The Source (Creasan #1)

Chapter 8

"Three more in Vuterra, sire," Destrian Gler told Favian. "Five in Steokar, and one in Nonid."

Destrian was one of Favian's most trusted advisors. Though he was old—older than anyone Favian had ever known—his mind was still sharp. He'd served Favian's father before him and had provided sage advice throughout Favian's rule.

Favian steepled his fingers under his chin, running the numbers in his head. "That's not enough."

"It's what we have, sire."

"That'll feed, what, two ogres at the most?"

Destrian closed his notebook, his perpetually trembling hands clasping in his lap. "Perhaps you ought to be proud that it is so difficult finding treasonous subjects."

"Do you truly think loyalty is the reason we struggle?"

"No," Destrian said honestly. "I think it is because you have terrified your people enough that it has become almost impossible to round them up under the guise of treason as you had before."

Favian nodded. He'd thought as much. "Perhaps we ought to forget the deal with the ogres," he suggested. "We could turn our efforts to the Jöntar. They do not feed on humans and are relatively reasonable giants. They'd be very useful in battle, should we need them."

"That is true," Destrian said slowly, but Favian could tell he did not agree. Destrian licked his lips, making a popping sound from lack of teeth.

"What is it, Destrian?"

"The ogres helped Aestus in The Fire War. The Jöntar fought for Malum."
"That was centuries ago! Surely that is enough time to allow us to pursue better allies."

Destrian shrugged. "Whatever you think is best, sire."

Favian groaned, dropping his head back against his chair. He'd a small reprieve from the pain in his head and instead of being able to savor the peace, he had to deal with this. "Send for my brother," he said. "I'd like to hear his opinion."

"I'm afraid he's not here."

Favian blinked and raised his head. "What do you mean 'he's not here'?"

"I mean that he left the palace this morning, sire." Destrian shifted in his seat. Both chairs on the other side of Favian's desk were uncomfortable, which of course was the point.

Favian's brows furrowed. "Where did he go?"

"Vuterra, I believe."

He stared at the old man. "What kind of business could he possibly have in Vuterra?"

***

Maerwynn shook her head. "Absolutely not."

Thea bit her tongue to keep from lashing out. Even though it was her idea, this was precisely the point of The Council. If it was a terrible idea, she needed to know. But there was no denying Maerwynn was biased.

"And Merek?" Thea asked. "What do you think?"

His mouth opened then snapped shut again as he tried to come up with an answer. "Um...How would you even start?"

"Well, we all know the legend. 'A perilous journey to the highest mountain'. So we will start there."

Merek scoffed. "You want to climb The Forbidden Mountain? Did you forget the name of the mountain?" His gaze flicked to Maerwynn who was still shaking her head with her arms crossed over her chest.

"It only has that name because the Lances didn't want anyone else to try it."
"Except we did try it," Maerwynn snapped. "We are not going to try it again."