

Still, he refrained from commenting. Instead, he drew his blade and gave her a small nod. "Your attack."

The words had barely left his mouth when she leaped forward, striking half a dozen blows in quick succession. And to his shock, Arran found that he struggled to parry them.

He was forced to retreat several paces, his eyes widening in surprise at Nisra's ability with the sword. Even if she hadn't reached Enlightenment yet — though she was not far from it, either — the sheer skill she possessed left him astounded.

It was a level of mastery that could only be attained through years of endless practice, and Arran understood that her training must have started as soon as she could hold a blade. And since then, she must have spent hours each day practicing.

As Nisra continued her attacks and Arran retreated another two paces, he realized that even endless hours of practice could not fully explain her abilities. In just the two dozen strikes she'd shown so far, he'd already seen several techniques he'd never witnessed before.

Yet for all her skill, she lacked Arran's experience.

She attacked again, and this time, he no longer held back. With a simple but forceful parry, he knocked her sword aside, his blade coming to a halt an inch from her throat before she had the chance to regain her balance.

"You're good," he said as he stepped back. "Better than I expected."

"Thank you," Nisra replied, some color showing on her cheeks. "Mother spared no expense in finding me the best teachers."

"It seems she found many of them," Arran said, now understanding how she had mastered so many different techniques. Rather than a single teacher — or even a handful — she must have been taught by dozens of different instructors, learning what she could from each of them.

"There have been a few," she admitted with a smile. "Ready for the next round?"

They ended up sparring for well over an hour, and although Nisra didn't come close to threatening Arran again after his initial surprise at her ability, he still found himself picking up several new ideas from the techniques she used.

Their styles could almost be considered opposites. While Nisra relied on weaving together numerous meticulously studied techniques, Arran's style was built around on simple efficiency, tempered by experience and knowledge. And although he was easily the better fighter, facing an opponent so different from himself proved more instructive than he'd imagined.

When she finally stepped back in exhaustion, face red and covered in sweat from the exertion, he was almost disappointed that the match was over.

"I'm beginning to think the rumors understated your skill," she said, breathing heavily as she wiped the sweat from her brow. "But as strong as you are…" She sighed. "It's almost cheating."

Arran shrugged. "My father was a simple guard. I didn't grow up with dozens of swordmasters to teach me, so I had to rely on other things. Still, you did well. Another few years, and you might beat me."

She laughed loudly, then shook her head. "I doubt that. You didn't even use your step into Enlightenment."

What she said was true, of course. While Arran had not held back, he had deliberately avoided using his most recent breakthrough. Otherwise, the match would have been so one-sided as to be pointless.

"Maybe you can force me to use it next time," he said. "But now, I really should return to the others."

This time, it wasn't just an excuse. Though his companions didn't need his help in preparing for their journey, he'd been gone for over three hours already, and evening had long since fallen. Any longer, and he feared Kaleesh might send out a search party.

"Then I hope we meet again soon," Nisra said.

A good half hour after they said their goodbyes, Arran returned to the army's camp, finding it abuzz with activity.

On the practice fields now stood what looked to be at least a hundred carts, and several times as many men and women were hard at work loading them up with various supplies.

Even before Arran set foot on the practice fields, however, he was approached by a soldier. "Master Arran!" the man called out in a voice that carried a hint of exhaustion. "The captain is looking for you!"

"Then I suggest you take me to him," Arran replied.

They found Kaleesh some moments later, overseeing a group of soldiers who were lifting supplies into one of the carts. "Careful with those barrels!" he cried out, gesturing wildly at the men.

"Everything still on schedule?"

Kaleesh turned around with a start, but he sighed in relief when he saw Arran. "There you are. I was starting to worry we'd have to rescue you." With a brief look at the soldiers, he yelled, "The other cart, you donkeys! The other cart!" Then, turning his attention back to Arran, he continued, "So what happened?"

Arran quickly summarized the evening's events, interrupted by the occasional shout from Kaleesh at the soldiers who were working nearby. When he finally finished, the captain scratched his head, a thoughtful look in his eyes.

"I won't deny that having Nisra on our side could help a great deal." He paused to cast a wary glance at the soldiers, but when he found nothing to draw his ire, he turned back to Arran. "Just buying these supplies burned through much of our coin, and although we can sell Blightsp.a.w.n amulets in Sacrifice, I'd rather not do that."

"What about the factions?" Arran asked. As important as their finances might be, he was more concerned with the people who might try to kill them. "Is it as bad as she claimed?"

"No," Kaleesh replied. "Though it's true that we have enemies, our situation isn't nearly as dire as she suggested. Even without her protection, others will hesitate to move against us. I'll explain it when we make camp tomorrow evening. Right now, I need to make sure these lackwits don't destroy half our supplies before we even set foot outside Knight's Watch."

Almost as if to emphasize Kaleesh's words, one of the soldiers dropped a barrel at that exact moment. It shattered with a loud crack, and the unmistakable smell of ale filled the air almost immediately.

As Kaleesh began another tirade, Arran took the opportunity to beat a hasty retreat, leaving the unlucky soldier to suffer the captain's wrath.

Whatever work still remained before morning, he quickly decided that he wanted no part of it. With the last stretch of their journey into the Desolation only hours away, he had better ways to use his time than carrying barrels or shouting at soldiers.

After a moment's thought, he headed toward Kaleesh's mansion.

He'd already investigated the effects of the oath he'd sworn, and now, it was time to study the seal itself. Because for all the dangers that might await him in the Desolation, Arran had an uneasy feeling that the seal within his body hinted at an even greater threat.