by Joseph Lallo
“I’m sorry,” Vara said, looking from left to right with exaggerated emphasis. “I hear someone talking, but I can’t see them.” She looked down and her face registered faked shock, lips forming a perfect o. “Oh, look, a street urchin.” She reached down to pat him on the head. “Well, it looks as though you’re getting plenty to eat.”
Narstron scowled at her.
Vara turned back to Orion. “Now that the stragglers are here,” she looked pointedly at Narstron but did not acknowledge Cyrus, “we’re quite ready, whenever you are.”
Cyrus’s eyes looked around the adventurers. He studied the troll named Vaste, watching his posture, seeing how he interacted with the elves around him. Most trolls, even the half dozen or so that were permitted in Reikonos, looked hostile, tense and barely restrained. This one did not. He was calm and even laughed at a joke that one of the elves had made. Cyrus watched as Vaste threw in a witticism of his own and the group roared with laughter.
Cyrus’s gaze turned to another small cluster of Sanctuary’s adventurers. In the group was a dark elf, his hair black and skin a deep navy. He wore armor that while not as blackened as Cyrus’s, had seen fair use. A battle axe was slung across his back, and he sported a half-serious look. He stood next to an elven man who could be described in no other way but radiant – his platinum hair was cropped short and he had the markings of a healer.
On the elf's right was a much younger looking elven woman, who wore robes of deepest crimson. Her laugh was airy and loud. The last hole in their circle was filled by someone too short for Cyrus to see at first. As he strained his neck to look around the red-robed elven woman, he caught sight of a gnome, with a dark blue robe that hung perfectly on his tiny frame.
Orion broke Cyrus's preoccupation. “Why don’t you introduce yourselves around? We’ll be moving in a few minutes, but we’ve got things to plan first.”
“Yes,” Vara added, “do hurry along, and we’ll let you know when we’re ready for you to poke at something with those dull and rusty farm implements.” She waved her hand at their swords.
Orion shook his head. “Can’t you be nice to anyone?”
She pursed her lips as Cyrus turned from her and walked toward the group he had been observing. “I’m nice enough to you, aren’t I?” Orion cleared his throat. “Well,” Vara said, “I haven’t impaled you yet, so count your blessings.”
“Just once,” Narstron muttered, “I’d like to meet a paladin that’s not so self-righteous and full of themselves, so focused on their ‘holy crusade’ – whatever that may be – that they’d ignore someone dying in the street as they passed.”
Cyrus was befuddled. “Paladin?”
“Tell me you're joking. Paladin? White knight? Holy crusader?”
Cyrus shrugged. “If they didn't teach it at the Society of Arms, I didn't learn it.”
“They're like you. They use one sword – but unlike you, they can also use magic. They can heal a little bit, mend some wounds; not as well or quickly as a healer, mind you, but well enough to get themselves out of a scrape.”
“So what? They can use a sword and a little bit of magic.”
“It's a lethal combination.” Narstron locked his eyes on Cyrus. “You land a deadly sword thrust, impaling your foe. What happens if they're a warrior like us?”
“They're dead unless a healer is backing them up.”
“Exactly. But a paladin,” Narstron's eyes glinted, “they take a couple steps back, cast a spell and knit the wound up, and they're back at it a moment later, until they run you through.” He gestured pointedly, miming the motion of stabbing Cyrus.
Cyrus's eyes narrowed. “What made them so damned special to be able to use magic?”
The dwarf shrugged. “What makes anyone able to use magic? You've either got it or you don't. And if you do, they send you the Leagues.”
“What are the Leagues?” Cyrus frowned.
“Like ours is the Society of Arms, the organization that teaches adventurers their trades. Theirs is called the Holy Brethren. Paladins use their magic and swordplay for their cause, which is personal to each of them – like saving the poor, or protecting the downtrodden or freeing the slaves.”
“Sounds kind of silly.”
“Yeah. And they always worship one of the 'good' gods, like the Goddess of Love, or the Goddess of Life. They have a code of honor. For example, your foe turns his back to you – do you strike?”
