“You have other friends,” Alaric said.
“No, I don’t,” Terian said, shaking his head.
“I am certain Niamh would object to your dismissal of her out of hand,” Alaric said. “As would Curatio, Vaste, Cyrus Davidon—that bed you gave him was a most curious choice, I might add.”
Terian snorted. “I forgot about that. I doubt he’s used it like I told him to, though.”
“You have friends, Terian,” Alaric said quietly. “You need not walk alone down an aimless road.”
“I left, Alaric,” Terian said. “I left. I did wrong for Sanctuary, and I left in exile.” It’s almost becoming a pattern for me.
“It was your choice, not ours,” Alaric said.
“I make a lot of bad choices,” Terian said, and the flash of a dagger came to his mind. “More than I can count. And with many of them …” He swallowed deeply. “There is no way to set them right.”
“You believe there is no redemption for our mistakes?” Alaric asked.
“I didn’t make mistakes,” Terian said. “I made bad choices. Calling them mistakes would absolve me of the fact that I knew what I was doing when I made them. They were not accidents. They were choices. Hurtful, cruel, vicious choices that cut me off from people I loved—” His voice choked off. “I don’t think I believe in redemption, Alaric. I don’t see how I could.” Terian kept his face lowered, studying every line of the table, every grain of the wood—
“Terian,” Alaric said. “Look up.” Terian hesitated then shifted his eyes gradually upward. Alaric sat before him in his seat, helm on the table in front of him, and his cowl back to expose his face.
“Alaric,” Terian hissed, looking to the crowds shuffling behind the Ghost of Sanctuary, “this is a dark elven bar! They won’t take kindly to—”
“I do not care,” Alaric said, staring back at him with his one good eye. “Let me state this in no uncertain terms.” He leaned forward. “I am not ashamed to be seen with you, regardless of what might have happened to you in the time since you have left.”
“Alaric, I’m not worried about you being ashamed to be seen with me, I’m worried the dark elves in this bar are going to come after you in a drunken fury,” Terian said, not bothering to mask his alarm.
“I don’t care,” Alaric said, still leaning forward. “And do you know why I do not care?”
“Not really,” Terian said, still feeling the sense of fear and panic in his stomach. “Alaric, put your helm back on.” He shifted to look up. No one had noticed the old paladin yet. And that is fortunate, but his time is bound to run out, and soon.
“I do not care because you are here with me,” Alaric said and leaned back. “With you and I together, what threat can they pose?”
“Mobs tend to pose a pretty big threat, even to spell casters,” Terian said nervously. “All it takes is one nut with a bottle to whack you across the back of the head, and all the spells in the world don’t count for much—”
“I have faith in you, Terian,” Alaric said, as if Terian had said nothing at all. “I have faith in you—as a man. Faith that you’ll do the right thing. Faith that … no matter how bad things get, you’ll seek the right path instead of blindly following the wrong one for your whole life. I am proud to be associated with you, if you’ll let me—”
“I’ll let you anytime,” Terian said urgently, waiting to see if the largest fellow at the bar would turn around, “but I’d rather you’d do it with your helm on!”
Alaric let a short chuckle. “Now who’s ashamed to be seen with whom?”
How can I more obviously communicate to him that I’m not looking for a barfight? Terian rubbed his temple between his thumb and forefinger, and kept his eyes on Alaric’s face. “When we get assaulted by fifty angry longshoremen, I’m going to be asking myself what redemption I’m going to find by caving in some poor, dock working bastard’s skull.”
“Why, there’s no redemption in that,” Alaric said as Rosalla set a glass in front of him. He glanced up at her and smiled. “Thank you, Rosalla dear.” He slid two coins out of his purse and placed them on the table.
“I didn’t know that was you, Alaric,” she said, leaning down to scoop them up with a smile. She turned a pointed gaze toward Terian. “Or that you’d associate with such a lowlife vagrant—”
“Take care in how you talk about my friend, please,” Alaric said, taking the glass in his hand. He never took his eyes off Terian.
“Because you’re the only one he’s got?” Rosalla asked, clearly unamused.
“I very much doubt that,” Alaric said, “though it may take some convincing.”
She gave a slow nod, and her expression softened as she looked Terian over. “Well, Alaric, any friend of yours is a friend of mine, I suppose.” She slapped the edge of the table lightly. “Let me know if you need anything else.” She turned to walk away and bellowed a shout in dark elven at one of the big men at the bar. It turned the attention of everyone in the place toward them, just briefly, and Terian watched the patrons’ eyes fall to Alaric and then slide off, as though he was a matter of little consequence.
“Even here, you’re more welcome than me,” Terian said with dry amusement. “I guess that’s as it should be.”
“Redemption does not come overnight,” Alaric said, leaning forward toward his glass. “And it does not buy you any friends—at least, not in and of itself. Those require their own sort of cultivation. It is a path that you walk every day. A path that you choose. One that you have walked away from, and one I invite you back to now.”
Terian stared at the amber liquid in the glass before him. “How do you know, Alaric?” He glanced up. “Not to sound combative,” he kept his voice low, almost mournful, “but how do you know that there’s redemption out there for someone like me?”
