Free Warlord by Robert J. Crane

turned away from her gaze. “Here I come to a place I left, most reluctantly, with my … pride in hand, as it were.” Her tanned skin showed no embarrassment, but her expression spoke of that reluctance in the tilt of her chin, her inability to look up as she spoke, and the slow way in which her words made their way out. “If you defend the Emerald Fields, then we have a common enemy, you and I.” Now she looked up. “The titans are a relentless foe, and a threat to all who have opposed them. Vengeance is more than a simple word with them; it is a way of life that they embrace with a fervor that Vaste reserves for pie.”
    “You just had to poke a spear into that open wound,” Vaste grunted.
    “They are consummate warriors and they only grow more deadly and dangerous now that they know magic,” she said.
    “How did they learn that?” Curatio asked, placing his elbows upon the table.
    “We do not know,” Cora said, and now she looked more serious than ever. “We only know that now our ability to send caravans across the Gradsden Savanna is almost completely compromised. It is a recent development, I can tell you that much.”
    “Why don’t we just blame Goliath now and get it over with,” Vaste said. “All in favor?”
    “Goliath is not responsible for all the problems in Arkaria,” Vara said with a frown. “Though it certainly feels like it, sometimes.”
    “They were trying to consort with the titans a few years ago,” Erith said, speaking up for the first time.
    “Yeah,” Cyrus said, frowning, “I remember that. They were killing dragonkin down in the Ashen Wastelands in hopes of earning titan favor.”
    “I’m just going to go ahead and pick Goliath in the pool right now,” Vaste said. “I’m putting a hundred gold on them, all right? Who else wants in? I’ll give you odds on weird suggestions.”
    “I’ll take forty gold on the dragons,” Mendicant said softly, as though he were trying to both make his bet and respect the meeting at the same time.
    “That’s a sucker’s bet,” Andren said, still clean-shaven and with his hair cut short. Cyrus had still not quite adjusted to seeing the elf without his long, mussed hair and bushy, unkempt beard. The healer made no attempt to keep his voice low. “Give me two hundred on heretics from the bandit lands.”
    “Eighty gold says Pretnam Urides is involved somehow,” Erith offered.
    “Now we’re talking,” Vaste said, nodding. “I’ll give you two-to-one on that.”
    “My money’s on the dark elves,” Odellan said.
    “Put some coins where your mouth is, then, nobleman,” Andren sniped.
    “Fifty gold, then,” Odellan said with a nod. “What odds can I get on that?”
    “What the hells?” Cyrus asked, frown creasing his brow. “Is this a Council meeting or a betting pool?”
    “Can’t it be both?” Andren asked innocently.
    “You are all idiots,” Vara said with utter annoyance. She then lowered her voice slightly. “Also, I’ll place fifty gold on the gnomes being responsible in some fashion.”
    “Dammit, Vara,” Cyrus said, slapping his head with a gauntleted hand. “Curatio?” He looked to the healer for some sort of support.
    “Yes,” Curatio said, nodding sagely. “Perhaps a different time might be more opportune for these sort of activities—though I would like to register my bet of three hundred gold on dwarven mercenaries right now, before it’s gone—”
    “Clearly, this meeting needs to be adjourned so that all of you can get out of my sight,” Cyrus said, avoiding the gaze of Cora, whose amusement it was impossible to mistake even out of the corner of his eye. “And make your wagers. But before we do that, I would suggest,” he let that word have all the emphasis, “that perhaps it might be wise, given Cora’s history with our guild, to send a small, exploratory expedition to the southern lands in order to assess the situation in Amti.” He glanced at her for only a moment. “If that would