by Joseph Lallo
Vara, Curatio and Alaric entered the foyer from the great hall at that moment. “What is going on here?” the voice of the Ghost silenced the proceedings. Selene, on the verge of tears, looked askance at Alaric, who was moving toward her.
Brevis did not meet Alaric’s eyes as he approached. The paladin’s gaze bored in on the gnome, who suddenly found an excuse to leave. With Gertan, Aina, and a few others in tow, he headed upstairs. Selene looked at Alaric as he approached, eyes brimming with tears, and the Ghost said to her, “I believe Orion was looking for you, m’lady, after we adjourned from the Council a few moments ago.” She nodded, wiped her eyes with her sleeve, and led Celia and Uruk upstairs as well, using a different route than Brevis had taken.
Cyrus watched them go, and felt Alaric’s attention turn his way. “I hear congratulations are in order. Vara told me you unleashed a very successful strategy on the dragon, something that no one had seen before.” The elven paladin blinked twice and then glared at Alaric, but bit back whatever reply she might have made.
Cyrus blushed. “I suspect Vara would not be so generous in her praise.” He paused for a moment. “Or that she would give praise at all.”
Vara shifted her glare to Cyrus, but it was more annoyed than dangerous. “In point of fact, you chattering pincushion, I did tell Alaric that you were quite brave in your action today, and that the strategy you employed was surprisingly brilliant.” She tossed her ponytail off her shoulder. “I did not, however, expect him to share that assessment with you.”
Cyrus looked at the elf in surprise. “Why not?”
The annoyance on her face compounded. “Because human warriors, you who have all the magical ability of a head of lettuce and the aggregate brainpower of a cabbage – which your skull mightily resembles – in my opinion, should not be in front of any monster, demon or beast we ever face in any adventure, anywhere, at any time. Since your kind seems to be not only front and center but the ecstatic choice of our leaders, I at least do my part to make certain that you lot – the few, proud, the idiotic – don't walk into said battles with an overinflated sense of your own infallibility.” She crossed her arms.
“So,” Cyrus said, keeping his expression as straight faced as possible, “you're concerned about the possibility of warriors getting killed?” He smiled. “How sweet.”
Vara's nostrils flared. “I am more concerned with you, you tuber-headed narcissist, getting me and mine killed with your human arrogance.”
Alaric looked on with amusement at their exchange while Curatio wore an uncertain expression. “I trust,” Garaunt said, “that you are not concerned about human arrogance from all of us?”
Vara's expression of indignant annoyance calmed at Alaric's words. “No, I've never known you to be arrogant,” she said in a hushed tone. Turning her eyes back to Cyrus, fury burning in them, “But this one, since the day I have met him, has consistently tried to overreach his potential.”
“Yes, but that's because you view my potential as being capped at using a knife and fork.”
“I've seen you eat in the Great Hall,” the elf shot back. “Perhaps you should find a more thoughtfully chosen argument to refute with next time.”
“If we may come back to my original point,” Alaric said. “Cyrus has done a masterful job of leading the assault using innovative tactics that saved lives.” The paladin surveyed Cyrus carefully through his helmet, one eye looking directly into the warrior's.
“Anyone else would have done the same,” Cyrus mumbled.
“Nonsense!” Curatio interrupted him. “We took on a very powerful dragon without a single death.” His eyes grew intense. “I’ve faced many dragons and seen them cause numerous deaths.” He turned back to Alaric. “I would echo Vara,” he said, causing her to cringe behind him. “It was a very unique stratagem, and it paid off beautifully.”
“I agree, Curatio. It seems the warrior is being modest.” He regarded Cyrus with some interest. “Walk with us: we have matters to discuss.” Alaric, Curatio and Vara turned toward the door to the grounds, Cyrus following behind them. As they descended the front steps to the lawn below, Alaric began to speak. “It has been a while since last we talked, Cyrus. How are things going for you in Sanctuary?”
