by Joseph Lallo
Talikartin was close now, reaching back, intent on raining a crippling blow on the lone warrior in black, a blow he could not stop or avoid. “Return Ferocis to us and I will make your death painless.”
“Ferocis?” Cyrus's hand remained at his side. Twenty paces.
“Do not be coy! Return Ferocis – the Warblade of Bellarum – that you took from us, and I will make this fast. Otherwise, your death will not be swift.”
Cyrus's eyebrow raised. Ten paces. “Tempting. But I didn't steal it.” His eyes moved from Razeel to Talikartin, locking on the shocking blue pupils of this titan among titans. Five. And the warrior smiled. “So long, Tali,” he mocked, scorn dripping from his words. “I’ll be back for you – and your Emperor.”
His hands reached out and grasped the orb as Talikartin's hand arced forward. Blue fire exploded, encompassing his vision and Talikartin the Guardian's killing strike vanished before him.
Chapter 9
The magics of teleportation faded from his eyes. He had arrived at Reikonos Square and no one from Sanctuary was anywhere in sight. Just another day: no dragons, no titans – just people going about their business. Most were headed to the markets or the commercial district, a few perhaps to the slums and the illicit trade within, others heading toward the Citadel or the city gates. Unsure what to do next, he turned to head back to the guildhall.
“Hey.” The voice startled him. Floating a few feet above, smiling from ear to ear, was Niamh.
He returned her smile. “Glad to see you. Everyone made it out okay?”
She scowled. “Everyone but you, we thought. Another five minutes and I was going to assemble a search party.” Her smile returned. “Glad I didn’t have to. Ready to check out Sanctuary?” She cocked her head.
He hesitated. “I can’t go without Andren. I give my blessing to join Sanctuary without reservations. But we have to get Andren first.” He gestured in the direction of the slums. “Our guildhall is just through there; I’ll go and be right back.”
She floated down and grabbed him by the shoulder as he was turning to leave. “Hold it right there, hotshot. Nyad caught up with Narstron here at the same time I did. They’re probably already at Sanctuary right now; Nyad has a teleport spell that can bring them right to the foyer.” Her grin was now from ear to ear. “You and me? We got a ways to run. Hope you’re not too tired…”
A few moments later Cyrus felt his feet touch the ground as the teleport spell died away and found himself in the long, wild grass of the Plains of Perdamun. Finding Niamh next to him, still floating, he finally found the moment to ask the question that had been on his mind. “How do you do that?”
She grinned again. “How do I do what?” She flipped her flaming red hair over her shoulder. “You mean, how do I fly? Walk on air?” She laughed, a sound that harmonized with the breeze rustling in the grasses of the plains. “It’s magic, silly ass.”
“I figured that much out for myself.”
She paused, murmuring under her breath. Cyrus felt the light touch of magic, flowing from his feet up to his head. He looked down… and he was floating. “Because I'm a druid, a servant of nature, most of my spells are based on using nature's power. For example, the roots of the trees of Arkaria? I can command them, like I did in Kortran. I also have a spell that imbues you with the essence of a falcon – which means you can fly.”
Without warning, she took off running north at top speed. With only a moment of delay Cyrus’s reflexes kicked in and he followed her. Not bad, he thought, wind rushing in his face. They flew across the plains, the tall grass swaying in their wake. The grass here was much less dry than that of the Gradsden Savanna. It was lush and green, and swayed in the autumnal wind.
Niamh had been exaggerating the length of the run. After only five minutes, enormous stone gates appeared before them, parting a very tall wall. Over the top of it he could see a large building peeking out. As they ran through the gates, he was momentarily breathless.
It was a building unlike any he had seen; towers were topped by spires at the four corners of the building. The front had multiple archways leading from the towers to the center of the structure; an arch larger than the rest peaked at the roof. An enormous, circular stained glass window placed roughly twenty feet above the largest doors Cyrus had seen other than in Kortran. The tallest spire of all was a tower in the center of the building leading several hundred feet above the rest of the structure.
Niamh stopped at his side. “Welcome to Sanctuary.”
