Chapter 8
Roy watched Percival’s face carefully for a change in his expression, something beyond his customary annoyance. Surely he would unveil his agenda to some extent.
Eventually, his narrowed eyes relaxed, then shifted back and forth.
He seemed to be sifting through a catalogue of responses, assessing which best suited the situation.
Or he was contemplating, depending on their surroundings and the items within his immediate range of movement, the most efficient method of murder.
Roy wouldn’t have been surprised by either choice.
“And what brings you to that conclusion?” Percival finally asked.
Roy should’ve known Percival would use some deflective technique, a shield to hide the truth.
The past few minutes, and even the previous night, had shown Roy exactly what kind of person Percival was: an arrogant, self-absorbed fool more interested in his own ambitions than common sense and decency.
Roy cursed himself for not having seen it before.
As much as he couldn’t quell his anger, he also couldn’t let Percival’s poor excuse for conversational tactics sway him.
Percival was clever; Roy couldn’t deny that.
And if he took Percival’s verbal attacks too close to heart, then so be it.
Roy had endured his brother’s fists and knives for years; words were the least of his concerns, or so he told himself.
In some way, this encounter felt more like a battle than the last. Percival was testing Roy’s limits to assert himself as the more educated scholar, though Percival was so conceited there was no doubt who he believed would win.
“You take me for a fool,” Roy said. “You might even think me beneath your intellect, but I’m well acquainted with the lore and customs of the old world.
Yet despite my education, you have declined the opportunity to collaborate with me.
I can’t see the sense in this; the Governor specifically ordered us to work together.
The ticking clock is finite. So, would you care to elaborate? ”
Percival grinned. “Oh, darling, I would care, in that I care little for your confusion.”
Darling. That name again. Roy dutifully ignored the warm, confusing fluttering in his stomach. “And the part that does care?”
“Well, I have to be entertained by something, don’t I? And I must admit, your curiosity amuses me.”
“You didn’t seem particularly amused when I was on the ground.”
“Your screaming interrupted a perfectly good reading session. I can hardly be blamed for being unenthused.”
“‘A perfectly good reading session,’ ” Roy echoed. “Didn’t we just discuss your antipathy toward Razkamun?”
“You’re confusing a good book with a good reading session. I was content, absorbing line after dull line of text.” Percival chuckled. “You can only imagine my utter frustration when I heard your wails.”
Roy almost told the truth then—I wailed, as you say, with good reason—but instead replied, “You’re deflecting my question.”
“Am I?” Percival batted his eyelashes. “Oh, dear me, I’m terribly sorry. It must not have been a very good question.”
Roy grunted. “This is ridiculous.” His voice broke, and shockingly, Percival went still with alarm.
“Northgard is on the cusp of war, Percival. The Old Ones are annihilating this city as we speak. No one will be ready for the soldiers’ full onslaught, not when they haven’t a clue what they’re facing. And here you are—”
“Gearing up for a little lecture for me, are you?” Percival said, then relented. “Yes, yes, fine. I know all about the war, or rather, all about the fact that we’re at war.”
“And that’s why we’re here!”
“That’s why you’re here, darling.”
Roy was stunned. “You’re not here to figure out who the Old Ones are, or why they’re in Northgard? You’re not reading to figure out how to stop them?”
“I didn’t say that. I’m just saying the deal—or threat, I should say—the Governor and I made is not the same as yours. Moreover, I don’t entirely buy the premise.”
“What premise?”
“The one that says the Governor knows nothing about the Old Ones.”
In that, Roy understood Percival perfectly.
His own meeting with the Governor had confirmed his suspicions that Northgard’s ruler operated on his own agenda, no matter what he might proclaim about defending the people.
And the paucity of the information he provided about the Old Ones was now being brought into stark relief with every grating word from Percival’s lips.
For fifteen years the Governor has been trying to find information, Roy thought. And we have six months? There’s no math in the world where that adds up. Even though he’s not a scholar, surely the Governor must have made some inroads to obtaining intelligence on the Old Ones.