Cyrus thought for a long moment. Always on the move, or in Council chambers, no one could fully account for Alaric’s time. On the few occasions Cyrus had seen him at dinner, he tended to greet the warrior with enthusiasm, ask him how things were going, and then proceed to the next person he had to converse with. But occasionally the Ghost of Sanctuary sought him out, taking him on a walk and talking with him, like this.
Shaking off his thoughts, he focused on Alaric’s question. “It’s been good.”
“Good enough that you'd consider running for officer?” The paladin looked at him with a guarded expression.
Cyrus felt the heat in his cheeks again. “I don’t know that I have that much to offer Sanctuary.”
“Nonsense!” Curatio dismissed his modesty again. “You’ve shown yourself to be a capable leader. With the growth of the guild, we're considering expanding the officers’ Council. We believe you to be the best candidate for that post.”
Cyrus demurred as the quartet turned the corner to the side yard of Sanctuary. “What about Brevis?”
“What of him?”
Cyrus looked at Alaric quizzically. “He’s quite popular. What you walked into earlier was him, taking Selene to task for not coming to our aid.”
Alaric was slow to respond. “Neither was I at the battle. Should I be ‘taken to task’ as well?”
Vara looked mutinous and Curatio remained silent as Cyrus answered. “In Brevis’ eyes, all of us should probably be slapped around for some offense or another.” Two of them laughed at his statement while Vara continued to keep her peace, irritation etched on her face. “I’m serious, Alaric,” Cyrus said. “Brevis is dangerous for Sanctuary right now. He’s aggravated and he’s got several targets for his resentment – Selene, Orion and – you.”
The Ghost removed his helmet, placing it into the crook of his elbow. Alaric Garaunt was not a young man by any means. His face was stern, but handsome; his brown hair, streaked with grey, was long enough to reach the top of his neck. His left eye was covered by an eyepatch that wrapped around his head. A thin beard and mustache covered the face of the Ghost. Leveling his gaze on the warrior, Alaric looked at Cyrus with his good eye, and the warrior would have given one of his own to be elsewhere. “Me?”
Cyrus nodded. “He feels that Orion is wasting the General post since he’s not leading anything, that Selene is too selfish to help anybody but herself, and that you’re allowing them to do whatever they want because Orion is an officer.”
Alaric stopped walking as they reached the archery range. “And what do you believe?” His eye bored into the warrior, and Cyrus could feel a ghostly chill in his stomach that might have been the basis of Alaric’s nickname.
It came out in a rush. “I think Orion feels so guilty about Enterra that it’ll be years before he willingly leads another expedition on his own. I think Selene has been acting selfishly, as people are wont to do, and I think you’d back them both to your death, because they’re members of Sanctuary. You’ve got the kind of loyalty that means more to you than your very life.” He stopped, breathless. “And while we’re being honest – Curatio, I thought all elves other than low-born were a bunch of uptight, arrogant tightasses like Vara until I met you.”
The healer barely suppressed a laugh. Alaric was not so able, and he let out a roar so deep and loud that it startled Cyrus. Vara, for her part, glared at him but did not argue.
Alaric’s laughter died down, and Curatio’s smile was diminishing when the Ghost next spoke. “Well, you certainly didn’t hold back your opinions.” His joviality began to evaporate. “You are correct, I believe, in your assessment.” Alaric cast a knowing eye to Vara. “Not about you.” Returning his gaze to Cyrus, he continued,
“Orion is somewhat damaged in terms of his confidence, and Selene has become wrapped up in herself.” Alaric tapped his fingers on his armored greaves, drumming them several times, creating a deep rattling noise of metal on metal as Vara ground her teeth in irritation. “This brings us to an interesting conundrum.
“Although I have had very little use for expeditions, they are an activity that many adventurers wish to participate in. This is good: it certainly prospers the guild bank, and is no more dangerous than any other adventure one might pursue. Our problem is, how do we continue to offer these benefits to our members when our General doesn’t want to schedule or run any expeditions?”
Cyrus shrugged. “It’s quite a challenge.”
“Indeed, it is, but I believe you hold the solution.” The oblique smile on his face hinted that Alaric had an agenda.
“What did you have in mind?” Cyrus asked, caution infusing his tone.
