by Joseph Lallo
Cyrus looked over to see Niamh gathering up survivors. He watched a gust of wind surround her and grow to the intensity of a tornado with her at the center. When the winds receded she and the group surrounding her were gone, leaving only a handful of the army’s remnants behind.
“Niamh is teleporting the survivors out!” Cy’s shout to Narstron was barely audible over the screeching of the dragon.
“She what?” The dwarf was behind the leg of the dragon. “Looks like she and the others disappeared!”
“She teleported!” Cyrus shouted back. “She's a druid; they can do that! She's getting the survivors to safety!” The tail of the dragon swept down, narrowly missing the warriors.
“I could use a little safety meself!”
Cyrus looked up at the woman on the dragon's shoulder. It was an elven woman, but not Angelique in her ornate armor. He could see blond hair drawn into a ponytail, waving back and forth with the frenzied movement of the Dragonlord.
Ashan’agar had decided she was the greatest threat facing him and was scrambling to move his head into position to deal with her. As the long neck waved the elf removed her sword and dropped to the ground behind the dragon’s front left leg. She rolled perfectly out of the fall and sprang to her feet in a run toward the back of the dragon, where Cyrus and Narstron were both hacking away trying to find weaknesses.
Dodging behind the leg on the same side as Cyrus, he acknowledged her with a shout. “Nice work!” She fixed him with a momentary glare as she passed and turned to bring her sword to bear with an artistry that Cyrus had never seen, even from the instructors at the Society of Arms. Her first three strikes did more damage than all of his and Narstron’s efforts combined, biting through the layer of armored scaling and into the flesh beneath it.
“Nice of you to join us, Vara.” Narstron buried his sword once more. As the dragon’s leg lifted, the dwarf tugged the sword back from the moving limb. “You could have stayed on the shoulder, though; we have things firmly in hand here.” Cy realized with a shock that she was the fourth member of Orion’s party, the one who had been hidden in the shadows.
“Based on the damage you seem to have inflicted,” her voice came, taut and imperious, “it appears that the two of you have only one thing in your hands, and it is most certainly not your swords.” The shadow of a smile graced her lips. “Why don’t you,” she said to Cy with a mocking sweetness, “concentrate your efforts where I just cut that scale off? You’ll have better luck with that rusty butcher’s knife you’re carrying now that I’ve cleared the way.”
“I know that we’re facing a dragon here,” Narstron said with annoyance. “But you could at least try and buck your nature by not being a pretentious elf.”
“I’m sorry,” she said without a trace of irony or sincerity. “Should I say ‘please’ when I direct you to help me kill our large and implacable foe? Would that help assuage that sense of inferiority dwarves carry like a shield anytime someone instructs you toward intelligent action?”
Narstron’s reply was swallowed in the next bellow of the dragon. Having shifted his focus to the trio striking at his legs, Ashan’agar began to sidestep, trying to expose the threats beneath him. Unfortunately for the dragon they moved more quickly than he did; although it did prevent them from attacking him further.
As they passed in a circle, Cyrus couldn’t help but be reminded of a dog chasing its tail. A multi-ton, scaly, fire breathing, super-intelligent dog that commands every beast in a several mile radius chasing its tail, Cyrus corrected. Even facing death he couldn’t help but chuckle at what had to look absurd to anyone watching. Vara, only inches away, heard his laugh and cast a look at him that branded him an idiot.
Ashan’agar turned swiftly in the opposite direction. The dragon brought a claw around, felling Narstron; a geyser of blood erupted from the dwarf's abdomen as he fell.
The Dragonlord bellowed in triumph. “Fools! Witness the death of those who oppose me!”
“Go!” Blood spurted from between Narstron's fingers as he tried to sit up and failed. With his free hand, the dwarf waved at Cyrus to keep moving.
Cyrus, shocked, looked to Vara for guidance. “Don’t stop running,” she said. The ice in her eyes suppressed his concern. An unexpected step by the dragon left them exposed for a moment and Vara’s reflexes allowed her to shove Cyrus with a surprising amount of force back under the dragon to continue the pattern.