Looking around he found the grounds were impressive as well. To his right were stables, and beyond them he could see an archery range. On the other side of the main building was a smaller stone building with a wooden roof that belched smoke from three different chimneys.
“Oy!” Narstron called out, coming from the stables with Andren and Nyad in tow. “Thought you might not have made it out.”
Cy looked at him, eyebrow raised. “Yeah, I can see you were torn up about it, too.”
He looked at Andren warily; the elf looked sober, for once, and a bit put out. “Thanks for bringing me along.” His expression was sour.
“Sorry.” Cyrus shrugged.
Changing his focus to Nyad, he bowed slightly. “Thanks for saving us all in there, Nyad. How long does the orb from that teleportation spell last before it disappears?”
Looking slightly baffled, she answered, “I think a minute or two? I've never stuck around long enough to find out. I do know,” she said, “that it will follow you around ‘til it goes out.”
Niamh surveyed them anxiously. “So, are you gonna apply to join us or what?”
Cyrus looked at her, then looked at the expectant eyes of Andren and Narstron. “After consideration, I think Sanctuary is the kind of people we can rely on. So, yes.” Nods of approval from Andren and Narstron followed.
Niamh beamed at them. “Well, all right. Ready for the grand tour?”
After they nodded, she led them through the entryway and into an enormous foyer. Hallways exited from all sides, but ahead of them was another, slightly less massive set of doors that were open wide and led into a great hall – complete with dining tables. “Great hall,” Narstron mused aloud. “’Tis truly great. Is this where the meals are served?”
Niamh looked down at him. “Sure is. Three squares a day, plus there's always food available. There’s a pretty extensive kitchen. Most of the cooking is done by Larana Stillhet. She’s the handiest person around. She can cook, sew – almost any skill you'd need, she has. That's her workshop out back.”
“The one with the three chimneys?” Cyrus asked.
Niamh nodded. “She tends to the domestic side of Sanctuary.”
“What about ale?” Andren asked before Cyrus could follow up on his question.
“Larana is a master brewer, too.”
“I can’t tell you how excited I am to be here,” Andren said.
After seeing the empty great hall, they went back to the foyer in time to see Vara crossing the room from the nearby lounge. She made no move to stop and talk to them, but Cyrus caught a glance from her that she averted after she noticed him looking.
“Vara!” Niamh called out, halting the paladin's progress. “Don't be rude to our guests.”
The elf stopped, her armor heaving from the exertion of her pace across the floor. She faced away from them for a moment, seeming to compose herself before turning back with a wide smile that was disingenuous. “So pleased to see you all.” Her voice was honey-sweet. “I do hope you find your way around well enough, and if you need any assistance in finding the exit, by all means, let me know.” Her expression reverted back to disdain.
“You know,” Narstron said, outraged, “I have no idea where your attitude comes from. You don't even know us!”
Her eyebrow raised but the rest of her face stayed in the same unpleasant expression. “And you think that would improve your case?” Without waiting for a response, she turned on her
heel and left, striding up the staircase across the foyer.
Niamh had a pinched expression. “Don’t worry about it. Vara is really… prickly. But she'll warm up to you all; it just takes time. ”
“How many centuries, approximately?” Andren said.
“Vara is who Vara is,” came a deep voice from behind them. “Asking her to change would be like commanding the Torrid Sea to be still.” Cyrus tensed as he realized who was speaking. Vaste the troll joined them. Looking down at Cyrus, he graced the warrior with a smile that carried a surprising warmth.
Cy looked evenly at him. “So you're Vaste.”
“And though we haven't been introduced, I know your name to be Cyrus Davidon.” Vaste's enormous hand came up to his mouth in a motion that made the green troll look reflective. “But what's in a name? Is it a name that's more important... or the content of one's character, would you say?” He paused, regarding the warrior, waiting for an answer.
Cyrus looked at the troll suspiciously, pondering the question, trying to look beyond the obvious answer. “Of course the content of someone's character would be more important than their name,” he answered finally.