“I told you before: I think you should run for officer,” Alaric replied.
“Won’t Orion get upset you’re stripping him of the title of General?”
Alaric shook his head. “You’re getting the wrong idea, perhaps because the guild seems to misperceive this. There is no formal ‘General’ title. Every officer picks duties that they feel best fit their strengths. Whether it be dealing with applicants or running the Halls of Healing,” he nodded at Curatio, “Orion felt his abilities lay in the direction of leading expeditions.” He frowned. “His change of heart does leave us with a rather sizable hole in our Council.” Alaric cast a sidelong glance at Vara. “And since my most knowledgeable leader won't lead any excursions and Orion is scared to...”
Vara bristled. “I didn't say I won't lead any.” She smoldered for a moment. “But people don't respond well to my leadership style.”
“Hard to imagine, that,” Cyrus quipped. “I can see it now: 'You! I hate you, go over there and die, okay?'”
Vara looked daggers at the warrior but when she spoke it was with an icy calm. “After all my searching, you've found the exact sentiments I've been wanting to express to you since the day we met.”
Brushing off the paladin's repartee, Cyrus asked, “How long do you have to be in Sanctuary before you can become an officer?”
Curatio and Alaric exchanged a confused glance, while Vara looked annoyed. Curatio answered, “According to the charter, one year.”
“Then this is a moot point. I am ineligible to be an officer of Sanctuary.” Cyrus tried to put on a disappointed look, but honestly felt a bit relieved at not having to go through a popularity contest that he wasn’t sure he’d be able to pass. Vara, surprisingly enough, did not look any happier at the revelation.
Alaric nodded. “Time loses its meaning for me. It feels like you have been here longer.” Not sure his meaning was taken, the Ghost corrected, “I hope you realize I mean that in the best possible way: that your loyalty seems like that of someone who has been here since the beginning.”
“I appreciate the sentiment. But I don’t think even having a new General that leads excursions every night of the week to the most interesting locations in Arkaria would satisfy Brevis. He’s got a burr under his saddle and I don’t think it’s going to be settled until someone is gone. Whether it’s him or Orion and Selene, mark my words,” he said, “Sanctuary isn’t big enough for all of them. At least not in Brevis’ eyes.”
“We'll have to discuss this in Council.” Alaric surveyed the grounds before him. “Though I wish we could fix Orion’s broken spirit, I cannot – at least not immediately.” He turned back to Cyrus. “But I intend to have your word on something before we part. Our Council needs leadership. You are a leader.”
Cyrus shook his head. “I was only leader in my last guild because no one else wanted the job. I'm not a leader.”
Alaric nodded over Cyrus’s shaking of his head. “Yes, you are. Curatio, Vara, can either of you see any reasons, anything in this warrior's character, that would prevent him from being an honorable and useful addition to the Council of Santuary?”
Curatio answered immediately. “Absolutely not. I believe Cyrus to be a guildmate of the highest caliber and that he would be an excellent officer.”
Cyrus looked at Vara expectantly, waiting for her to add a negative critique, to say something that would reflect her disdain for him, his skills, his abilities, his character or even his personal hygiene. None was forthcoming. After a long moment's pause, Vara turned her gaze back to Alaric. As her eyes passed over him, Cyrus saw something nearly indefinable in her expression, that same something that he had noticed the first day they met. “No,” she said without emotion. “I can't see any reason he shouldn't run for officer.”
Alaric nodded. “Then it is settled.” The paladin turned back to Cyrus. “I want your word that in six months, when you are eligible, you will submit your name for candidacy and do your duty to Sanctuary by becoming an officer.” He held up his hand to forestall protest. “I will not allow any argument. I want your word.”
Though Alaric’s voice and manner had issued a command, Cyrus knew in his heart that he could tell the paladin no, if he really wanted to. He shifted his gaze from Alaric to Curatio, who was hopeful; a warm and encouraging smile upon the elf's face. Cyrus desperately wanted to say yes… to be an officer, right now. Protests aside, he wondered what happened in Council meetings, wondered how he could help, if he could help. Long minutes passed, none of them speaking, all waiting for his answer.