And the truth was, even the information Roy and Percival had didn’t give them much to start with. But perhaps it was a place to start.
Swallowing his anger, Roy decided to change tack, to see if he could somehow get Percival back on task. He remembered what Matron Dimestra had told him on their way to the Orphic Basilica. “I assume you know about the Old Ones’ positioning, then,” he said. “Five units on the southern coast.”
Percival barely stifled a yawn. “Yes, yes, they’ve been posted there for three years.”
“You don’t seem all too bothered by the notion of war.”
“What I’m not bothered by is the math. Most military units are quite similar in size and functionality.
” Percival drummed his fingers on his notebook.
“Northgardian companies never exceed two hundred fifty soldiers. If we’re estimating the size of the Old Ones’ forces based on that scale, their numbers should amount to a thousand soldiers or so.
The Droves number in the tens of thousands. ”
Roy shook his head. “But, once again, that’s the point!
You’re making assumptions, when we have no clue whether the Old Ones abide by our customs—that’s the whole purpose of our assignment!
We just can’t compare their perception of combat and military structure to our own.
Don’t you think the Droves have already tried that? ”
“I have no faith in anything the Droves think up by themselves.”
“Exactly!”
Percival paused. “You’ve intrigued me. Go on.”
Roy took a steadying breath. “Forget the ethos of our own society, the rules of our own civilization. These are inconsequential. We are dealing with a foreign threat now—an alien threat—the nature of which we know frighteningly little. Ultimately, the distortions between our two peoples will be stronger than the reflections.”
“And you’ve lost me,” Percival said.
It took all of Roy’s will not to grind his teeth into dust. “Where did I lose you?”
“War is fought in the same way on both sides of the battlefield, Dawnseve. Perhaps there are some exceptions—for example, their strange armor, which I cannot seem to find any information on in any of these military accounts. But as for their . . . killing methods, if you will, the distinctions are unclear.”
“No, they aren’t,” Roy said, almost pleading Percival to see his side of the story, to see a perspective that was not his own.
“If you truly believe the Radiant Droves and the Old Ones are utilizing identical battle strategies, then I’m afraid you’re wrong.
Consider our use of muskets, and the Old Ones’ lack—”
“I consider everything, darling. I just don’t care all that much about the logistics.
The desire and ability to make war do not change from people to people.
It’s about power. So when I say the Droves and the Old Ones are the same, I mean it.
The Droves are a squadron of tyrants dressed in the uniform of freedom fighters.
They claim to side with the people of Northgard, but they themselves are the agitators.
They might not look the same as the Old Ones, but I assure you, the Droves want war as much as the next army. ”
“I know they do,” Roy said, remembering the female Drove with the bloodshot eyes he’d seen on the ride to the library .
. . and the pink spray of brains when she’d cracked open that young boy’s skull.
He suppressed a shudder. “Civil war is imminent, Percival, I completely agree. But that doesn’t mean we should avert our eyes from other threats.
In fact, I’d argue that it means we should concentrate more on foreign hostilities, especially while we’re cornered.
And while I hate to agree with the Governor on anything, the Old Ones won’t stop coming simply because we dislike the Droves.
They won’t stop coming until we have substantial information on their culture that we can exploit—until we find a way to stop them. ”
“Are you belittling me?” Percival exclaimed, sounding baffled. “I’m not against you, darling. I’m just trying to understand your stance here.”
Roy held up a hand before Percival, his cheeks heated, his eyes wide, somehow frustrated and embarrassed at the same time.
Ultimately the more timid part of him won out, and he found himself apologizing rather than asking why in the Above Percival was arguing with him if they agreed.
“That wasn’t a direct comment about you.
I’m sure you’re capable of figuring this out; I’m just .
. .” Roy sighed, defeated. “I’m suggesting you—we—take the right approach. ”
“I was taking the right approach, but your interruptions continue to pull me away from my studies,” Percival said, but there was no curtness in his voice now. He looked uncertain, nearly regretful of his past incivility.
Nearly.