“Damned right you do.” Cyrus nodded. “It's the best time; they can't hit you back.”
Narstron shook his head. “See, a paladin won't do that. It's not ‘honorable’.”
Cyrus nodded his understanding. As he and Narstron approached the group of adventurers, the radiant elven man turned to face them and beamed at them with a dazzling smile. “I can’t tell you what a pleasure it is to welcome you to our band today,” he said in a tone that indicated he wholeheartedly meant it. He took Cyrus’s hand in a firm but warm handshake.
“My name,” the elf began, “is Curatio Soulmender, and I am the chief healer of Sanctuary, and one of the guild’s officers.” He favored them with a look that was as close to opposite of Vara’s normal expression as could be found. “Let me introduce you to some of our compatriots.”
He turned first to the dark elf with a sweeping gesture. “This is Terian Lepos. He is Sanctuary’s sole dark knight.”
“A dark knight?” Cyrus said with a start. “Kind of the opposite of a paladin?” He looked to Narstron for guidance.
“Quite right. Dark knights use treachery, black magics and serve 'evil' gods.” Narstron looked at Lepos almost apologetically. “Sanctuary seems like a rather noble outfit to employ a dark knight.”
“We may serve 'evil' gods, by your definition,” Terian said with dark eyes fixed on Narstron. “But I try to restrict my activities to conform to Sanctuary's code of honor.”
“Really?” The dwarf's eyes widened. “I thought dark knights were into soul draining, life sucking and backstabbing.”
“I haven't done any of those things... today.” Terian smiled.
“I faced a dark knight once,” Cyrus said with sudden realization.
Lepos raised an eyebrow. “You’re still alive, so I presume you either had help in the battle or you met a very poor dark knight.”
Red flushed the warrior’s cheeks. “I did have help and you’re right,” he acknowledged with only a trace of shame. “If I hadn’t been with a healer, the dark knight I ran across – a bandit – would have killed me.” Cyrus’s eyes narrowed at the memory. “He cast a spell while we were fighting and it literally tore the breath out of me. I nearly passed out from the pain.”
Another slight smile appeared on Terian's face. “He used an incantation that stole a bit of your vitality – your life or your soul, depending on how you view it. It’s a useful spell; it's kept me alive a time or two.”
Narstron nodded. “I need something like that.”
Terian threw his head back and cackled before replying. “Do you need it badly enough that you’re ready to initiate a soul sacrifice with Mortus, the God of Death, or Yartraak, the God of Darkness?”
The dwarf’s eyes widened. “Perhaps not that badly.”
Lepos had a smile of mirth on his face but said nothing as the lady elf in the crimson robes spoke up. “Don't mind Terian. He's a bit... prideful. My name is Nyad Spiritcaster.”
Cyrus took her hand and alternated between looking at her and Curatio. “I had always heard that elves don't have surnames.”
Nyad laughed. “That's the effects of humans on us. We don't have surnames – not in proper elvish society. However,” she explained, “I left Pharesia, the elven capital, when I first struck out on my own as a young elven woman of one hundred and eight –”
“One hundred and eight?” Cyrus echoed in astonishment. “I'd heard elves were long-lived, but I didn't really know how long-lived.”
“Most elves live several mil
lenia.” Nyad continued, “I left Pharesia, a place where elven culture is very strict and where there isn't much influence from the outside world. No elf in Pharesia would even think of having a last name!” she said with a conspiratorial chuckle. “However, have you heard of Termina?”
Cyrus nodded. “Andren told me about it. It's a massive elven city on the river Perda southwest of Reikonos.”
“It's at the very edge of the Elven Kingdom, and while our capital is still very much in line with our caste system, Termina is a place where elven norms become a bit murkier. It was there I picked up my surname. Most elves who have lived in Termina have done the same. It's quite trendy, and it makes it easier to relate to offlanders...” She coughed. “Excuse me, non-elves.”
“I've heard stories about Termina.” Cyrus chose his words carefully. “I've heard that in the kingdom an elven woman would never look at an outsider or a member of a lower caste for fear that she would lose status.” He thought about it for a moment. “Which would actually explain Vara. But in Termina it's supposed to be different...”