“Well said,” the troll said with a nod. “So even if someone, say a gnome, had a suspicious name, something that sounded like it might make them goblin-born, would you look to the content of their character before you judged them?”
Cyrus raised an eyebrow. “Well, yes.”
“Very decent of you. That's a wise sentiment indeed. How would you judge the content of that person's character? Through their deeds? Actions? Words?” The troll's stare once more locked on to the warrior, brown and black eyes shining down at Cyrus.
Cyrus could feel himself being verbally backed into a corner. “I suppose... that would be the usual way you would divine someone's character. See if their deeds matched their words.”
“So logically speaking,” the troll finished, with no trace of a smile, “you'd have to wait and see what words and deeds came from a person before you could really tell anything about them, wouldn't you?”
The rest of the group looked on. Nyad looked confused while Andren seemed annoyed. Narstron attempted to engage Niamh in a quiet conversation and ignore the exchange between Vaste and Cyrus.
Cyrus knew when he was beaten. “Point taken.” The warrior took a deep breath. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Vaste. I'll be looking forward,” he continued with only a trace of irony, “to getting to know you.”
The troll bowed his head, smile fully returned. “And I you, Cyrus Davidon.” Vaste bowed at the midsection, looking for a moment like a tower falling down, and walked away.
“Cyrus!” He heard his name called across the foyer. He turned to see Orion. “Glad to see you made it back safely.” Orion’s grin matched his own.
“Hell, I’m glad I made it back safely. I just… had to deliver a message before I left.”
Though he didn’t ask, the curious expression on his face indicated the ranger caught what Cyrus had said. “How are you feeling?”
“Frankly, I’m getting a little tired of cutting and running,” Cyrus replied without expression.
Orion chuckled. “Get used to it in adventuring. Don’t get me wrong, we usually win. But when you’re that outnumbered, it makes it tough to do anything but live to fight another day.” He paused, and clapped his hand onto Cyrus’s shoulder. “I have no doubt that we'll be seeing a string of victories that you’ll be a big part of.” Walking over to Niamh, he murmured something to her. “I’ll see you at dinner. There’s a Council meeting about to start; we have to go.” He headed up a nearby staircase, Niamh in tow, in the same direction Vara had gone.
A disturbing thought occurred to Cyrus. “Is Vara on the Council?”
Nyad smiled. “You mean is she an officer of the guild? Yes, she is. Now, would you like to finish the tour?”
As she led the way to a chamber in the back of the building, Cyrus walked beside her. “How long have you been with Sanctuary?” he asked, making conversation.
Nyad looked sidelong at him. “I’ve been here for a few years so I've had an opportunity to get to know the members of Sanctuary well. They're a great bunch of people.”
They reached a door and Nyad paused to look directly into Cyrus’s eyes. “This guild is a brotherhood, dedicated to the ideal of service. They will go to their deaths for you, if you’re with us. But if we have an enemy, the converse applies – we’ll go to our deaths to pursue them, especially if they’ve harmed a guildmate.”
She did not break eye contact with Cyrus, and in that moment he saw the wisdom of a being much older than himself, something he had not noticed in her frivolity and cheeriness.
She opened the door before Cyrus had a chance to reply, and he took it to be her signal to close that subject of conversation. She continued by showing them through the armory. Inside stood an aged human with a craggy face. His armor looked even more battered than Cyrus's. “This is Belkan, our armorer,” Nyad said as she gestured to the old man.
The man she called Belkan grunted at them and nodded. She introduced them.
“Davidon?” Belkan's furry white eyebrow raised when she mentioned Cyrus's name. A neutral expression forced its way onto the armorer's face as he looked the warrior over. “Pleased to meet you.” His eyes fell to Cyrus's sword. “I suspect we can find better than that.”
Cyrus looked around and nearly drooled at the selection of weapons and armor on the walls. “I lost my sword fighting a dragon. I just picked this up off the ground.”
The bushy eyebrow raised again. “A dragon?” Belkan shook his head and muttered something unintelligible. “Stop by in the next couple days and we'll find you something. Now get going,” the old man waved them off. “I have things to do.”