Vara would not meet his eyes, and her gaze was fixed in the distance, giving him a look at her profile. Her mouth was set in a hard line, keeping whatever emotions she had tightly bottled. The hair stretched in a ponytail over her shoulder, the sun shining on her spotless armor. He looked at her for a few minutes, silence still hanging in the air. She never turned to him.
As all these thoughts were bubbling in Cyrus’s head, one solitary phrase slipped through his lips, a whisper, barely audible: “You have my word.”
Chapter 19
It was not yet four o’clock when the crowd began to gather at the portal to the Realm of Death. Cyrus came with the bulk of the Sanctuary army, who had hiked to the edge of the Bay of Lost Souls, only a few hours southeast of Sanctuary's gates. Nyad and a team of wizards had conjured a boat that they sailed on across the bay to the Island of Mortus.
Cyrus could tell the island was small: he could see the entirety of it from where they had landed. In the middle of it all was a gateway that looked like a portal – a stone arch that crackled with black energy. No light escaped from it and the area around seemed dim even in the late afternoon sun. Alliance members were gathered about it in very casual groups.
The Daring were already waiting when they arrived. Erith was seated atop a little black and white pony, and when she saw Cyrus she giggled. “What’s going on, meat head?” she shouted.
“How the hell did you get a horse over here?” Cyrus asked her, bewildered. The dark elf shrugged and smiled at him.
A few of Goliath's members flew to the island on winged mounts. Cyrus fixated on a warrior riding a griffon, a creature with the beaked head of a bird of prey and heavy, matted fur with a four-legged body. Claws jutted from its paws, digging into the ground as the creature landed and the warrior dismounted. I'd like one of those, Cy thought.
Cyrus waved at Elisabeth when she arrived. Any thought of striking up a conversation with her was forestalled: she was swamped with well-wishers and people seeking instruction. Cyrus knew how she felt: leading an invasion of this magnitude couldn’t be easy – at least not based on his experience. She went to work with a scroll, studying plans carefully.
She was all smiles as she stepped onto a rock in front of the army. “We have quite the assemblage tonight,” she announced with great pleasure. “I’m going to be reorganizing you into different elements in order to form a cohesive fighting force. We expect guardians by the entrance to the Realm and additional forces at certain key points which we’re going
to be hitting.
“Opposition will be tough,” she continued, “but we have very good numbers on our side. Our main warrior for tonight will be Kilgar from Goliath,” she announced, making a sweeping gesture toward a hulking human as Cyrus rolled his eyes, “but we’ll also need some backups to ensure that if an enchanter can’t control an enemy, it doesn’t wreak havoc by killing our spell casters.” Lack of armor made spell casters easy prey for strong enemies. Even with a quick resurrection spell, it could take thirty minutes to an hour for them to regenerate enough magical energy and shake off the sickening effects of death to effectively cast spells again.
“Cyrus from Sanctuary, Cass from the Daring and Yei from Goliath will be our secondary warriors.” Cyrus blinked in surprise. He cast a sidelong look at Cass and then Yei. The Goliath warrior was a massive troll, bigger than Vaste. Yei had recently painted his armor into a bizarre, multicolored scheme involving deep purple, bright red and some strain of yellow. Terian had remarked during the assault on Kalam that it “defiled his eyes” to even look at the warrior.
“We'll need our enchanters focused on occupying additional monsters, beguiling them by use of your charms or simply mesmerizing them.” Her voice turned serious. “We are outnumbered here, and we will be facing wave after wave of foes.” She proceeded to break the force into elements assigned to support each warrior.
“By the time we get this entire force facing the right direction, I’ll be older than Curatio,” Andren said under his breath. Niamh overheard him and giggled. Cyrus said nothing, but privately he agreed; leading this force of several hundred was going to be like trying to lead a herd of cats from the front.
When they had organized, the combined army lined up in formation before the portal. It was wide enough for only a few people to enter at a time. They lined up in order as best they could; the space around the portal was completely packed – as was the island itself.