by Joseph Lallo
Cyrus grunted as he ducked the dragon's first attack. “I am Cyrus, warrior of Sanctuary. I piss on you and your god!” Bringing his sword around, he struck as hard as he could at the bone of the dragon’s front right ankle. A small crack appeared in the bone. He ran under the dragon, beneath where the belly would have been, and rattled his sword along every rib until he reached the tail, laughing all the way.
Dodging from behind the back leg he turned, and with a savage grin raised his hands above his head for a double-handed swing of his sword. He landed the strikes on the cartilage midway down the skeleton’s tail, and severed it at the halfway point. “I killed you yesterday,” he smirked at Kalam. “Today I'm going to dismember you.”
Five demon knights crested the hill, a small cluster of wendigos close behind. Somewhere down the hill was the Allied army. The dragon's skeletal remains now had no tail – but it still moved around to face him. Cy didn’t wait to be within biting distance – he charged back under the dragon, and took aim at the same ankle he’d already cracked, landing another crushing blow in the same spot, widening the crack, then moved as the dragon repositioned and landed another and another until the crack was large enough that he could jam his sword into it.
There was no howl, no outrage, no sign that the dragon's remains even felt the damage. Rather than chase the bone dragon, he grasped at the knee joint and held on while the undead monster thrashed about. Using the blade of his sword as a pry bar, he wedged it into the fracture he'd made in the ankle and applied all his weight to the hilt until –
CRACK!
Kalam’s foot broke loose and the bucking, heaving skeleton wobbled as it landed on its shin bone, losing its balance and toppling down the hill toward the tower. Cyrus rolled clear as it came crashing down, tons of bones onto the ascending demon knights – at least eight of which were smashed immediately, along with more than a few wendigos. He saw a gray-skinned torso fly through the air and land in the bony debris. With only a few exceptions, the allies escaped harm.
Wasting no time, Cyrus charged into the wreckage, ignoring his arriving Allies and hacking at the rear knee joint of Kalam, who was attempting to rise. He was joined by Orion and Tolada, surprisingly, and they snapped the leg free and moved on to the next. The third was removed with a bit more effort, leaving the skeleton of Kalam thrashing.
Cyrus scaled the dragon rib by rib as it jerked to get upright but couldn’t. Moving with care in case it began to roll over and turn him into mush, he reached the neck, flailing in the air. He wrapped his legs around the base of the neck, and brought his sword down again and again on the vertebrae until finally it gave a sickening crack and splintered. One more massive blow broke it into slivers and dust, and sent him, along with the dragon’s neck and skull, crashing to the ground below, where he heard a great many cracking bones, a few of which were his own.
Cyrus jumped to his feet as soon as the healer's spell hit him and charged at the nearest demon knight, which was already on its knees, and finished it. The wendigos that weren’t charmed were now falling, one by one to mesmerize and to death at the hands of the allies. The last demon knight was brought down by a stunning blow from Cass that cut it in half at the waist. They finished killing the wendigos and within an hour the Realm of Death was silent but for the cheers of the Alliance army.
Chapter 22
The Alliance members waited in the Fields of Paxis while the officers of the Alliance split the treasures in Mortus's chambers among themselves. After a half hour, Elisabeth stormed down the steps with something in her hand. Her eyes were narrowed and every step exuded irritation. She stopped in front of Cyrus and paused for a moment before she spoke, composing herself. “You must have really wanted this pommel,” she said. “I've never seen you ask for anything from an excursion before.”
She opened her hand to reveal a circular piece of metal with the carving of a skull at its center. “I do,” he said, voice desirous.
She handed it to him with care, then crossed her arms. “I didn't expect us to have to kill the same dragon two days in a row. You really saved things from getting ugly.” She paused. “Uglier than they're getting among the Alliance officers right now, anyway.”
He pulled his gaze away from the Death's Head. “Doesn't look like you had much fun in there.”
She sighed. “We're not. When I planned this, there were a few things that we swore we weren't going to do. Foremost among them was not stealing Letum.”