“It is,” Nyad nodded. “The kingdom is very caste driven. Marrying or bedding an outsider would drop your status in the eyes of everyone. If a high-born elf and a low-born elf were to become involved, the high-born would lose significant face. In Termina, however, anything can happen. And does.”
“But,” Narstron asked, “isn't Termina part of the Elven Kingdom? Ruled by that massive royal family of yours?”
Nyad blushed deeply, the color of her robes. “Of mine?” she asked in a pitch above her normal conversational tone. “I don't know what you mean,” she stammered.
Narstron studied her with a raised eyebrow, aware that he had touched a nerve. “Of your kingdom,” he clarified. Cyrus looked at Curatio to gauge his reaction, but the healer's expression was guarded. Terian, on the other hand, looked highly amused.
“Yes, the royal family rules Termina.” She paused for a moment and composed herself. “Pharesia has been the capital of the Elven Kingdom since its founding, long before humankind was around. Since the rise of Reikonos, and the growing trade with offlanders, that commerce has become vital to our economy. Without Termina, the Elven Kingdom would fall within a year.”
“How is that possible?” Cyrus looked at her in disbelief.
She shrugged. “Commerce is a dirty practice in Pharesia and that attitude radiates to the towns and villages of the kingdom. Only a lower-born would be a merchant while being high born or royalty is exalted above all else.” She looked Cyrus in the eyes. “When you demonize the merchants that bring your society prosperity and consider those who engage in it to be sneaky or criminal, you create a society where people want to be royalty and nobody wants to do the uncouth work that allow the royalty to survive.”
Cyrus exchanged a look with Narstron. “They actually consider merchant work to be dirty in the Elven Kingdom?”
“Low status work,” Nyad corrected. “Merchants are like kings in Termina because there is no status barrier, money is exalted. Everything is for sale in Termina, and royalty and merchant are equal, and the same goes for offlanders. As long as you have money, anything is negotiable.”
“It sounds dramatically different from Pharesia,” Cyrus said.
“It is. About a tenth of the population of Termina is non-elves, and their,” she coughed again, seemingly her way of covering a somewhat embarrassing statement, “foreign ways have tremendous influence on the mostly younger and impressionable elven population of Termina.”
A roar sounded as two titans charged into the clearing and looked upon the party with outrage. “More intruders!” one of them bellowed.
Niamh was hovering (How does she do that? Cyrus wondered) overhead and suddenly dark bolts were flying from her hands, lightning coursing through the titans.
Cyrus darted into the battle. The titan before him was within his reach when it veered toward its comrade. The second titan assumed a defensive posture and blocked a sword-swipe, barely keeping it from removing his arm. A burst of fire bowled him over and consumed him. Cy started to alter course toward the one that had attacked his fellow but it was strangely still. The titan's eyes were fixed and unmoving, staring straight ahead.
“Whaddya think, Curatio?” piped the gnome standing in the group with him. “Can I keep him?”
The elf smiled, and again it put Cyrus oddly at ease. It took him a moment to realize why. Stern was an attribute that could be assigned to most elves. They weren’t much for friendliness with outsiders. “Sure thing, J'anda.”
The army resumed a relaxed state. Cyrus could not shake a feeling of discomfort with a titan now standing in their midst. The gnome in the circle made his way past Curatio and looked up at Cyrus expectantly. “I am J'anda Aimant.”
Cyrus leaned down. “Forgive me; I haven't had much contact with gnomes.”
J'anda chortled. “What makes you think I'm a gnome?” Cyrus looked at him curiously, not sure that he'd heard J'anda correctly. Cyrus blinked and the gnome was gone, replaced by a dwarf, still wearing the same blue robe, but resized to fit the much bulkier and taller frame.
“Uh... I can't say I've ever seen anything quite like this before...” Cyrus said.
“Ah,” J'anda replied. “Then you'll really be impressed with this.” This time, Cyrus didn't even blink – but the dwarf was gone and replaced with a human. Fine, delicate features graced his face. He smiled at Cyrus, and before the warrior had a chance to reply, J'anda's ears grew and he had become an elf.