Alaric stared back at him, that one, cool grey eye. And for just a moment, he blinked, and Terian saw … pain. “I could not believe otherwise … and keep walking it myself,” Alaric said.
Terian swallowed hard, and nodded, trying to bury the emotion. “What would you have me do?”
Alaric watched him with careful consideration. “I would send you to the Ashen Wastelands.”
“I thought you said you forgave me!”
Alaric smiled. “Forgiveness has little to do with it, and I said no such thing. I offered you a chance to walk back down the path of redemption—and that path will lead you to the Ashen Wastelands, where I need you to ask a very important question of some old friends of yours.”
“Ahhh,” Terian said with a nod. “The brother wurms.”
“Indeed,” Alaric said, nodding slowly. “There are things hanging in the balance that could destroy us all—questions that need answers.” He stared over his glass at Terian. “Are you willing to go wherever the road takes you?”
Terian stared at the amber liquid, sloshed it around one time, and then upended his glass, draining it in a single drink. “Sure. Why not?” He stared at the empty glass, and smiled. “Tell me something, though, Alaric—how did you know that I would be willing—that I’d be willing to come back to you—to help you after our last conversation?”
“Because I know you, Terian.” Alaric raised his glass in the faint dim of the bar, and Terian could have sworn he saw a faint hint of a smile on the corner of the paladin’s lips. “And I could expect no less from you.”
Epilogue
Three Years Later
“Where is he?” Curatio called into the darkness. “Has anyone seen Cyrus?”
Terian could see the end of the bridge, putting the lie to its name. Oh, but it felt Endless until the scourge hit us. Then, suddenly, the end came all too soon.
“I’m over here!” Cyrus Davidon’s deep voice came out of the darkness to Terian’s left, along with the wash of the waves against the sand. “I’m here.”
Curatio led them off the edge of the bridge, the healer hurrying toward the origin of the voice t
hat had called through the night. Terian sighed. He could see Cyrus shuffling toward them in the dark, leaning on Windrider with the shape of the Baroness Cattrine next to him.
The favorite son.
Terian drew close to the front of the group, Longwell and Odellan close behind him. He could sense the presence of Martaina close at hand. She had an eye out for him, that elven wench. Clever, on her part.
“Ryin,” Cyrus said as they approached. Terian glanced over and saw Ryin Ayend, that contemptuous human druid, standing apart from them a little ways. How long has he been there?
No matter.
Terian separated himself from the others, drifting toward the jungle to their side. His feet crossed over each other side by side until he stood in the middle between them and Cyrus.
Apart.
“Cyrus,” Terian said, his sword in his hand.
Cyrus drew his blade in response and turned slowly toward Terian, dropping the reins of his horse. “Now, Terian?”
Terian felt the twist of emotion near his heart again. “No. Not now. I did what you asked. I fought to the end. Now … I’m not going back with you. Not to Sanctuary. Not so you can put me on trial like some kind of circus or example. I’m leaving.” And I don’t even know to where.
“Terian,” Curatio said with that damnable sternness that the elf could produce on command, “you tried to murder a fellow officer. If you think you can simply walk away from that—”
“No,” Cyrus said. The blue glow of Praelior moved in the dark, pointing toward the jungle behind Terian. “He can go.”
“I wasn’t asking your permission,” Terian said.
“I wasn’t giving permission. I was releasing you from the charge of attempting to murder me. Go on. Be about your business, then; we have no more between us now to deal with. It’s all settled on my end.”
Terian felt the grief run over him, and he nodded. “Not on mine. This isn’t over between us. Not yet.”
A sigh punctuated the darkness. “Fine. But at least do me the courtesy of not coming at me like a sidewinder next time. Try it head-on, like a man. I’ll give you the fight you’re looking for.”
Will you? Terian stared at Cyrus for a moment. Will you indeed? Terian felt himself start to move on faltering legs, the sands feeling like they were shifting beneath him. He watched the warrior in black in the dark of the night, his allies—his friends—clustered around him.
His friends. Not mine.
Not anymore.
Terian turned, returning his father’s sword to the scabbard. He felt the hilt in his hand as he sheathed it, felt the weight of responsibility—something he could not have predicted he’d feel when confronted with the situation as he had been.
Cyrus Davidon killed my father.
Terian swallowed, the taste of the salt air on his lips and the feel of fresh tears on his cheeks.
But I was the one who put him in Cyrus’s path. Who caused him to fall, who arranged his landing in that army, at that time.
I was the one who prayed for his death.
The sand gave way to grass, and Terian fought his way through. The blades of green brushed against his armor near the waist, and he took another step toward the darkness of the jungle beyond.
I think I could have forgiven Vara, if it had been her to do it, Terian thought, his breaths coming choked now. But Cyrus? The favorite?
He pictured Alaric as he’d seen him on the bridge. The helm blocked almost all view of his face when he’d appeared—just after that damned bestial scourge king showed up, the one that they called Drettanden—but Terian knew.
He knew. He could read Alaric even with his helm on.
The disappointment was a tangible thing. It had been obvious by the set of his jaw, by the slight squint of his one good eye as he’d looked at Terian while they stood together on the bridge.