The next stop was the Halls of Healing. As Cyrus walked through the door, he found Curatio sitting in front of a table with a gnome atop it. As they walked in, the gnome pointed at Cyrus. “That’s him! He’s the one who stepped on me: I remember the black armor!” His entire arm was no longer than Cyrus’s forearm, and his voice had an almost comical pitch
Remembering that he had accidentally trod on someone in Kortran, Cyrus said. “I’m sorry! I was trying to get to the titan before it sounded the alarm. I didn’t even see you there!”
The gnome nodded, perturbed. “Typical of tall folk; feet too far from your eyes to see where you're going.”
Curatio smiled. “You’re going to be just fine, Brevis.”
Without a word of thanks, the gnome jumped down from the table and skittered out the door. Shaking his head, Curatio turned to the group. “Nice to see you all here! You seem like you've got the attitude we’re looking for. If you need anything, just ask. If you'll excuse me, I have a meeting to get to. Nice to see you.”
They left the Halls of Healing, and after seeing the lounge they made their way to the applicant quarters. Their chambers were a series of dormitory-style rooms, each applicant having their own, with a common bath for all the applicants. Nyad left them to get settled after letting them know when dinner would be served.
After spending a few minutes in his room – a desk, bed, mirror and a comfortable chair for sitting - Cyrus left to explore. Pausing to consider the wisdom of prowling around where he had not been invited, he shrugged inwardly. What are they going to do? he thought. Kick me out? With a chuckle, he left the applicant quarters and went up the nearest staircase.
At the top of the staircase Cyrus found himself in a room that housed a set of ornately carved double doors. From behind them he could hear voices – then the sound of a woman laughing – Niamh, he believed. This must be the Council’s Chambers. Looking beyond the door he saw a staircase that lead up to the floor above the Council Chamber. Curious, he began walking toward it.
A sudden hissing sound made him freeze as he realized he was no longer alone. Descending the staircase was a paladin, which Cyrus knew from the regal bearing of the
knight. His armor was scuffed but undamaged; he had clearly seen many battles and the wisdom that radiated from him showed it. He stopped before Cyrus, who was transfixed. His helm covered only a bit of his face, but he could see one of the eyeholes was covered in the helm.
Looking at Cyrus through the other with a stare that seemed to pierce directly into the warrior’s heart, the knight spoke. “Greetings, Cyrus Davidon. Do not be afraid, for I would not harm you. I am Alaric Garaunt.” A glimpse of humor flickered into his eye, the look of a man who was equal parts tired and wise. “I am the Ghost of Sanctuary.”
Chapter 10
Cyrus stared at the vision before him. The paladin stared back. “Nice to meet you,” Cyrus said. “How do you know who I am?”
A smile creased Alaric’s mouth. “I know all that happens within these walls.” He gestured vaguely. “I don’t mean to be mysterious… at least not at this moment,” the paladin said with an enigmatic smile. “You have heard of the Sanctuary Council?” When Cyrus nodded affirmation, he continued. “The Council is six officers sworn to the good of Sanctuary with a leader and an elder to assist. I am the leader.”
“Ah, so that’s why you’re the ‘Ghost of Sanctuary’,” Cyrus said with a nod. “It's an honorary title for the leader.”
Alaric shook his head gently. “No, I am the Ghost of Sanctuary because...” he paused, “...that is who I am. I am also the Guildmaster,” he added. Catching the look of confusion on Cy’s face, he smiled again. “In the matter of position, I want you to be clear on the role I occupy. In the matter of my title, I was aiming for mysterious.” He chuckled. “I see it worked.”
Clearing the confusion in his mind, Cyrus asked, “So, how long have you been with Sanctuary and how long have you been the leader?”
Instead of answering immediately, Alaric began to walk in a slow circle around the warrior, forcing Cyrus to turn to follow him with his eyes. “The answers to your questions are one and the same. I have been here since the day Raifa Herde, Erkhardt the Mighty, Cora, Pradhar and I gathered here and formed this guild.”