“The only thing stopping him from finishing your dwarven friend is us,” she said as she shoved Cyrus once more, herding him under the dragon's belly.
Cy’s gaze flitted to the archway. The bridge into the chamber was packed with spiders and rock giants, clawing to get past Orion and the other defenders. Selene was moving to drag Narstron off the platform while Ashan’agar was distracted by Cyrus and Vara.
Ignoring the shout of protest from Vara (“Stay away from the foot, you fool!”), he jumped on Ashan’agar’s left hind leg and jammed his sword as hard as he could into the gap between the center claw and the scales on the middle toe.
He rolled off the foot and looked up to find the guardians on the bridge barely holding. Narstron was assisting them after Selene had healed him but they were outnumbered and had lost several of their number to the lava. Cyrus looked up to see the full anger of Ashan’agar, former king of the dragons.
The Dragonlord's eyes locked onto his, pools of swirling black looking into the depths of him. “I see you, Cyrus Davidon,” he said, his harsh voice now melodic. “I can hear your thoughts. Serve me, and I will spare your life.”
The face came closer to Cyrus, and he could see every scale. Spikes jutted from the top of the dragon's head as it slithered toward him, snakelike. It moved slowly, eyes fixated on him. It was such a sweet sound, the dragon's voice in his head. “I have many treasures...”
A flash of images forced their way into the warrior's mind. A flaming staff, a glowing sword, gold, coins, and... the Serpent's Bane. “I know what you seek, Cyrus Davidon... I have it, you know... the Serpent's Bane...”
“I do,” the warrior said, motionless, eyes focused on the Dragonlord's.
“Tell me you aren't marrying this thing!” Vara struck at Ashan'agar's legs, but the dragon was hindering her efforts with wild swings of his tail.
“Kill her for me, Cyrus Davidon,” the Dragonlord's voice boomed. “Kill the others, be my General and lead my armies... serve me... be my emissary and walk where I cannot... do my work...” The face grew closer and closer. “...and I will give you the Serpent's Bane... and all else your heart desires... I will give you purpose...”
Cyrus smiled at the dragon's face, now only a foot from his, luxuriating in the thought of possessing what he came here for. “No,” the warrior said, all dreaminess gone from his voice.
The dragon's head recoiled but it was too late. Cyrus plunged forward from his motionless position with reflexes far beyond those of a normal human. His sword was raised and brought down in the blink of an eye – which in the case of Ashan'agar, was the last blink his right eye ever performed. Cyrus's sword ruptured the eyelid and punctured the dragon's eye.
A scream filled the cavern and Cyrus's head, driving the warrior back. So stunned was he that Cyrus relinquished the grip on his sword's hilt as the dragon's head whipped in agony. In a fit of rage the Dragonlord began to flap his wings and rose from the ground in a shuddering, hovering flight.
The force of the air from the wings kept Cyrus on his knees until he felt strong hands reach under his arms and drag him to his feet. “No bowing down to the Dragonlord today, brave warrior,” Vara's quiet voice breathed in his ear. He staggered to his feet and braced himself against the wind from the beating wings.
“Fool!” came Ashan'agar's voice once more in his mind. “I would have given you everything you sought!”
“I always wanted to be the slave of an oversized snake,” Cyrus tossed back.
“...Impudence...” came the voice in his
mind. “I will kill all of you for this insult.”
“And I thought we were headed for a nice cup of tea.”
“Cyrus! Vara! Over here!” Cy turned back to the bridge just in time to see Niamh running full tilt – on air! – over the heads of the attacking giants and spiders. “Hurry!” The druid landed behind the line of defenders on the bridge. Orion and Narstron were anchoring the ends closest to the edge, taking the greatest personal risk but each successfully trading blows with a giant – the rest of which were bottlenecked by Narstron and Orion’s efforts.