“Alaric …” Terian had said, staring at the Ghost of Sanctuary. “I … I … I failed.”
“I know,” Alaric had said.
“I don’t know what to do anymore,” Terian had said, staring at the Ghost. Waiting. Waiting for guidance. For forgiveness.
For anything.
“I believe in you,” Alaric had said.
“Even still?” Terian’s voice had sounded brittle in his own ears.
“Always.” Alaric had not even blinked, that much had been obvious even through the disappointment. “Remember … redemption is a path you must walk every day.”
Terian felt the choking sense of his throat closing and fought the pain enough to stay on his feet. The smell of the jungle night was rich around him, earthy. The salt air was still present but faded now. Terian felt the stiff lines on his cheeks and eyes where the tears had faded, and he leaned against a tree for support.
“I’m sorry,” he said to the empty darkness. “I just … don’t know what to do.”
“Perhaps I can help with that,” came a voice from out of the dark. Terian whirled and saw a figure moving under the shadow of a tree. A black hood swept down with the motion of hands, and a thin, skeletal face showed itself beneath.
“Malpravus,” Terian said, and his sword was back in his hand. He stared at the necromancer, the dry, choking feeling in his throat threatening to overcome him.
“Dear boy,” Malpravus said, pulling his fingers together to steeple them as he took another step toward Terian. A smile of confidence, of reassurance—of glee—broke onto his bony face. “Might I offer you … a path?”
Terian stared at him for a long moment, stared at him, blade shaking in his grasp, not sure how to respond.
And then, slowly, he sheathed his sword.
A(nother few) Word(s) From the Author
So that was Terian’s story. Or at least the first part of his story. There’s more to come, as you’ll see on the next page, because let’s face it - I can’t just leave him in the apparent clutches of Malpravus and call it a day. Well, okay, maybe I could, but I don’t want you all to hate me, so there’s another Terian book (with some others as well) after Sanctuary, Volume Five.
If you want to know as soon as I release the next book (because I don't do release dates - there's a good reason, I swear), CLICK HERE to sign up for my mailing list. I promise I won’t spam you (I only send an email when I have a new book released) and I’ll never sell your info. You can also unsubscribe at any time. You might want to sign up, because in case you haven't noticed, these books keep showing up unexpectedly early. You just never know when the next will get here...
I also wanted to take a moment to thank you for reading this story. As an independent author, getting my name out to build an audience is one of the biggest priorities on any given day. If you enjoyed this story and are looking forward to reading more, let someone know - post it on the site you bought the book from, on your blog (if you have one), on Goodreads.com, place it in a quick Facebook status or Tweet with a link to the page of whatever outlet you purchased it from. Good reviews inspire people to take a chance on a new author – like me. And we new authors can use all the help we can get.
I appreciate your support and thanks for reading!
Robert J. Crane
Cyrus Davidon will return in
Master
The Sanctuary Series
Volume Five
Coming Fall 2014!
AND
Rejoin Terian Lepos
(and others) in Saekaj Sovar in
Fated in Darkness
The Sanctuary Series
Volume 5.5
Coming 2015!
Other Works by Robert J. Crane
The Sanctuary Series
Epic Fantasy
Defender: The Sanctuary Series, Volume One
Avenger: The Sanctuary Series, Volume Two
Champion: The Sanctuary Series, Volume Three
Crusader: The Sanctuary Series, Volume Four
Sanctuary Tales, Volume One - A Short Story Collection
Thy Father
's Shadow: The Sanctuary Series, Volume 4.5
Master: The Sanctuary Series, Volume Five* (Coming Fall 2014!)
Fated in Darkness: The Sanctuary Series, Volume 5.5* (Coming 2015!)
The Girl in the Box
Contemporary Urban Fantasy
Alone: The Girl in the Box, Book 1
Untouched: The Girl in the Box, Book 2
Soulless: The Girl in the Box, Book 3
Family: The Girl in the Box, Book 4
Omega: The Girl in the Box, Book 5
Broken: The Girl in the Box, Book 6
Enemies: The Girl in the Box, Book 7
Legacy: The Girl in the Box, Book 8
Destiny: The Girl in the Box, Book 9
Power: The Girl in the Box, Book 10* (Coming Late Summer 2014!)
Limitless: Out of the Box, Book 1* (Coming Late 2014!)
In the Wind: Out of the Box, Book 2* (Coming Late 2014/Early 2015!)
Southern Watch
Contemporary Urban Fantasy
Called: Southern Watch, Book 1
Depths: Southern Watch, Book 2
Corrupted: Southern Watch, Book 3* (Coming Summer 2014!)
Unearthed: Southern Watch, Book 4* (Coming Late 2014!)
*Forthcoming
Acknowledgments, Part 17
I work on so many books that sometimes it's hard for me to remember who all had a part in them. I've mostly got an established crew, but there are just so many people who chip in with an idea or a little help that I always feel like I'm missing someone. Here's my best effort, nonetheless:
Erin Kane, Jessica Kelishes and Jo Evans helped me put the final polish on the manuscript by stomping out those last troublesome errors.
Thy Father's Shadow (Book 4.5) Page 32