Cyrus looked at her with a blank expression. “Letum?”
She stared past him, her mind on something else. “Mortus's Staff of Death. It's supposed to be on a pedestal in there, protected by enchantments, but it's not.” She shifted her gaze to him. “I guess it's lucky that it's not, because your pommel would have been under the protection of the enchantments as well.”
“Lucky for me, I guess.” He shrugged. “Never heard of this Letum. Maybe Mortus took it with him when he left?”
She waved her hand. “You think he dissolved the barrier he set up to protect his most treasured possessions before he left, when he knows that every time he leaves his Realm gets ransacked? I doubt it, but it doesn't matter. It's causing quite a stir among the other officers, though; quite a few accusations flying around –”
“Elisabeth!” Cass's voice drifted down to them as he descended the steps, Erith beside him. “We're leaving.”
“Did you get everything resolved?” She looked up at the warrior in grey, face expectant.
“I've resolved not to punch Tolada in his aggravating face, but that's about it.” Cass pointed back up the steps. “We can argue until Mortus comes back, no one's going to confess to taking Letum and we're not going to search everyone here to figure out if they've got it. Especially,” he gritted his teeth, “since there are no protective barriers around the pedestal.”
“Couldn't someone have broken through the barrier?” Cy looked at them, face blank.
Erith laughed. “Through a barrier erected by a god? Unlikely.”
Whatever else might have been said was halted by Malpravus, gliding down the steps with the officers of Goliath and Sanctuary trailing behind. Niamh's face was suffused with rage, Curatio's eyebrows were arched in irritation, and Orion looked annoyed.
“I would call that a successful endeavor,” Malpravus said, coming to a halt beside Cyrus. “Once again, your bravery has been instrumental in our victory.” The necromancer's eyes drifted to Cy's sword and armor. “I can only imagine what you'd be capable of if you were wearing the armor and wielding a sword of the power Goliath provides to our warriors.” He leaned in close to Cyrus's ear. “You should imagine that as well.” Leaning back, he grinned at the warrior. “Let us away, my friends.” He and his entourage swept down the stairs.
The entire Alliance army teleported out of the Realm of Death moments later, each to their respective guildhalls. Cyrus found himself back in the lounge at Sanctuary, sitting alone, mulling over what he'd heard.
An armored figure eased into the chair across from him, jolting him out of his reverie. “I heard there was a ruckus in Death's Realm today,” Terian said.
“You mean among the officers?” Cyrus looked at him.
“No, I mean with the remains of a dragon that we killed yesterday coming back to take another swipe at you.” Terian's eyebrow raised. “How did you hear about the Alliance officers getting into an argument?”
“Gossip.”
“Ah.” The dark elf nodded. “So, you got your pommel?”
Cyrus's jaw dropped. “How did you know about my sword? Andren was the only one I told!”
Terian shrugged. “When he drinks too much, he talks too much.” The dark knight paused. “Which is pretty constant, come to think of it.” He smiled. “Don't be paranoid. You can tell your guildmates about things you're working on. This is an honorable group; they're not going to steal something from you. They might even help.”
Cy stroked his chin. “I'll need their
help as I get closer to putting it together.” He paused for a moment. “Terian, have you heard of Ferocis?” Terian shrugged. “You know, the Warblade of Bellarum?”
Terian frowned. “How did you know about it? Did Alaric tell you?”
Cyrus looked at him in confusion, but before he could ask another question, shouts interrupted them from behind them. They sprang to their feet and entered the foyer to find a crowd gathered; raised voices reached their ears as they made their way toward the center of the disturbance. Cyrus bumped into Nyad, and when she turned to him there were tears streaking down her face.
“What's happening?” Cy asked her, Terian at his shoulder.
She blinked as she looked past Cyrus to Terian. “Brevis ambushed Selene again. He called her selfish and when Orion stepped up to defend her he told him the only thing more useless than a selfish healer is a General that won’t lead. Please, stop it!” She focused on Terian. “You’re an officer. Please, you have to stop this!” Her face was flushed, and the tears were flowing freely.