“Now that's impressive,” Narstron said. “I can't say I've ever seen an enchanter go through that many illusions.”
Cyrus relaxed a little. “An enchanter. That explains your ability to control the titan.”
J'anda gave him another dazzling smile. “One of my many talents, I assure you.”
Cyrus regarded the enchanter carefully. “What else can you do besides change your form and charm a titan to do your bidding?”
J'anda's same charming smile made its way across his face, “An excellent question, and one you will surely learn the answer to should you join Sanctuary. I'm not charming this titan – I'm completely bending his will to mine. I could tell him to walk down there and attack the rest of the titan guards,” J'anda indicated the path ahead, “and he would do it cheerfully. And he will,” an air of impatience filled the enchanter's voice, “as soon as we get moving.”
“I've had some experience with that recently.” Cyrus's eyes focused on the titan captive's. They were blank, unfocused.
“Oh?” J'anda smiled. “Were you witnessing it or did you get your will bent?”
“No, I didn't get my will bent.” Cyrus remained expressionless. “But it was attempted.”
The elf's eyebrow went up. “You resisted?”
Cyrus honed in on the enchanter. “Yes. Ashan'agar, the Dragonlord, tried to get me to do his bidding.”
Both of J'anda's eyebrows retreated upward. “My goodness. How did you escape his power?”
A shrug. “I don't know.”
Whatever response J'anda might have offered was cut off by the sudden arrival of Vara. “When these giants came around the corner, they said something about 'More intruders’. Can you find out what that means?”
“Certainly.” J'anda nodded in accommodation. The enchanter's eyes looked up at the titan, gazing deeply. J'anda did not move or speak for several moments, and when he broke his gaze from the titan, he was unsmiling. “Someone attacked their city last night from the southern entrance. Something was stolen. Something valuable.”
“Any idea what?” Vara blew air impatiently out of her lips.
“He doesn't know,” came the enchanter's reply. “Whatever it was, they're not making it common knowledge.”
“We're ready to move,” Orion commanded the attention of the entire group. “Let's get this excursion underway. Security is bound to be tighter than we expected if they just got hit last night, so be on guard.” He b
egan walking backward down the path to Kortran. “Move out, Sanctuary!”
Chapter 7
As the group began to move Cyrus tried to stick close to Orion. A flash of red made him start as a familiar figure emerged from the shadows.
“Niamh!” Orion seemed pleased to see her. “What news from the city?”
The elf smiled. “No more guards in the road ahead. Which is fortunate,” she raised her voice, “because this lot has all the stealth capability of a bar full of drunken trolls! We’re clear all the way to our objective,” she told the ranger with a smile. With a spell she faded back into the shadows.
Cyrus turned his attention to Orion. “What is our objective?”
Orion looked back at him. “How much do you know about the southern lands?”
Cyrus shrugged as they walked forward. “I know that we’re in them, it’s damned hot, and there are riches in here somewhere.”
Orion smirked before replying. “All true. There are three factions in the southern regions: the elves of Amti, a colony that is mostly independent of the Elven Kingdom somewhere east of the Savanna, in the Jungle of Vidara. Then there are the dragons of Hewat – you recall their former king?” The smirk grew wider. “The dragons are far south of here; the only way to get to them would be having a wizard open a portal to the wastelands, or to go through Kortran. Which brings us to the titans. Three factions, all fighting for the southern lands. The elves’ and dragons’ territory is separated by the territory of the titans, so they rarely engage in battle.”
“Why don't they ally?”
The ranger shuddered. “Dragons don't have much in the way of allies: just people they're not at war with. Titans and dragons are a pretty good match, but the elves of Amti? They're outnumbered and small compared to a titan or a dragon.”
Cyrus looked around. “Pretend you're a titan.” Orion nodded. “You had intruders last night, they steal something valuable and secret enough that your guards don't even know what it is, but you don't increase your security?” Cyrus looked at the ranger with disbelief on his face. “This doesn’t look like a city at war. We’re heading in and I’ve yet to see more than token resistance.”