Between the two giants in the front of the line, a few spell casters poured magic into the fray and kept the spiders from making headway around the rock giants. The druid began casting her teleport spell again – Cyrus and Vara had seconds to make it to them before they would be gone.
“Hurry!” Vara called above the sounds of battle, wind and raging dragon. Her voice was strained; the urgency unmistakable and a distinct contrast from the calm she had displayed to this point. Cyrus took one last look past the dragon, at the glint that he knew was the treasure horde.
Turning his focus back to the archway, Cyrus realized there was no way he could make it in time. Vara jumped, missing the archway by inches and landing with a sword swipe that cleared the spiders attacking the middle of the defenders line.
He chanced to look back and saw the dragon drawing a deep breath, ready to spew the fire Cyrus was certain would consume him – and watched as Ashan’agar staggered from a blast of ice that hit the dragon in the face, rocking him back just enough in his hovering flight to send him into a spin. The Dragonlord crashed to the ground, struggling to get back to his feet.
Charging forward, Cyrus passed Niamh, who winked at him while brushing the frost from the hand she had cast the spell with. She began to murmur an incantation as Cyrus took his place in the middle of the line and plugged the gap next to Vara. He knew Niamh’s teleport spell was coming quickly, and that they only needed to hold for a few seconds…
“Glad you could join us!” Orion yelled. His blades were moving with lightning speed, blocking the giant’s fists with each blow, the odd strike catching a spider crawling between the fiend’s legs. Cyrus grabbed the sword from the ground and attacked the spiders that were crawling through the gap between the giants that Narstron and Orion were keeping at bay.
Vara was at his shoulder, slicing at the surging arachnids while he cleaved at them with brute force. Cyrus felt a wind whip around him, gentle at first, but then howling with hurricane intensity, his feet left the ground, and the spiders and rock giants, the caves and lava that surrounded him were no more.
Chapter 3
The blast of wind died down around him, and Cyrus found himself in the middle of the central square in Reikonos, the fading light of sundown painting the plaza in a light that didn’t look dramatically different from the orange and red of the lava in the fire caves. Some of the other survivors were still clustered around, recovering from wounds and discussing the chaos of the day. He immediately accounted for the Kings of Reikonos… finding them both present he began to relax. Several of the survivors were seriously wounded, and Selene was healing them as she went.
Vara looked irate and locked onto Cyrus immediately. “Was he speaking to you with his mind? Did he try to command you to do his bidding?”
“Yes.” Cyrus blinked. “He told me to kill you and the others.”
Her eyes narrowed, but she did not say anything further.
“How many made it out?” Cyrus asked.
Niamh grimaced. “Based on the count I did, 32 out of 121 that started this morning.”
Cyrus looked around at the remains of the army, fresh-faced rubes no more. “Did the leader at least have the decency to die?”
Vara shook her head. “Unfortunately, no. However…” Her words drifted off and she pointed to where the bejeweled elf was sitting propped against the wall of the fountain in the center of the square. She was trembling and her eyes were wide, staring into the distance. “I don’t think she’ll be leading any more excursions anytime soon,” Vara concluded with a tinge of satisfaction.
“I guess that finishes our business here.” Cyrus looked at the kings. “Ready to go?”
Andren was already in motion. “I got a keg waiting on me back at the barn. So long!” He set off at a run down the road to the slums. Narstron said a quick farewell and followed.
Cyrus turned back to Orion, not meeting the ranger’s eyes. He stood with them, strangers that had helped save his life, and fumbled for words. “Thanks for your help. If not for you, that would have turned out much worse.”
Orion studied him intently. “Cyrus, was that your first expedition?”
A flush of heat crept up the warrior’s cheeks. “I performed that poorly?”
The human ranger shook his head. “No. You handled yourself very well. But am I correct in assuming that now that I've met the three of you I now know every single one of the Kings of Reikonos?”
When Cyrus nodded, the ranger went on. “I thought so. You have a great group for adventuring but unless you’re doing things like this,” he gestured at the living flotsam around them, “you’re not doing much in the way of adventuring. If you’re on expeditions of this kind, it’s only a matter of time until you die in some hole.”