“You didn’t even take command when the invasion force was ambushed in Death's Realm! Cyrus had to win the battle because you don’t even have the guts to marshal us in an emergency –” Brevis ranted, but was suddenly cut off.
“SHUT UP! JUST SHUT UP!” Orion exploded. “What do you even know about leadership, you pointless hole?”
Cy turned to Terian, “You have to stop them.”
Terian folded his arms. “I don’t think I do.”
Cyrus was stunned, blinking at him in disbelief. “Are you kidding me? You’re an officer. You have to intervene in this: it’s a dispute between guildmates!” He kept his voice low enough so that Terian was the only one that could hear.
“No, Cy.” Terian shook his head. “He’s not saying anything that’s untrue. He’s not saying it in a nice way, but I don’t think I should stop the truth from being spoken.”
Brevis’s voice drowned out any further comment at that point. “– know more about leadership than you do at this point, I’d wager. Not that it would take much. Larana would make a better officer at this point than you do, and she never says a word!”
Larana squeaked loudly in muffled outrage from somewhere in the crowd, but did not say anything.
The argument stopped for a moment before it started again, full force, with both sides yelling at each other. “Don’t you call her that –”
“Afraid to tell it like it is, typical of a coward –”
“DON’T YOU CALL ME A COWARD, YOU KNEE-HIGH PILE OF SHIT!”
“WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?!” A voice like thunder rocked the room, overriding any other sound. Alaric strode down the stairs, commanding the attention of both parties. The crowd parted for him to make his way through. When he reached them, they launched into their stories at the same time.
“– attacked Selene and myself –”
“– said nothing but the truth, one hundred percent –”
“SILENCE!” Alaric commanded. “Are there no officers present besides Orion?”
The crowd moved aside as Terian approached. “I saw the last few minutes of it. Sounds like a dispute between the two of them. Maybe we should send them outside and let them duel.”
Alaric held his tongue, and his enormous helm contained most of his expression, but his mouth was etched into a thin line. “Did you not intervene, Terian?”
The dark elf shook his head. “I did not.”
Cyrus could see the narrowing of the Ghost’s eye, the clenching in his jaw, but he breathed not a word of critique on the dark knight’s handling of the matter. He turned back to Brevis and Orion. Selene stood behind her husband, shoulders shaking as she cried quietly. “What prompted this, Orion?”
Orion looked shocked. “Terian, you were here and you didn’t step in on our behalf?” He looked at the dark elf in amazement. “You left me twisting in the wind?” The ranger's brow furled. “I'm a fellow officer!”
Alaric clapped his gauntlets together, catching everyone’s attention. “Orion, I asked you what happened.”
Orion blinked and his attention shifted back to Alaric. “We were coming into the foyer and Brevis just started attacking us – telling us we’re awful guildmates –”
“Because you are –” the gnome said.
“SHUT UP!” Orion cut him off again. Alaric raised his hands to restore order, and Orion continued. “He verbally attacked us – insulted us – called me worthless as an officer and a General.”
Alaric turned to Brevis. “What caused you to verbally assault your guildmates?”
“I have seen them continue to slide, month after month, into a spiral of selfishness,” the enchanter began, chin high, eyes defiant. “I have seen them turn their backs on guildmates that are going into mortal harm and do things for their own self-aggrandizement that risk lives, like that Enterra incursion. Narstron died, and for what reason?” He sneered. “I haven't heard of the goblins marching on the warpath! It was a smokescreen, an attempt to get us to go somewhere that was pointless and unprofitable for us.”
A few nods and words of agreement answered him over the crowd. Orion looked around, stunned by the condemnation, while Selene put her face in her hands, sobbing.
Brevis turned back to Alaric. “I said nothing that others weren't thinking. I just had the courage to speak up. Neither will I apologize; someone needed to say it.”
