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The prince and princess look about the room as though just remembering there are others in it.
“Well, you’re our advisers! Advise us!” Marossa snaps.
No one says a word. The silence goes on and on and on.
And then Temra speaks. “The tournament in Lirasu is approaching. Many people will gather there to watch. They willbe in Kymora’s path. We can’t let her harm them. We need to take our soldiers there. It’s where we should have the final stand.”
My stomach sinks to think of my home ravaged by Kymora’s men. Temra is right. The city is vast, but she’ll make quick work of it.
There’s a niggling in the back of my head. Something that started when Temra brought up the tournament again, but I can’t quite grasp what my subconscious is telling me.
“The city has a similar set up to Skiro’s Capital,” Petrik adds, putting his chin in one hand while he thinks. “It’s against the mountains. More easily defended than the capital here.”
“The governor of Lirasu has a small guard,” Temra continues. “It’s not much, but every little bit helps. He is also in possession of a weapon Ziva made him that might help in the battle.”
A weapon.
The tournament.
I look at Kellyn.
Mercenaries.
Skiro and Marossa are already discussing the merits of what Temra is suggesting, but I cut them off.
“The tournament!”
My outburst brings all the heads in the room in my direction.
“Around fifty mercenaries are gathering for that tournament,” I say. “And they all carry weapons thatImade.”
Temra’s eyes widen as she catches on my meaning.
“We need to hire them,” I finish.
“Hire mercenaries?” Marossa says reproachfully. “No fools would fight against such devastating odds, no matter how much they’re being paid. Which they wouldn’t be, because there’s no money.” Marossa looks to her brother for confirmation.
“Don’t look at me,” Skiro says. “I left everything behind in my territory. All I have are the clothes on my back.”
Now the advisers pitch in, discussing money and funds and what could possibly be done.
And an image comes into my mind. That of the Lirasu Bank housing all the coin I’ve made over the last seven years. All the money said mercenaries paid me for their weapons.
My retirement.
But does it mean anything if I’m dead?
“I have money,” I whisper. When no hears me, I repeat myself, fairly shouting. “I have money!”
“Ziva, no,” Temra says. “You can’t.”
“Money is nothing when faced with death.”
Besides, this is the answer. I won’t make too powerful of weapons for people who might misuse them. But mercenaries? Those who are loyal to coin and themselves? Those who have no ambition except their next payday? Those who already possess weapons I’ve made?
They’re exactly what we need.
“Then it’s settled,” Skiro says. “We leave for Lirasu as soon as the preparations can be made. How much time before Kymora is likely to arrive?”