Cyrus met Orion’s gaze defiantly. “I learned that lesson well enough today. I don’t think I’ll be going on any more expeditions with people I don’t know and don’t trust.”
Orion’s stare bored into him. “Then unless you want to give up adventuring you’ll need a bigger guild to join.”
The heat rose up Cyrus’s face again. “I know what larger guilds want from adventurers. I promise you I’m not even close to having the type of training they would want me to have. And of course there are sacrifices they'd ask me to make – membership dues, leaving behind my friends – and I would never leave them behind to advance myself –”
Orion cut him off. “Not all guilds are like that. Ours isn’t. We don't have any membership dues and we could use more people like the kings. We’ve got a sizable force, we’re going to places where there is an abundance of loot – which can buy a lot of good armor with mystical properties, things that help you to take harder hits as you face worse foes.”
He took a step toward Cyrus and reached up to place a hand on the warrior’s shoulder. “Niamh, Vara and I are on the Council that runs our guild. We would invite you to join us.”
There was a sudden and inexplicable lump in Cyrus’s throat. “I’ll… have to talk it over with my guildmates. But thank you.” The flush in his face began to subside.
“It was an honor to meet you, Cyrus.” Niamh reached out and took his hand. Selene echoed the druid. Vara was frozen, blue eyes locked on him, and made no move or gesture to say farewell.
“How will I find you to let you know the answer?” Cyrus asked Orion.
The ranger smiled. “I’ll be around. You can find me here or in the markets frequently enough. And if that fails, you could always visit our guildhall in the Plains of Perdamun.”
Cyrus thanked them again, and turned to leave. Remembering the question he had forgotten to ask, he turned in time to see the winds beginning to whip up around them, Niamh’s spell already in motion. “What’s the name of your guild?” he asked, taking a last look at all of them. His eyes came to rest on Vara, who was looking back at him, eyes drilling into his, burning the memory of the look on her face into his mind.
As the blast of wind encircled the party and carried them away, Cyrus heard Orion’s answer carried on the dying breeze.
“Sanctuary…”
Chapter 4
Cyrus approached the Kings of Reikonos guildhall, its rectangular shape standing out in the small dwellings of the slums. The faint, almost otherworldly glow from the last vestiges of sunlight added to the torchlight in the thoroughfares. The torches were lit all the time because the slums’ location in a valley
sandwiched between the taller buildings of the commerce district and the markets never exposed the streets to direct sunlight but by the light of midday. The slums were darker than the square by far; almost darker than the lava-lit cavern.
So here I am, Cyrus thought, living in the slums of Reikonos. He looked around at the decrepit town of shanties and lean-tos that filled the streets around him, choking out the real structures and dwellings.
The City of Reikonos was built on the coast of the Torrid Sea, but even after living in the city his entire life, he had only seen the sea twice – once on a visit to the docks and the second time from the top of the Citadel, the massive tower that was the seat of Reikonosian government. The nicest houses in Reikonos were on bluffs, directly overlooking the ocean. The slums were far from the water.
The refurbished barn that served as the Kings’ guildhall had always been embarrassing, since the day he’d paid every last gold piece he possessed to buy it. But it had never felt so confining before. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and stepped inside. There was a conversation going on when Cyrus walked in. It died as he entered. Andren and Narstron turned to face him expectantly.
“What?” He looked at them with absolute nonchalance.
“Two questions,” Andren began, tall mug of ale already in his hand. “What was the name of their guild and did they ask us to join them?”
Cyrus took his time answering, eyes downcast. “The name of their guild was Sanctuary.” Cyrus began to unstrap his plate mail at a leisurely pace.
“Quit stallin’ and get on with it!” Narstron's leg twitched with excitement as he sat on his bunk.
“The answer to your second question,” Cyrus let a smile play across his lips, “is yes, they did.”
Andren upturned his glass, downing it in a single pull. Narstron looked insufferably pleased as he pumped his fist and yelled, “Yes!”