Alaric Garaunt shook his head. “Brevis, this is not the way. In Sanctuary we treat each other with courtesy and respect. While you may have a disagreement or a conflict with Selene and Orion, you should have addressed it behind closed doors, or to the Council.” He continued to shake his head. “This ambush is unworthy of you and your guildmates and will not be tolerated. You will apologize to Orion and Selene,” Brevis looked as though he’d swallowed something particularly bitter, “if not for the content of your message then for the method of delivery.”
“That’s not enough, Alaric,” Orion said. “He should be cast out for what he did.”
Alaric was still for a long moment. “That is a matter for the Council to decide. With Vara on leave of absence attending to family matters,” Cyrus blinked in surprise, having not heard this, “Niamh and Curatio away for the day and yourself involved in the dispute, it leaves only Terian and I capable of rendering a decision.” He straightened. “That is not enough for a disciplinary matter. I will not settle this without more of the Council involved. All I will do for now is demand Brevis apologize. Any consequences will wait until we have a quorum –”
“I will not apologize.” Brevis’s comment was lost in the shuffle of what happened next.
“– until the Council rules on the matter,” Alaric finished.
Orion looked evenly at Alaric. “And what of Terian, who stood by and let this happen? You are the leader of this guild, and you don’t seem concerned at all that one of your officers committed a total dereliction of his duty.” Terian was silent, but his eyes burned into Orion’s until the ranger was forced to look away first. “What are you going to do about him?”
Alaric watched the ranger, eyes betraying no emotion. “We will discuss it in the fullness of time.”
Orion shook his head, lower lip jutting out. “That’s not good enough.” He looked around the foyer. “All this time, all this effort, and this is how you would treat us? We’re leaving.” He took Selene’s arm and led her to one of the staircases.
Alaric moved closer to Brevis, and the two of them began a discussion in hushed tones. The hall was silent, the crowd still present, waiting to see what happened. A few minutes later, Orion and Selene emerged from the stairway again, laden with bags, a host of large trunks hovering behind them.
“This is your last chance, Brevis,” Alaric said to the gnome, low enough that only Cyrus and a few others could hear him. The enchanter shook his head like a child refusing to eat his vegetables.
Orion and Selene reached the entryway and he looked back, acr
oss the crowd one last time, seeming to take in the whole view of the scene assembled, turned on his heel and walked out, Selene at his side.
Alaric waited until they had descended the steps, then took a step back from Brevis as though he were a plague victim. “Brevis, you have failed to keep a civil interaction with your guildmates, and now you have refused to apologize. We will debate this disciplinary matter in Council, and decide on the consequences.”
“No need,” Brevis replied. “I said what no one else had the courage to say, and I won’t be hung out to dry for it.” The little gnome set his chin high. “I will leave as well.” Gertan and Aina behind him, he walked toward the stairway and out of sight.
On their way up, they passed Celia and Uruk coming down, laden similarly to Selene and Orion, everything they owned on their backs or magically following them. Nyad let out a great sob at the sight. They made their way through the crowd, exchanging hugs and saying a few farewells, but avoiding Alaric, whose gaze watched them from the center of the foyer.
For the next thirty minutes, a steady flow of guildmates in ones and twos came down the stairs, carrying with them all their worldly possessions, saying goodbye and walking out of the enormous doors of Sanctuary. One by one, Alaric watched them all go, strangely silent the entire time. When nightfall had come, and the outpouring had stopped, they had lost nearly a hundred members of Sanctuary.
“Terian,” Alaric spoke, breaking his silent vigil. “We must confer.” He turned, heels clicking on the stone floor and walked toward the stairway. Terian followed behind him, a little slower.
Cyrus looked at the faces of those around him – J'anda, Vaste and Andren. In them he could see indifference and determination. Nyad and Larana were crying, clinging to each other for comfort. But in other faces, he saw a different sort of determination, another decision being made, and he knew that those who left today would not, by any means, be the last.